Alastor Moody and The Goblet of Fire

Alastor Moody, ex-Auror. I am here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story. Goodbye.

Yes, that's all we knew about our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. That, and the fact that he looked like he had survived multiple assassination attempts in his lifetime. The man was built like a troll, had a wooden leg that clunked with every step, and the most horrifying magical eye that spun wildly in all directions. It was enough to make anyone flinch.

Kenny and I sat slack-jawed, like a pair of bewildered fish, as Moody stomped into the classroom.

"Get up," he barked, and not one soul dared to hesitate.

This was the most silent I had ever seen a Slytherin class. Even Draco, who usually had something extremely unnecessary to say about every professor, kept his mouth shut for once.

Moody didn't bother with introductions. Instead, he reached under his desk, yanked out a jar of spiders, and slammed it down in front of us.

"Three curses," he muttered, pulling out a particularly ugly one. "Three Unforgivable Curses. Pay attention."

I exchanged a glance with Kenny. We were both thinking the same thing—what in Merlin's name is wrong with this school?

Moody flicked his wand, and suddenly—

"IMPERIO!"

The spider shot up into the air, did a backflip, and started Irish dancing.

I kid you not.

A ripple of horrified laughter spread across the class. Draco looked like he had been physically assaulted by the sight of a breakdancing spider. Even Ron Weasley—who had been hiding behind his chair since Moody pulled out the jar—had his face buried in his hands.

I nudged Kenny. "That thing moves better than you."

"Shut up," she snorted, trying not to laugh.

But the amusement was short-lived. Moody made the spider stop dancing, then sent it hurling into a desk. It twitched and jerked violently, like it was fighting against its own body.

"That's the Imperius Curse." His voice was grim. "It can control your every move. It can make you kill, steal, jump off a building, and you wouldn't even know it."

The room wasn't laughing anymore.

Then came the Cruciatus Curse.

Moody barely flicked his wand, and the spider convulsed in sheer agony. It let out a screeching sound—high-pitched, inhuman—its tiny legs writhing like it was being electrocuted from the inside.

Neville flinched so hard, his chair scraped against the stone floor.

Hermione shot up from her seat. "Stop it!" she shouted, her voice trembling.

Moody lowered his wand. The spider stilled immediately, but the damage was done. Neville was staring at his desk, his hands clenched.

Kenny and I exchanged a look. Even Draco looked uncomfortable.

Moody studied Hermione for a long moment before speaking. "Pain," he said simply. "A curse that exists for no reason but to torture."

Then, he turned his gaze back to us. "The last one—well, you all know it."

Silence.

Moody's magical eye locked onto Hermione. "Granger?" he prompted.

She didn't answer.

For the first time ever, Hermione Granger didn't have an answer.

Moody didn't push her. Instead, he pointed his wand at the spider again and whispered, "Avada Kedavra."

There was a flash of green light.

The spider dropped.

Dead.

No struggle. No sound. Just gone.

The classroom was so quiet, I could hear my own heartbeat.

"That," Moody said, his voice low, dark, final, "is why they are Unforgivable."

..................................................................................

The entire week had been spent questioning Moody's questionable study methods—between dramatic reenactments of the Cruciatus Curse spider and impersonations of Moody's gravelly voice ("CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" bellowed randomly in hallways), we had collectively agreed that this man was completely insane.

But now, we had another reason to fuss.

The Goblet of Fire.

It stood, ominous and intimidating, in the center of the Great Hall. Blue flames crackled within, swallowing every name that was tossed in. The excitement in the air was palpable, and naturally, we had to secure prime seating to watch the chaos unfold.

Our entire Slytherin gang was perched on one of the benches, arranged in a perfectly dramatic formation—Draco, Blaise, Kenny, Pansy, Theo, me, and a few others.

"Alright," Blaise leaned forward, smirking. "Place your bets. Which idiot gets roasted by the Age Line first?"

"Weasley," Draco and I said in unison.

"Which one?" Kenny raised an eyebrow.

