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Chapter 239: Each Person Is a Unique Star
Chapter 239: Each Person Is a Unique Star
The captured Wizard seemed to sense something and stopped his shouting, staring with wide eyes at Mad-Eye Moody, who was slowly drawing his wand.
"We don't have much time."
Mad-Eye Moody's voice was low, as if he were whispering in the Wizard's ear, yet everyone in the room heard him clearly.
"We don't have any veritaserum on hand. The Ministry has relaxed the restrictions on Unforgivable Curses, but you should know that neither Hogwarts nor the Ministry of Magic has trained anyone in these spells."
The Wizard's bruised face twisted into a mocking smile, but many of the onlookers could see a clear sense of relief in his eyes.
However, at that moment, Mad-Eye Moody slowly drew his wand, his voice low but fiercely determined.
"Yes, we haven't used Unforgivable Curses, unlike you lot. But even if we're not proficient with the Imperius Curse or experienced with the Killing Curse, there's another spell we can try. I happen to be curious about what this spell did to my colleagues."
The Wizard's eyes widened in terror.
The students standing around Sherlock, watching this scene, couldn't help but gasp in shock.
Some had already guessed what was about to happen.
Hermione instinctively turned her head away, not wanting to see what would happen next, but she quickly bit her lip and forced herself to face forward, her eyes fixed on Mad-Eye Moody's wand as it pointed at the Wizard.
Ron's face was deathly pale, his lips trembling, and he seemed to be mouthing something but made no sound.
Harry didn't react as strongly as the others, but he clenched his fists tightly, his eyes wide with tension as he watched Mad-Eye Moody.
Several timid girls, Lavender and Parvati, had huddled together.
At that moment, Sherlock silently moved to stand in front of Neville.
Neville's reaction, on the surface, was not as intense as the others, but only Sherlock, who had been closely observing him, knew that his emotions were more strained than anyone else's. His body was trembling slightly, his face expressionless, and his eyes were hollow.
Sherlock knew something about Neville's family situation. His parents, the Longbottoms, had both been outstanding Aurors in the Ministry of Magic. After Voldemort's downfall, they were captured by Bellatrix and other Death Eaters, who used the Cruciatus Curse to torture them for information about Voldemort's whereabouts. They were eventually driven insane and were still being treated at St. Mungo's.
Compared to the others, Neville's fear of the Unforgivable Curses ran deeper, as it was this spell that had turned him into a boy who might as well be an orphan.
Sherlock gently patted Neville on the shoulder, causing Neville to shudder violently. He turned his head to look at Sherlock, his eyes filled with fear as he met Sherlock's gaze.
Sherlock kept his voice low, standing at the back of the group of students, speaking in a voice that only Neville could hear.
"If you're truly afraid, Neville, you can close your eyes."
Neville heard what he said, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he only managed to whisper softly.
"Professor."
"There's nothing to apologize for", Sherlock said, though he could guess what Neville wanted to express. "I've never thought of you as an inadequate student. Remember in second year, in the Gryffindor Common Room, when you pulled out that sword? Do you know what it was?"
Neville shook his head, his shoulders hunched.
"It was a relic of one of Hogwarts' four founders—Godric Gryffindor. Legend has it that only someone who truly possesses the qualities Gryffindor values can draw it out. You, Neville, have those qualities."
Neville seemed frozen, staring blankly as Sherlock spoke to him.
"Everyone is unique, just like the stars in the sky. You are no less than anyone else, and you have just as much courage as any Gryffindor. So don't blame yourself for your fears and insecurities."
Sherlock gave his shoulder a gentle pat before walking back to the front of the students.
Neville stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's retreating back. Soon, his gaze became resolute, and he clenched his fists tighter than ever before, whispering to himself.
"Thank you, Professor Forrest."
He didn't close his eyes or cover his ears, pretending he hadn't seen or heard anything.
Instead, he fixed his gaze on Mad-Eye Moody, who was now brandishing his wand and uttering the Unforgivable Curse.
"Cruciatus Curse, wrenching bone!"
No spell light flashed, but the male wizard targeted by the tip of Mad-Eye Moody's wand curled up like a boiled shrimp, his screams echoing like the cries from the depths of hell.
"Ah!!!"
The wizard thrashed on the ground like a live fish thrown into boiling water. Veins bulged from his forehead, neck, and arms like writhing worms, and snot, tears, and saliva streamed down his face.
Sherlock watched the scene with a cold, unfeeling gaze, while most of the students around him couldn't bear to look.
Many Hufflepuff young wizards hugged their heads, burying their faces in their knees to avoid the sight and sound of the horrific scene.
Sherlock didn't scold these students or force them to look up.
For fifteen-year-olds, such a scene was indeed too cruel and bloodthirsty.
But after careful consideration by Dumbledore and himself, they knew it was necessary for the students to understand.
Even if Voldemort's second rise never happened, these students, who were always protected within the castle and believed that the current peace in the wizarding world was a given, needed to know the truth.
They needed to understand the cost of this peace.
"Where are they! Speak! Williamson! Vicki! And Gavrin! Where did you take them!"
Mad-Eye Moody's roar was like that of an enraged lion. At that moment, the surroundings—the dilapidated, dark room and the broken furniture—shattered into pieces.
These fragments transformed into wisps of silver light, swirling around the students in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom before vanishing into the air.
(End of Chapter)
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