Harry dropped into his seat at the table, tossing his bag onto the floor. Hermione was scribbling away at her Arithmancy homework, barely looking up, while Ron glared at his Transfiguration parchment.
Ron glanced up as Harry pulled out his Transfiguration book and the half-filled roll of parchment he'd started earlier. "So… what was that about? Why were you talking to Greengrass?"
"Snape's project," Harry said, uncapping his inkpot. "We've got to pitch our idea by Monday, remember? Thought I'd check in with her." He flattened his parchment and found where he'd left off by the lake, reading over his last few sentences.
Ron groaned, slumping forward. "Don't remind me. I haven't even spoken to Malfoy yet. How am I supposed to come up with some brilliant idea when I can't even look at him without wanting to punch him?"
"You don't have much time left," Hermione said, not even pausing her writing. "You need to figure it out before Monday, or Snape will make sure you regret it."
Ron sighed dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. But seriously, what am I supposed to say? 'Hey, Malfoy, got any bright ideas for a four-month-long project?' He'll probably suggest something like… polishing his shoes."
Harry dipped his quill into the ink, mumbling, "Doesn't matter what he suggests. Just talk to him and get it over with. You don't have to like him, you just have to agree on something." He crossed out a line and rewrote it, frowning at his messy handwriting.
"Easy for you to say," Ron muttered. "At least Greengrass isn't… well, you know… Malfoy."
Harry let out a quiet laugh but didn't look up, scratching out another note about intent in Switching Spells. Across from him, Hermione finally set her quill down and fixed Ron with a look.
"Honestly, Ron, it doesn't have to be groundbreaking. Just something reasonable. The point is to learn, not impress Snape."
"Ha!" Ron scoffed. "When's the last time anyone learned anything from Snape that wasn't about how much he hates us?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Hopeless."
Harry tapped the end of his quill against the edge of the table, scanning his notes. "Alright," he said, tilting his parchment toward Ron. "Switching Spells need clear intent, precision, and balance. I wrote about intent already, but I've got nothing solid on precision yet. Any ideas?"
Ron looked at Harry, his grumbling fading as he noticed Harry's focus. "Uh… precision," he said, leaning back in his chair. He stared at his half-empty parchment before straightening up a bit. "I guess that's like… the wand movement, right? And keeping it steady? McGonagall said even a tiny wobble can ruin everything."
"Exactly," Harry said, nodding. "It's about controlling the flow of magic, like making sure you don't pour too much or too little into the spell."
Ron frowned, picking up his quill again. "Yeah, alright, that makes sense. I could write about that. Something like how the wand movement has to match what you're picturing, or else it all falls apart."
"Perfect," Harry said, scratching out a line and replacing it with Ron's point. "Write it down, at least it's better than what I've got about feathers wobbling around."
Ron cracked a small grin and dipped his quill into the inkpot. "Alright, fine. If you're actually putting the effort in, I guess I can too." He leaned over his parchment and started writing, pausing every now and then to check the notes in his textbook.
Harry smirked but didn't say anything. He added a new line to his essay, jotting down how precision wasn't just about wand movements but about balancing intent and focus at the same time. His quill moved quickly as the ideas came together.
After a few minutes of quiet writing, Ron glanced over at Harry. "Okay, so how do you explain the part where the objects keep their other properties? Like, the coin gets light, but it doesn't stop being, you know, a coin."
Harry looked up, surprised. "That's a good one. McGonagall called it maintaining integrity or something like that, right? The spell doesn't just swap, it has to keep everything stable."
Ron nodded, scribbling that down. "Right. So, it's like… you have to picture them as two halves of a whole, instead of two separate things."
"Yeah," Harry said, smiling. "You've got it."
Ron's shoulders relaxed a bit as he kept writing, filling in more of his essay. "This isn't half as bad when you actually start working through it," he admitted.
"Exactly," Harry said. "It's just getting started that's the hard part."
They worked for the next while, the classroom quiet except for the sound of quills scratching and Hermione occasionally flipping a page of her textbook. By the time the study hall was nearly over, Ron held up his parchment with a satisfied look.