"Take your pick," I shrugged.

Draco, however, had other priorities. His chin rested on his hand, watching as Durmstrang students threw their names in, his eyes narrowing slightly every time Viktor Krum was mentioned.

"What do you think, Dracykins?" Pansy cooed, latching onto his arm.

Draco visibly flinched. "Pans, if you touch me again, I'll tell people you knit elf socks in your free time."

She gasped. "I do not—"

"Oh, so you admit you have free time? Because I'd like to know why you've been following me around like a lost puppy since first year."

Theo snorted into his drink.

"Draco, be nice," Pansy huffed, but she finally let go of his arm.

"He's never nice," I muttered.

"To be fair, I did once give you my last chocolate frog," Draco said, grinning smugly. "That's basically a love confession in Slytherin terms."

"Oh please," I rolled my eyes. "You only gave it to me because you thought it had a limited edition Morgana card in it."

Draco did not deny this.

Blaise, meanwhile, was watching the scene with great amusement.

"Merlin, I love our dynamic," he mused. "Selene insults Draco, Draco pretends not to care, and Pansy is convinced this is some star-crossed romance while the rest of us sit back and watch."

"Excuse me," Kenny cut in. "I do not sit back. I actively contribute to the roasting."

"It's true," I nodded. "Kenny's the backbone of our Draco-bullying committee."

"I hate all of you," Draco announced.

At that moment, the Great Hall doors swung open, and in walked Cedric Diggory.

Now, I won't lie. He was handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, that effortlessly charming smile—he was like the leading man in a terribly written romance novel.

And, I swear, he looked at me.

Not in the Malfoy way—where he assumed every person who so much as glanced in his direction was madly in love with him—but an actual, genuine look.

I could feel Draco stiffening beside me.

"Oh, would you look at that," Blaise said, voice dripping with amusement.

"Selene's got a new admirer," Kenny added, delighted.

"Hardly," I snorted.

Draco, however, was not pleased.

"Diggory?" he scoffed, as though the very name was offensive.

"What's wrong, Malfoy?" I teased. "Afraid you won't be the prettiest one in the room anymore?"

"Shut up."

But the tension wasn't lost on Blaise, Theo, or Kenny, who were now all smirking.

"Is someone jealous?" Blaise sang.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco scoffed. "Why would I be jealous of Diggory? Just because he has 'chiseled features' and 'a smile that could make angels weep'—"

"You read Witch Weekly again, didn't you?" I deadpanned.

Draco ignored me.

"Oh, this is rich," Theo grinned. "Reminds me of last year when you went all broody because Selene didn't want a relationship."

Pansy clasped her hands to her chest dramatically. "Oh yes, we remember that, don't we, Draco? You were a wreck."

"I was not—"

"Sulking in the Astronomy Tower doesn't count as 'not a wreck,'" Kenny pointed out.

"That was one time!" Draco hissed.

"Oh really?" I smirked. "Because I remember you avoiding me for weeks."

"It was—" Draco paused, realizing there was no escape.

Everyone was watching him. Amused. Waiting.

I crossed my arms. "Come on, Malfoy. Admit it. You were sulking."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

"Fine," he muttered. "Maybe. A little."

Theo let out a mock gasp. "Is that genuine emotion from Draco Malfoy? Quick, someone write this down."

"Oh shut it," Draco grumbled.

Pansy, however, wasn't done yet.

"So... does that mean you're upset about Selene and Diggory?" she asked too innocently.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I could not care less about Diggory."

Which, in Draco-speak, meant: I care very much and I am absolutely going to sulk about this later.

The conversation only spiraled from there, mostly at Draco's expense.

And by the time we finally saw Fred and George Weasley attempt to cheat the Age Line and get launched across the room, we were all crying with laughter—except Draco, who still looked mildly offended that Cedric Diggory existed.

"Did you—Did you see their faces?" Kenny wheezed, clutching her stomach as she nearly collapsed against me.

