❝YOU CAN HANDLE A BIT OF DARK MAGIC...❞

.・。.・゜✭・.

The storm has passed through by morning, but the school is still rumbling: Everywhere Ara looks, students are chattering about the news of the night before. Suddenly, everyone seems to be an expert on the Triwizard Tournament, and Ara suspects that all copies of Hogwarts: A History will have been checked out of the library by afternoon.

Professor McGonagall passes out class schedules during breakfast, and Ara checks hers against Fred and George's, a little disappointedly. This year is going to be strange; ever since first year, they've been in all the same classes, but since the twins only got three O.W.L.s apiece, Ara will be spending an awful lot of class time alone.

But she's mollified a little when Angelina and Lee join them, showing her their own schedules, so she can see that she'll be sharing Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures with them.

Angelina's still slightly put-out about the Quidditch Cup being canceled. "I mean, there's really no way they could've done them at the same time?" she asks dejectedly, pushing porridge around her bowl with a sigh.

"Surely you lot can go one year without Quidditch," Ara says, reaching across George for the plate of bacon. "It's not like there won't be any entertainment."

"Yeah, but...no Quidditch!" Lee shakes his head sadly. "All I'm saying is that this better be a bloody good tournament. Speaking of, boys, we've got to nail down our options. So far an Aging Potion looks like the best route, but I've been doing some research–"

"You three are still on about that?" Ara pauses, fork halfway to her mouth. Once Fred, George, and Lee got over their shock at Quidditch being canceled, they immediately began to scheme ways to get in. Dumbledore's plan is to put an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire, into which names will be put, in order to enforce the seventeen-year age limit, and Fred, George, and Lee are bent on fooling it.

"A thousand Galleons in prize money, A," George replies imploringly. "We could get started on our joke shop early with that kind of money!"

"I know I'm going to enter," Angelina says, pushing her braids back from her face. "I'll be seventeen before then, and I wouldn't mind a little adventure this year."

"Dumbledore's not an idiot," Ara says, turning to face the twins. "And his Age Line won't be, either. Do you really think you can fool it?"

"Come on, love, don't be a killjoy." Fred grins at her, pushing his plate back from the table. "Who cares if we do or don't? It's about the thrill."

Ara hates to admit it, hates that it's real, but the look in his eyes when he talks about thrill and excitement stirs something deep in her abdomen. She masks it by dropping her fork beneath the table and reaching down to pick it up, forcing herself to breathe deeply.

When she emerges from beneath the table, George, Angelina, and Lee are already heading out of the Great Hall to Transfiguration. Fred glances up at her, smiling. "See you at break, love."

Ara smiles back, patting his shoulder gently. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone." And with that, she hurries off to catch up with the others. Really, Fred could have passed his Transfiguration O.W.L., since he was one of the best in their year, but he and George both insist that neither of them could have stood more than three O.W.L.s. So Fred purposefully failed Transfiguration, and George Herbology, and they both have Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms. All essential to starting a joke shop, Ara supposes.

Who really knows what goes on in their minds?

Ara's been asking that question since first year, and she still hasn't figured it out.

Professor McGonagall begins their lesson with a light review of last year–Vanishing, Switching, and reversal of both–and sets them to work on Conjuring. Lee is the first to successfully blow bubbles out of the end of his wand, and Professor McGonagall congratulates him proudly–and then immediately assigns a two-foot essay on the relationship between Inanimatus Conjurus and the traditional Conjuring spells, which leaves both George and Lee groaning all the way out the door.

Ara's next class is Ancient Runes, which she adores, and Professor Babbling is especially dear to her heart. As the kind old woman totters around, murmuring instructions to the half-dozen students in her classroom, each bent over their own translations, the tiny blue parakeet on her desk chirps excitedly, occasionally commenting things like, "My, my!" or "Merlin's beard!"

Professor Babbling, too, assigns a two-foot essay, but written fully in runes, and most of the class is grumbling about the excess homework for the first day. Ara is the last to leave the room, having stayed to give the parakeet–oddly named Sausage–and when she steps out into the hall, a familiar redheaded boy pushes himself off the wall, grinning lazily. "Might I have the honor of walking you to the courtyard, milady?"