"Two feet," he said. "Not perfect, but it's done."
Harry rolled up his own parchment, giving Ron a nod. "Nice. See? That wasn't so bad."
Ron smirked. "Yeah, but next time, remind me not to complain until after we finish."
"Deal," Harry said, stuffing his parchment back into his bag. "Now, let's hope Hagrid doesn't have the Skrewts trying to set us on fire again."
"Knowing Hagrid? He probably thinks setting us on fire is part of the lesson," Ron said as they packed up their things and got ready to head out.
As the bell rang, the two of them grabbed their bags and headed for the door, feeling a bit lighter with one more task crossed off their list.
The late afternoon sun was low in the sky as Harry, Ron, and Hermione trudged down the sloping path toward Hagrid's hut, their bags bumping against their legs. The air smelled faintly of damp grass and smoke probably from whatever new chaos Hagrid had planned for the lesson.
As they reached the paddock, they spotted Hagrid waving them over, his massive hand gesturing excitedly. "Over here, everyone! Yeh're gonna love this!"
The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, who shared this lesson, exchanged wary looks but shuffled closer. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were corralled in a large pen, scratching at the dirt with their spiny legs. A faint sizzling noise came from one of them, and Harry quickly stepped back, hoping it wasn't about to blow.
"Alright!" Hagrid said cheerfully, clapping his hands. "Today, we're gonna focus on feedin' 'em proper. They're growin' fast now, and we've gotta make sure they're strong enough fer colder weather."
"Cold weather?" Dean Thomas muttered from somewhere in the crowd. "Are they hibernating or taking over the world?"
Hagrid either didn't hear or ignored him. "Now, Skrewts are picky eaters, but I've got some fresh meat an' special feed they'll love." He gestured to a bucket filled with what looked like raw liver and some kind of glittering, wriggling pellets. Several people recoiled in disgust.
Hagrid grinned. "Go on, then! Pair up an' pick a Skrewt ter feed. Don't be shy!"
Harry ended up partnered with Ron, and the two of them hesitantly approached a Skrewt that was clicking its pincers menacingly. "This one's definitely looking at me funny," Ron whispered.
"Don't give it a reason to blow up," Harry muttered back, grabbing a chunk of liver with a grimace. "Let's just get this over with."
They crouched down, trying to avoid the Skrewt's spiked tail as they held the food out toward its mouth,or at least the part of it they thought was the mouth. It snapped the meat up with a horrible crunching noise that made Ron gag.
"Think we're doing it right?" Harry asked, glancing toward Hermione, who was a few feet away, methodically feeding a Skrewt while rattling off facts from her textbook to an uninterested Neville.
"Right enough," Ron said, wiping his hands on his robes. "I just hope…"
A sharp shriek cut through the air. Harry spun around just in time to see one of the Skrewts whip its tail wildly, knocking a Hufflepuff girl Megan Jones, backward into the dirt. She clutched her arm, which hung at an odd angle, her face pale with pain.
"Megan!" Hagrid shouted, barreling over. "Blimey, everyone, back away from the pen! Give 'er space!"
The students scrambled back, some looking horrified, others whispering nervously. Hagrid knelt beside Megan, his enormous hands surprisingly gentle as he checked her injury. "Looks like it's broken," he muttered. "C'mon, let's get yeh ter Madam Pomfrey."
"Hagrid," Hermione started, stepping forward, but he held up a hand.
"Class dismissed," he said, his voice tight. "Head back ter the castle. I'll deal with this."
The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs hesitated, but eventually, they began gathering their things and heading up the hill. Harry, Ron, and Hermione lingered for a moment, exchanging uneasy glances.
"Hagrid looked worried," Hermione said softly, watching as he carefully helped Megan to her feet. "That's not like him."
"Maybe he's finally realizing these things aren't exactly safe," Ron muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Not that it makes me feel any better about having to deal with them."
"Come on," Harry said, nudging Ron forward. "Let's just head back to the common room."
They fell into step as they crossed the courtyard, Ron shoving his hands into his pockets. "So. That was the last lesson of the day. What now?"
"Common room?" Harry suggested.
"Yeah, sounds good," Ron muttered.