"Merlin's beard, I think George actually bounced," Blaise added, wiping at his teary eyes.

"Best part was their hair!" Pansy gasped between laughs, pointing wildly. "Look at them—it's white! Like an old man's!"*

Indeed, Fred and George Weasley now sported identical heads of silvery-white hair, making them look like grumpy, prematurely aged wizards.

"Oi!" Fred called, staggering to his feet. "It was worth a shot!"

"Yeah, yeah," George groaned, rubbing his back. "Laugh it up, Malfoy, I saw you flinch."

"Flinch? Please," Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. "I was just bracing myself for how moronic that plan was."

"Oh, come off it, you were this close to squeaking," I teased, holding up two fingers to indicate a very small gap.

"Malfoy's never squeaked in his life," Blaise said mock-seriously.

"I bet he does in his sleep," Kenny quipped.

"I do not," Draco snapped, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Mhm. Sure, Malfoy," I grinned.

Meanwhile, Fred and George were still shaking off their misfortune, and our group had fully descended into hysterics. But Draco? He sat there arms crossed, lips pursed, and completely ignoring the spectacle in favor of shooting death glares at the Hufflepuff table.

Specifically, at one Hufflepuff.

"You do know glaring at Diggory won't make him drop dead, right?" Theo remarked, nudging Draco in the ribs.

"I wasn't glaring," Draco snapped.

"Right," Blaise smirked. "You were just admiring him with extreme loathing?"

"I wasn't looking at him at all," Draco insisted.

"So if I ask you what he's wearing, you won't know?" I challenged.

Draco opened his mouth. Hesitated. Then scowled.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered.

"No, you're ridiculous," I said, resting my chin on my palm. "Tell me, Malfoy, do you glare at all the boys who glance my way, or is Diggory just special?"

Draco pointedly ignored me.

Which, frankly, only made the entire situation so much funnier.

Then he entered. Viktor Krum.

Now, I had no idea what kind of superiority complex he was carrying, but apparently, it was powerful enough to make the entire Great Hall collectively forget how to function.

People literally stopped mid-chew, goblets hovered halfway to lips, a second-year tripped over air, and I'm fairly certain Pansy Parkinson made an audible sighing noise that sounded suspiciously like "oh my Merlin."

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw the back of my skull.

"Honestly, what's the big deal?" I muttered, poking at my food. "He's just another guy with a nose and two eyes. He's not the second coming of Merlin."

"Technically," Blaise mused, "if Merlin did come back, he probably wouldn't get this much attention."

"Exactly my point."

"He is a Quidditch legend," Kenny pointed out. "I mean, the guy is the Seeker for Bulgaria—"

"Yeah, and? It's just catching a ball. Big deal," I huffed. "I could do that if I really wanted to."

Draco snorted. "Right. And I could join the ballet if I really wanted to."

"Oh, please," I smirked. "You'd be the most dramatic ballerina to ever exist. Ten galleons says you'd fake a tragic fall just for attention."

"I do not need to fake anything," Draco declared with great dignity. "If I fall, it's genuine."

I rolled my eyes, tuning out the hushed whispers and dreamy sighs that continued to ripple across the hall as Krum made his way to the Durmstrang table.

But just as I was about to fully return my attention to my plate, I noticed something.

Something subtle.

Something barely noticeable—unless you were already looking.

Krum had glanced at Hermione.

It was quick. Brief. But there.

Huh.

My eyes flicked toward Hermione, who, for once in her know-it-all life, seemed completely oblivious. She was reading, as always, completely unfazed by the blatant worship happening across the Great Hall.

I nudged Kenny. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Krum just looked at Granger."

"Yeah, well, a lot of people look at Granger—"

"No, no, no, not like that. He looked at her. With the subtlety of a poorly Disillusioned Hippogriff."

Kenny blinked. Then turned toward Hermione. Then back to Krum.

"No bloody way," she whispered, eyes widening. "You think he likes her?"

I smirked, leaning back in my seat.

"Oh, I know he does."