Ara shakes her head, smiling. "Silly boy." But she loops her arm through his anyway.

"How was class?" Fred asks, leading her down the stairs and toward the entrance hall.

"It was nice. I've missed this place. But there's loads of homework already." Ara takes a deep breath in, willing herself not to dwell on the homework piling up for tonight. "It's a lot for the first day."

"Makes me bloody glad I've only got three classes, that does," says Fred, shaking his head in relief. "What've you got after break?"

"Erm..." Ara pulls her schedule out of her pocket, glancing at Monday's column and sighing. "Ugh, Double Potions."

Fred wrinkles his nose. "With greasy old Snape? I pity you."

"Angelina got an O.W.L. in Potions, didn't she?"

"Yeah, I think so." Fred nods.

"Well, at least I won't be alone," Ara replies. She doesn't mind Potions as a subject; in fact, she rather enjoys it–if it weren't for Professor Snape's vindictive nature. Sometimes it feels as though he hates her, simply because she's a Gryffindor. Or maybe because she's a girl. Or because she's friends with the Weasleys. Who knows? It could be all of those things.

"Still don't know how you could stand to pass that class." Fred pulls Ara down a secret side passage, behind a tapestry, his and George's favorite shortcut down to the entrance hall. "I couldn't take two more years of that git."

"Because I need N.E.W.T.-level Potions to become a Magizoologist," Ara says, shaking her head. She must've told him this a half-dozen times already. "Otherwise I would've failed on purpose, like I did with Binns. I hate Snape as much as you do, believe me."

They come out into the entrance hall, where George and Lee are standing, chatting in a secluded corner. Shockingly, they're talking about the Triwizard Tournament and rumors that Cedric Diggory's considering entering.

"Honestly, if that prat puts his name in," George is saying as Fred and Ara join them, "I'm obliged to put mine in, too. He can't be the Hogwarts champion."

"Why not?" Ara raises her eyebrows at him. "I mean, he goes to Hogwarts."

"He's too...pretty," Lee replies, screwing up his face in an expression of disgust. "Too perfect. Hogwarts needs a real champion, someone who's brave and stands for what Hogwarts really is."

"What, like you three?" Ara laughs. "I didn't know Hogwarts stood for breaking rules and terrorizing Filch."

"We're brave!" Fred says defensively, puffing out his chest. "Brave and–"

"You're adrenaline junkies, that's what," Ara replies, shaking her head and grinning. "Nothing's fun if it isn't life-threatening, yeah?"

"Damn right." George yanks her into a tight hug against his chest, ruffling her curls playfully. "Excited for Moody later?"

"I suppose so." Ara wriggles away from George, shrugging. "I wonder what kind of teacher he is."

"'S long as he's better than Lockhart, I don't give a damn." Lee shakes his head, chuckling. "Longest year of my life, that was."

"I still miss Lupin," Ara says ruefully. In her opinion, he was the best DADA teacher they'd ever had, and she spent countless hours in his office, mostly preparing for her O.W.L.s, but also just talking. Lupin seemed very lonely, and Ara was content to sit with him, drinking tea after dinner, and listen to him tell stories about the First Wizarding War.

"Ara!" Angelina bounds toward them, braids flying in every direction. "Ready to go?"

"Oh, is it time already?" Ara checks her watch: three minutes until Potions begins. Snape is not the type to excuse tardiness. "Yeah, alright." She waves goodbye to the twins and Lee and hurries down the corridor toward the dungeons with Angelina.

All in all, Potions is not awful. Snape begins with a pop quiz review of their fifth year, choosing students at random to answer questions. Ara is pleased when she answers his question on how many total lionfish spines to add to the Wiggenweld Potion correctly. After the quiz is over, they brew a cauldron of Essence of Insanity. It's a moderately difficult potion, and when brewed incorrectly, can cause permanent insanity.