"I need to finish my Ancient Runes translation," Hermione said. "I still have three left, and one of them isn't making any sense."
"You signed up for that," Ron pointed out. "That's your own fault."
Hermione shot him a look. "At least I'm doing my work instead of putting it off until the last second."
Ron just grumbled as they climbed the stone steps into the castle. Harry had been quiet, only half-listening.
Hermione noticed. "You're being weird," she said. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Harry said.
Ron snorted. "Liar. That's your 'I'm thinking too hard about something and don't know how to say it' face."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't have a face."
"You definitely have a face," Ron shot back. "Spit it out."
Hermione gave him a knowing look. "This isn't about Sirius, is it?"
Harry exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not that. It's just… Greengrass."
That got their attention. Ron perked up instantly. "You're thinking about her?"
"Not like that," Harry said quickly.
Ron gave him a knowing look. "Riiight."
Hermione, on the other hand, just looked intrigued. "Did something happen?"
Harry hesitated. "No, nothing happened. I just mean… she's not what I expected. She actually knows what she's doing, and she's… serious, but not in a bad way. I thought working with her would be a nightmare, but it's actually… alright."
Ron was grinning now. "Didn't know you had a thing for serious, terrifying girls, mate."
"I don't have a thing," Harry said, glaring.
"Uh-huh," Ron said, looking far too pleased with himself. "Right. And I hate chess."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but what was the point? Ron would keep teasing him no matter what he said.
Hermione, however, was considering something. "Well, it's good that you two are getting along. This project is going to take months,you don't want to be stuck working with someone you can't talk to."
Harry nodded, but Ron just smirked at him. "Getting along, huh? Sounds like more than that."
Harry shook his head. "Forget I said anything."
"Oh, not a chance," Ron said.
They climbed through the portrait hole into the common room. A few second-years were playing a game of Exploding Snap near the fire, and some seventh-years were deep in discussion over a pile of books.
Ron stretched with a yawn. "Well, at least we survived another day."
Hermione grabbed her books and stood. "I'm going to the library. If I don't figure out this translation, it'll drive me mad."
Ron flopped onto the couch. "Yeah, yeah, go do your nerd stuff."
She rolled her eyes and left.
Harry sat down too, but his mind was still turning over the conversation.
He didn't have a thing for Greengrass. Obviously.
So why was she still on his mind?
Thursday came fast, dragging them through a grueling Herbology lesson where they spent an hour wrestling stubborn Venomous Tentacula into their pots. By the time it was over, everyone was sweaty, dirt-streaked, and more than ready to escape the humid greenhouses. They barely had time to wolf down breakfast in the Great Hall before heading upstairs for their next class,Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione slid into their usual seats just as the heavy thump-thump of Moody's wooden leg echoed through the corridor. The door swung open with a creak, and he strode inside.
"Last time," he said, "we had a conversation about the real danger that lurks at you." He let the words hang, pacing slowly between the desks. "What's out there doesn't care about rules. It doesn't care how old you are, how smart you are."
Moody stopped pacing and turned to face them, his magical eye spinning before settling dead center on the class.
"For the first hour of this double period, we're gonna have a little chat," he said. "I'm gonna tell you some stories,real ones, from my time as an Auror. And I'm gonna ask you some questions. You know why?"
He let the question hang for a second, then barked out, "Because most of you have no damn clue what it's like to face the Dark Arts. And that's not an insult,it's a fact. And honestly? I hope you never have to. But my job isn't to hope. It's to prepare you."
His fingers drummed once against his temple. "And that starts here. Not with a wand. Not with spells. But with what's in your head. If your brain freezes up when it matters, it doesn't matter how good you are with a wand, you'll already be dead."
Moody let his words sit for a beat, scanning the classroom like he was taking mental notes on every single reaction. Nobody spoke. Even the Slytherins who usually had something snide to say were quiet.
Then he grunted. "Good. You're listening."
He shifted his weight, the wooden leg thudding against the floor. "Now, let's talk about choices. Real ones. The ones that make or break you. The ones you don't get to take back."
He cracked his knuckles, then rolled his shoulders like he was gearing up for something. "First story. Happened years ago,before some of you were even born. There was a raid planned on a suspected Death Eater hideout. Small group, just four of us, but we had intel that this was a big one. A nest of 'em. Could've ended the war right there. Only problem?" He paused, then smirked. "We weren't the only ones in that house."
A few students leaned forward.
"There was a family inside. Didn't know what was going on. Didn't even know they were harboring Death Eaters. Thought they were just renting out rooms to a few 'nice, quiet gentlemen.'" Moody let out a dry chuckle. "They were gonna die, either way. If we went in wands blazing, they'd be caught in the crossfire. If we let the Death Eaters know we were onto them, they'd kill the family first just to cover their tracks."
His eye snapped to Hermione. "So, Granger. What do you do?"
Hermione sat up straighter, her fingers twitching. "I'd try to get the family out first. Get them somewhere safe."
Moody let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Of course you would. That's what a decent person would do. And if we'd had time, maybe we would've. But we didn't. It was a matter of minutes before they caught on that we were coming."
He turned his head slightly. "Anyone else?"
The room was silent. Then, Blaise Zabini raised a hand lazily. "I mean… you let them die, don't you?"
A few heads snapped toward him, and Pansy Parkinson smacked his arm. "Zabini, Merlin,"
But Moody grinned. "Smart answer. Cold. But smart. And wrong."
Zabini's smirk faltered. "What?"
Moody stepped closer. "You think that's the right answer, because it's the logical one, yeah? Sacrifice a few to save more. Good numbers, clean outcome. But that's not the job. The job is to outthink the bastards who set up these choices in the first place. You don't play their game,you break the damn board."
Blaise frowned, clearly trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong.
Moody turned away. "We rigged the house. Confunded the family so they wandered out, all dazed and lost, before the first spell was even fired. The Death Eaters were so busy wondering what the hell was happening, they didn't see us coming. That's how you do it. That's how you win."
He crossed his arms. "The lesson? There's always another way. If someone puts you in a position where both choices are shit, find a third one. If you can't, make one."
The room was dead quiet. Even Malfoy was sitting up, watching Moody carefully.
Then Moody's expression darkened. "But not every choice has a way out."
He shifted his stance, cracking his neck. "Now let's talk about a different kind of decision. One that's not about being clever. One that's just plain ugly."
He exhaled through his nose. "I had a partner once. Good Auror. Smart. Quick. We spent six months undercover trying to get into a Dark wizard ring, the kind that wasn't just running their mouths but doing things. Curses so dark they'd turn your stomach. We got in. Spent months earning their trust. I watched him sit across from monsters, laugh at their jokes, drink with them. And then one night… they found him out."
Moody let those words settle before continuing. "I was right there. Could've stepped in, blown my own cover, started a fight. Maybe we would've gotten out. Maybe we would've both died. But I didn't." His normal eye bored into the class. "I watched them take him."
A slow, sickening realization spread through the room.
Daphne Greengrass was the one to speak. "You just let them?"
"Yeah."
Zabini, still frowning from before, leaned forward. "But you.."
"I know what I did," Moody cut him off. "And I know what came of it. Because of the intel I got after, we took out the entire ring. Twenty-six Dark wizards, all in one night. But that only happened because my partner stayed quiet when they took him. Because he knew the job."
Silence.
Then, Ron spoke, his voice tight. "So what, you're saying we should just let people die? Just… sit back and watch?"
Moody turned his head toward Ron, and for the first time that day, there was something almost amused in his expression. "Oh, Weasley. You're one of those, aren't you?"
Ron blinked. "What?"
"In the Auror department," Moody said, "we got a name for people like you. Morons."
A stunned beat of silence. Then, laughter,sharp, awkward, disbelieving.
Ron's ears went red. "Oi,"
Moody grinned, but it wasn't a friendly one. "The idealists. The ones who think they're gonna save everyone. Who act with their hearts instead of their heads. They beat that out of you quick in training. And if you're really unlucky? You don't learn until it gets you killed."
Ron scowled. "That's stupid. You can't just.."
Moody's expression hardened. "You ever seen someone die, Weasley?"