There are only five students in Snape's N.E.W.T. class, and Ara and Angelina are the only girls, which means they are subject to staring, rude comments, and the occasional kissing sound. Roger Davies and Adrian Pucey are the world's largest gits, in Ara's opinion, and Snape doesn't seem to care. It's only Cedric Diggory, alone on the far wall, who finally sticks up for them.

"Oi, lads, give it a rest," he says quietly, measuring his dragon blood carefully.

"Why, have you got dibs on them, Diggory?" Pucey sneers.

"No one has dibs on me," Angelina hisses, her knuckles white on the handle of her spoon. She almost begins stirring counterclockwise, before Ara hastily corrects her.

"I just think our time could be better spent focused on our work, that's all." Cedric smiles at Ara and Angelina encouragingly. "We're all trying to pass, aren't we?"

"Bloody teacher's pet, you are." Davies rolls his eyes. "Mind your business, Diggory, alright?"

"Excuse me, Professor." Ara raises her hand, forcing Snape to look up from his desk at her.

He raises his eyebrows, mouth turned down exasperatedly. "Yes, Miss Sayer?"

"Would you mind telling Davies and Pucey to keep their mouths shut?" Ara asks sweetly, plastering on a polite smile. "It's awfully hard to concentrate on our assignment when they keep harassing us."

Snape sighs heavily, glancing across the room at the boys' table. "No talking until class is dismissed. That includes you, Pucey."

Unsurprisingly, Ara's potion is perfect by the end of class, and Snape begrudgingly declares her exempt from that night's homework assignment, much to Davies and Pucey's annoyance. They make sure to shoulder-check her hard on the way out the door, and Ara has to hold Angelina back, waiting until they're far enough down the corridor to let her go.

"Ugh, those two." Angelina grits her teeth, eyes nearly flashing red. "I just want to knock them right in the teeth!"

"I know." Ara sighs. "We just have to ignore them, I guess."

"Says the perfect student," Angelina says, shaking her head. "At least Snape doesn't hate you the way he hates me. I think he's trying to fail me on purpose."

They head into the Great Hall for lunch, and Angelina heads further down the table to sit with Alicia and Katie, while Ara drops into a seat between Fred and George, pulling a plate of roast beef toward her. Her stomach's been grumbling unhappily for a while, so loudly she thinks Snape could have heard it echo across the dungeon.

"So, Ara," Lee says, leaning forward across the table, "will you help us with an Aging Potion or not?"

"Why do you need my help?" Ara asks, reaching across George for a plate of sprouts.

"Because you're the best at Potions," George replies, handing her the plate almost absentmindedly. "You've known how to make Aging Potions since third year. Hell, even Snape was impressed during exams."

"And anyway, we didn't pass our O.W.L.s." Fred smirks mischievously, his eyes twinkling.

Ara rolls her eyes. "That's not because you couldn't, idiot. It's because you didn't want to."

"Ouch!" Fred grabs his chest in faux-pain, pretending to fall backward off the bench. "You wound me!"

"When do you want this Aging Potion made?" Ara turns back to Lee, still laughing at Fred's ridiculous antics.

"Well, we've got until October, when the other schools arrive," Lee replies, shrugging. "So then, I guess. No point in having it lie around gathering dust for a month."

Ara looks at Fred and George, both of whom have pleading looks on their faces, and back at Lee, who raises his eyebrows expectantly. Then she sighs reluctantly. "Fine. I'll do it."

They cheer happily, and George grabs her face, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "You're the best, A!"

"I suppose I can't say no to you," Ara says, putting on annoyance, despite the fact she's a little pleased with their reaction.

"Of course you can't!" Fred grins. "We're adorable."

After lunch is over, Angelina joins them in heading out of the Great Hall, up the staircase, and down the corridor toward Moody's classroom. Fred, George, and Lee whisper excitedly about what his classes might be like, and even Ara feels a little nervous. Other than Lupin, their past few DADA professors have been less than satisfactory. Quirrell was alright–until he became a slave for Voldemort, of course–but Lockhart was by far the worst.

They are the first in the classroom, and for the first time in a long while, Fred, George, and Lee choose seats at the front of the room, still chattering animatedly about the prospect of a proper Defense lesson. Slowly, the other students trickle in as 1:40 draws nearer–Alicia drops into the chair behind Ara, followed closely by Cedric Diggory, Roger Davies, and Cassius Warrington, a hulking Slytherin boy who would be handsome if he didn't sneer so much–and Ara bounces her leg up and down anxiously, awaiting Moody's imminent arrival.

And finally, as the minute hand on Ara's watch ticks toward 1:40, the classroom door bangs open and Professor Moody limps in, mechanical blue eye whizzing in its socket, wooden leg thumping eerily on the cold stone floor. In the light of day, his scars are more prominent, thrown into sharp relief by the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window.

"No books," he mutters, and both Ara and Angelina freeze, hands halfway into their bookbags. "Not today, anyway."

Ara slides her textbook back into her bag, heart pounding strangely in her throat. She has never been this nervous for a new teacher before. Fred's nearly quivering in the seat next to her, his eyes wide and excited.

"So," Moody says, shuffling around on his cluttered desk until he finds a register, "you lot passed your Defense O.W.L., did you?"
There's a moment of silence until everyone realizes he's waiting for an answer, and they all mutter a "yes".

"Only nine students." Moody's normal eye glances down the register, while his mechanical one stares pointedly at the back of his head. "Shame. Professor Lupin sent a letter about everything you learned last year. Said he focused on Dark creatures, catching you up to speed after a very disappointing fourth year. Who taught you in fourth year?"

Tentatively, Lee raises his hand and Moody points to him.

"Yes, Mr...?"

"Uh, Lee Jordan, sir."

"Mr. Jordan?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart," Lee replies quietly.

"Oh, that pompous idiot." Moody sighs, adjusting his grip on his walking stick. "No wonder you didn't learn anything. Well, you've got two years until your N.E.W.T.s, and I've got one year to help prepare you to take them. Defense Against the Dark Arts is essential in any magical security job, especially Aurors. You've covered the basic defensive spells, you've covered Dark creatures, and now it's time to learn real Dark spells. Can anyone tell me what Unforgivable curses are?"

Cedric Diggory's hand goes up. Moody points to him.

"What's your name, son?"

"Cedric Diggory," Cedric replies. "Unforgivable Curses are the three Darkest spells known to wizards, and using any of them means a life sentence in Azkaban."

"Very good, Mr. Diggory." Moody nods approvingly. "The Unforgivable Curses are as follows: the Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the Avada Kedavra, also known as the Killing Curse. They are highly illegal to perform on another human being, and usually, I'd just teach you countercurses and theory, but I think, based on Professor Lupin's letter, that you lot are more advanced than most. You can handle a bit of Dark magic."

"Wicked," whispers Fred softly.

Ara's not so sure about this: She wonders whether Dumbledore might have signed off on this. It certainly seems odd to teach Dark magic in a classroom to sixth-years. But as long as they're learning, she won't argue: Anything's better than Lockhart.

"But first I'll tell you a little about my background." Moody stumps around his desk to face them better, leaning against it, his wooden leg in full view now. "I was an Auror for over forty years, and I hunted down many Dark wizards during and after the First Wizarding War. You may have heard of Evan Rosier or Marian Wilkes."

He pauses and waits for a quiet murmur of assent from the class, then continues. "Rosier took this–" He points to the large chunk missing from his nose– "and Wilkes took this." He gestures to his wooden leg. "But I got 'em in the end."

It feels as though the entire class is holding their breath, waiting for Moody to continue talking. Both his eyes scan the room, and Ara shivers as his mechanical blue one stares at her.

Finally, Moody says, "So Dumbledore asked me to come out of retirement for a year to teach you lot, said I had 'valuable experience' to share. If you want to know what it's like to fight for your life against some of You-Know-Who's strongest supporters, to be within an inch of death with a wand in your face, this isn't the right classroom. I'm not here to tell stories. I'm here to teach you how to avoid that and how to win against Dark wizards. So we'll begin with the Imperius Curse. Can anyone tell me what the Imperius Curse is?"

Ara raises her hand slowly, and Moody looks at her, nodding.

"Yes, Miss...?"