The room froze.
Ron's jaw clenched. "No."
"Then shut up."
Ron went rigid, his hands curling into fists, but Moody was already moving on.
"I'm not saying don't fight for people. I'm saying know the job. The job means sacrifice. It means trusting the people next to you to do theirs, even if that means dying for it. Every Auror is trained. Every Auror knows the risks. The second you think your feelings matter more than the mission, you don't just kill yourself, you kill the people depending on you. You wreck years of work. You get civilians killed because you couldn't handle the idea of losing one person."
Moody exhaled, running a hand down his face. "This isn't about being heartless. It's about being practical. You do what needs to be done so other people, the ones who don't even know you exist, get to live their lives in peace. If you're not ready to make that choice, then don't become an Auror."
Nobody spoke.
Moody let out a breath, then gave Ron a short nod. "Alright, Weasley. That was rough. But better you hear it now than when it's too late."
Ron didn't answer, just stared at his desk, his ears still red.
Moody checked his watch, then straightened. "That's an hour. You lot have fifteen minutes. Get some air, clear your heads,next half's gonna be more practical."
The corridor outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was packed with students, all of them talking in low, uneasy voices. Some had already broken off into small groups, whispering about Moody's lesson, while others just stood there, like they were still trying to process what they'd heard. Harry barely heard any of it. His mind was still stuck in that classroom.
It was brutal. No way around that. But part of him,maybe a bigger part than he wanted to admit, felt like Moody was right. Not nice, not fair, but right. He wondered what Dumbledore would say about it. Probably something wise and kind and completely at odds with what Moody had drilled into them for the last hour.
Ron walked beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets, quiet for once. They got halfway down the corridor before he finally spoke.
"What do you think?"
Harry blinked. "About what?"
Ron gave him a flat look. "Moody. The stuff he said."
Harry let out a breath, shaking his head. "I don't know." And he didn't. "In a perfect world, none of that would matter. We wouldn't have to make choices like that." He hesitated. "But it's not a perfect world, is it?"
Ron didn't answer, just waited.
Harry shrugged. "I don't know what the right answer is. And I'm not sure I want to."
That made Ron stop walking. Harry went a few more steps before realizing and turned back. Ron was watching him, serious now.
"You should know," Ron said. "You were attacked. You survived. What did you feel back then?"
Harry hesitated.
Ron kept going. "We didn't ask after the Cup. Didn't want to push you. But now…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Now it might actually be useful."
Harry's stomach twisted. His mind yanked him straight back to the forest. The crunch of branches, the firelight behind him, the snap of a spell hitting bark inches from his head. Selwyn's wand moving too fast.
But the weird thing? He hadn't really felt anything. No time for fear, no time for weighing options. Just instincts, adrenaline, his body moving before his brain even caught up.
"I didn't think," Harry said finally. "I didn't have time to. It wasn't some big choice. It was just," He tried to find the right words. "Reacting. Moving. It wasn't like a duel or a lesson. It was…"
"Survival," Ron finished.
Harry nodded.
Ron exhaled slowly, staring past Harry at nothing. "Yeah," he muttered. "I guess that's the difference, isn't it?"
Harry wasn't sure what he meant, and Ron didn't explain.
Then the door creaked open, and Moody's voice cut through the chatter.
"Break's over. Get back in here."
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance.
Then, without a word, they headed inside.
The door slammed shut the second the last student stepped inside.
The classroom looked different. Bigger than before. The tables had been shoved against the walls, leaving nothing but open space. Moody stood in the middle, his wand already out, watching them with that eerie, spinning eye.
Nobody spoke. Everyone had a bad feeling about this.
"Wands out," Moody said. "Form a circle. Move."
There was a pause, just half a second of hesitation.
CRACK!
A spell whipped through the air and smacked Seamus right in the shoulder.
"OW! Bloody.." Seamus yelped, stumbling back, rubbing his arm.
Moody's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a grin. "Too slow, Finnigan."
The class scrambled into place after that. Wands out. Circle formed.
Moody took his time looking them over, that magical eye spinning wildly before settling on each of them, one by one. Harry gripped his wand tighter.