"Ara Sayer," Ara replies clearly. "The Imperius Curse places a victim completely under the caster's control, forcing them to do whatever the caster wishes."

"Correct, Miss Sayer," Moody says gruffly. "And can the Imperius Curse be resisted?"

Ara pauses, thinking back to reading Defense Against the Dark Arts over the summer. "Erm... no, sir?"

"False!" Moody thumps his walking stick against the floor resolutely. "It can be resisted, but only by those with great strength of character and willpower. You will not pass this class if, at the end of the year, you cannot resist the Imperius Curse. Got that?"

When no one responds, Moody thumps his walking stick louder. "Got that?"

"Yes," Ara says, in unison with the others. "Um, sir–?"

"Yes, Miss Sayer." Moody raises his eyebrows at her.

"You don't seriously mean you'll be casting the Imperius Curse on us, do you?" Ara hesitates, before continuing. "That's illegal!"

"To shelter you from the worst things of the world would be to give you a rose-colored view of it," Moody replies, almost gently. "I'm not here to encourage you to perform Dark magic, Miss Sayer, not at all. But you can't spend your whole lives not knowing the true nature of Dark spells. Too many young people were not adequately prepared for the war twenty years ago, and too many lives were lost because they weren't taught how to defend themselves. They weren't taught CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

This last bit, he roars loudly and unexpectedly, and nearly everyone jumps in their seats.

"So." Moody stumps over to the chalkboard and scrawls across it: Imperius Curse: Magical Properties. "This'll be the first and only time you'll read about the Imperius Curse in my classroom. Take out your books and turn them to page one-hundred-and-five. Pay attention; you'll want to take notes."

They spend the rest of the hour taking turns reading from Defense Against the Dark Arts and taking notes, while Moody adds his own commentary to the text, and by the time the bell rings to end class, Ara's head is swimming with Moody's anecdotes and Galatea Merrythought's formulas.

"No homework today," Moody calls, as they file out the door. "But come back Thursday prepared to review this material!"

"Bloody hell," Lee breathes, the minute they're all out the door. "That was really something!"

"Finally, a Defense teacher who knows his stuff!" George says excitedly, nearly skipping down the corridor.

"What's wrong, love?" Fred's looking at Ara concernedly; she must have a frown on her face.

"Nothing, it's just..." Ara pauses thoughtfully. "Don't you think it's odd he wants to cast Unforgivable Curses on us? I mean, he could demonstrate with something else, couldn't he, and we'd understand it just as well?"

"He said he wants us to resist it," Lee counters. "I think he just wants us to know what it feels like, you know?"

"Hmm." Ara listens to the boys chatter animatedly about their favorite stories he told, but she's not fully convinced: Something feels strange about this. Perhaps she is wrong, and Moody just prefers a hands-on approach to Defense. But something in her gut tells her that isn't the case.

Double Charms is spent reviewing material from fifth-year, and Professor Flitwick allows them to talk amongst themselves, which allows Ara to focus and Fred, George, and Lee to continue their waxing poetic about Professor Moody.

Dinner cannot come soon enough; Ara is hungry and very much would like to get started on her homework, which Flitwick just added to with his foot-and-a-half essay on Disillusionment.

She follows Fred, George, and Lee down the stairs, into the courtyard, and through the large doors into the entrance hall, where the rest of the school is already queuing for dinner. But just as Ara is about to ask the boys to shut up about Moody, Fred pauses and turns to look behind him. "What the hell–?"

Ara, George, and Lee follow his gaze: Near the back of the line is Draco Malfoy, flanked by his usual cronies Crabbe and Goyle, holding what looks like a newspaper in his hands and reading from it.

"'Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen,'" Malfoy reads, sneering, "'but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.' And there's a picture, Weasley!"

Ara looks to her left and sees Harry, Ron, and Hermione all glaring at Malfoy. Both Hermione and Harry have hands stretched out, ready to grab Ron in case he leaps at Malfoy, which is surely inevitable.

"A picture of your parents outside their house–if you can call it a house!" Malfoy smirks evilly as he flips the paper over, giving everyone in the hall a clear view of the photograph in question. "Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

"That little–" Fred growls, and Ara grabs his arm, pulling him back.

"Stop, Freddie. Stop it. Don't lose your head."

Lee's got ahold of George, who's snarling at Malfoy, eyes narrowed, and he locks eyes with Ara, his expression one of worry. She mouths, "Don't let go," at him, and he nods.

"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" Malfoy's directed his attention to Harry now. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"

"Let go." Fred strains against Ara's hand. "Let me at him."

"No." Ara tightens her grip on his arm. "I won't let you beat up a fourth-year."

"You know your mother, Malfoy?" Harry says, and he's got a fistful of Ron's robes now. "That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

The entire hall bursts into laughter at Harry's quip, and Malfoy flushes angrily. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter," he hisses.

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," Harry says calmly, clearly satisfied, and turns away, pulling Ron with him.

Ara feels comfortable loosening her grip on Fred, turning to face the doors again.

"Next time, let me at him," Fred says, his hands still shaking with anger. "I don't care if I get detention."

Before Ara can respond, there's a loud BANG, accompanied by screams. She whips back around to see Malfoy, pointing his wand directly at Harry's back, an evil scowl twisting his face.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!" There's another BANG and Malfoy disappears. Every head whips toward the stairs, where Professor Moody is standing, his wand pointing at the place where Malfoy was. A hush falls over the crowd, and this time, it's Fred who grabs Ara's arm tightly.

"Did he get you?" Moody asks Harry, whose hand is deep into his pocket, obviously reaching for his own wand.

"No." Harry shakes his head. "Missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouts, and Harry jumps.

"Leave what?"

"Not you–him!" Moody jerks his thumb behind him, at Crabbe, who freezes, his hand inches from something on the ground. Ara cranes her neck, attempting to see what it is, and finally, Katie Bell moves and she can see a small white ferret, quivering in fear. Could that be–?

Moody turns around, away from Harry, and the ferret squeaks and tears off toward the dungeons. But Moody is too quick. "I don't think so!" He points his wand at the ferret and it flies up into the air, slams into the floor, up again, and then down.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," Moody says gruffly, bouncing the ferret higher and higher each time. Ara covers her mouth, unsure whether to laugh or scream. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do... Never...do...that...again..."

"Professor Moody!" Professor McGonagall hurries down the staircase behind Moody, her arms full of books, her eyebrows raised.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall." Moody is unfazed, both eyes still on the bouncing and squealing ferret.

"What–what are you doing?" Professor McGonagall pauses, her eyes now moving to the ferret.

"Teaching," Moody replies calmly.

"Teach–Moody, is that a student?"

"Yep."

"Let's get out of here." Ara shepherds Fred, George, and Lee into the Great Hall, just as Professor McGonagall explodes into shrill anger, her shouts echoing throughout the entrance hall. "I'm starving."

Although Fred and George are still angry at Malfoy, food seems to calm them a little, and finally, they have something to talk about other than Moody. Well, sort of. Fred wonders aloud whether Moody might turn Snape into a cockroach if he gave out unwarranted detentions.

Ara heads up to the common room early, hoping to get a headstart on homework, but despite her best intentions, she only gets halfway through McGonagall's essay before her eyes begin to droop. The fire is so warm and the armchair she's sitting in is so comfortable...

"Ara... Wake up, love..."

Ara jerks awake, nearly falling out of the chair. "Hm?"

"You fell asleep," chuckles Fred. "Nearly spilled ink on yourself."

"Oh, shit." Ara brushes hair out of her face, sighing. "I've got to finish this essay..."

"It can wait." Fred pulls her out of the chair, his hands warm around hers. "Anyway, you won't get anything done falling asleep like this. Come on, just go to bed. Finish it tomorrow."

Ara's too tired to argue, so she just nods, swaying slowly on the spot. "Mm, thanks, Freddie."

"Any time, love," Fred says quietly, and he presses a kiss to her forehead before pushing her toward the girls' dormitories. Ara is very sleepy, but not sleepy enough to ignore the butterflies that erupt at his touch. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

whOA this chapter was long. good grief. there's so much going on in this book that i forgot about tbh.