"This isn't a duel," Moody said, voice rough. "No rules, no turns, no nonsense. You don't wait to be attacked. You react. And right now? Most of you don't have a damn clue how to do that."
The tension in the room thickened.
Moody lifted his wand.
"I'm gonna cast," he said. "You're gonna move."
No one had time to think before,
CRACK!
A stinging hex shot toward Neville. He barely flinched before it hit him in the arm. He yelped, grabbing at his sleeve.
CRACK!
Pansy Parkinson screamed as she caught one in the ribs.
The room erupted into motion.
Moody didn't stop. He fired again, and again, his wand moving faster than they could track. The class was panicking, ducking wildly, tripping over their own feet. Someone crashed into Dean. Crabbe and Goyle backed into the wall. Daphne Greengrass actually ran for cover, diving behind a desk.
It was chaos.
Harry twisted away just in time to dodge a hex aimed at his leg. His heart was hammering. Moody wasn't giving them a chance to think. The second he stopped moving, another spell would hit him, so he kept moving.
Ron wasn't so lucky.
CRACK!
"OW!" Ron clutched his arm, wincing. "WHAT THE HELL?!"
Moody snorted. "You planning to ask a Death Eater to stop next time?"
Ron muttered something that sounded like maybe.
Moody fired again.
Ron dodged.
Barely.
Moody nodded approvingly.
"Better."
Harry had had just about enough of this. The constant hexes, the way Moody kept grinning like this was funny. He wasn't even teaching them anything, he was just picking them off, waiting to see who would crack first.
And then Moody's wand swung toward him.
Harry didn't think. He moved.
He twisted out of the way, the hex whipping past his ear, and before his feet had even hit the ground properly, he fired back.
"Expelliarmus!"
Moody blocked it effortlessly. Didn't even flinch. And then, like Harry had just made his whole day, he grinned. Wide. Wild.
"Oh, finally," he growled.
He whipped his wand, twice, fast as a whip crack.
Harry barely dodged, throwing himself onto the floor just as the spells sizzled through the air where he'd been standing. His elbow hit the stone hard, but he didn't stop. He rolled onto his side and fired again.
"Expelliarmus!"
Moody blocked that one too, but this time, he laughed. Loud, rough, and just a little too pleased.
"Good job, Potter!"
And then, without warning, he spun and hurled a hex at Malfoy.
Malfoy yelped, jerking to the side just in time. But he didn't raise his wand. Didn't shoot anything back.
Moody stopped.
The room was silent except for everyone breathing like they'd just run up the Astronomy Tower.
And then Moody barked out another laugh.
"Only Potter?" His magical eye whipped around the circle, taking in every stunned, winded student. "ONLY POTTER USED HIS WAND? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
Nobody answered.
Moody let the silence stretch, watching them all like he was seeing straight through them.
Then, finally, he let out a rough breath and lowered his wand.
"I know you're confused," he said. "I did that on purpose."
He took a slow step forward. The floorboards creaked under his weight, his wooden leg thunking against the stone.
"I wanted to see who'd break first. Who'd stop panicking. Who'd stop playing prey and start fighting back." His mouth twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I knew Potter would. He's been in real fights before. That changes a person. But the rest of you?" His eye spun again. "You think ducking and dodging is gonna keep you alive?"
He let the question sit for a beat.
"You lot are fourteen," he went on. "You don't know what you're doing. And that's normal. But listen to me. If someone throws a spell at you, you throw one back. You defend yourself." He tapped his wand against his other hand. "Because let me tell you something,your enemy isn't gonna stop just because you're scared. He's not gonna wait for you to get yourself together. And he sure as hell isn't gonna be impressed if you duck and do nothing else."
Draco swallowed. Neville shifted uneasily.
Moody gave a sharp nod. "We'll fix that. You're in my class. You'll learn." He flicked his wand toward the door. "That's enough for today. Get outta here."
Nobody moved at first.
Then, slowly, they started peeling away, muttering under their breaths, rubbing their arms where they'd been hit.
I am five chapters (25k words total) ahead on my Patreon. Check it if you are interested.