Chapter 548: Defense Against the Dark Arts Class
Tuesday morning brought Defense Against the Dark Arts. Wade arrived precisely on time, stepping into the corridor just in time to see Slytherin and Ravenclaw students packed tightly together, chatting in hushed tones. The classroom door remained firmly shut.
"Is the door locked?" Wade asked, approaching. "Or has the class location changed?"
"No." Padma, who had been talking to Lisha, turned around, her expression strained. "Because... you know... the professor teaching us now is that Moody."
Compared to the gentle and approachable Professor Troke, the new professor’s presence was a shock. Padma found it hard to adjust.
But Wade didn’t pick up on their unease. He’d seen Moody often during holiday returns. After a while, the man’s scarred face no longer seemed so intimidating.
"Yeah," Wade said casually, "I’ve been expecting to learn a few tricks from him."
Pushing through the crowd, Wade reached out and opened the oak door.
Screeech—
Moody stood at the front, seated on a tall stool, leaning heavily on his wooden cane. His white, flecked hair was messy, and his face—ravaged by scars—wore no expression. His one normal black eye fixed on the entrance, as if scanning for a deadly threat. The other, a massive blue eye, spun wildly in its socket, darting in every direction—suddenly vanishing into his skull, leaving only a pale white orb visible.
The chatter outside died instantly. One by one, the students followed Wade into the classroom, moving as quietly as possible.
At that moment, the class bell rang. Several stragglers hurried back to their seats.
Moody remained indifferent to the fearful, wary, even disdainful glances from the students. He pulled out the roll call list and began calling names.
When he reached Draco Malfoy’s name, he paused briefly. His eyes swept slowly across the room, then moved on without a word.
After finishing the roll, Moody slowly rose, supporting himself with his cane. He glanced at the textbooks resting on the desks. "Put them away. No theory today."
The students quickly stowed their books in their backpacks.
Moody raised his wand. The classroom door slammed shut with a thunderous bang, the force of it making several students jump in alarm.
Then he waved his wand again. The desks and stools scrambled across the floor like living things, shooting toward the walls until only a bare circle of space remained in the center—filled with students holding their wands.
Moody shuffled down from the podium, walking among them. His magical eye spun constantly, scanning every face.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts isn’t about memorizing books!" he barked. "You need to learn how to survive against dark magic—how to stay alive when facing a real dark wizard!"
He suddenly whipped his wand. Crabbe, who had been sneaking food into his mouth, didn’t even cry out. He was flung backward, crashing into the wall with a startled “Aah!”
The students gasped. Those nearest to Moody scrambled away.
Michael felt a chill. He glanced at Wade, silently asking—Why do you always end up with professors like this?
It was clear Moody reminded him of Abigail. Both were the kind who could drop their mask without warning and attack students without reason.
Wade smirked slightly, mouthing silently: Stay alert.
"See that?" Moody snarled. "Dark wizards don’t warn you. They don’t follow dueling rules. They don’t wait for you to be ready. They strike when you least expect it! You must always be prepared. Always on guard!"
Mid-speech, he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his wand. A red flash shot out—knocking Michael off his feet. Another red bolt flew toward Wade—only to be deflected by an invisible shield.
The spell ricocheted, striking Pansy, who screamed and collapsed to the floor. Now two students lay on the ground.
Moody stared at Wade, his magical eye fixed on him. After a pause, he grunted, "Impressive shield charm."
Wade bowed slightly, said nothing, but dared not speak again.
His gaze lingered on Moody’s hand. The timing between the two disarming spells had been incredibly tight. The wand movement had been subtle—almost hidden. This was battle technique worth learning.
"Good," Moody said, scanning the students who had just gotten up. "Someone in here blocked my spell. But the rest of you clearly didn’t have that skill." He looked at the ones glaring at him, especially Pansy, who was visibly furious. He grinned—a terrifying sight on his ruined face.
"Feeling unfair?" Moody turned toward Slytherin, fixing Pansy with his gaze. "You think I should count down—three, two, one—wait until you’re ready before I cast? That’s how a proper professor should act, right?"
"Shouldn’t you?" Pansy bit back, her voice tight. "You’re a professor, not a dark wizard. That’s why we weren’t ready!"
"Fair point…" Moody didn’t raise his voice. His rough voice rumbled. "But this is your first lesson. Remember—always stay alert, no matter who the opponent is."
He moved to stand beside Draco Malfoy.
"Last time, you attended the World Cup final. Tell me—when the Boggart attacked the camp—were you prepared?"
The entire classroom fell silent. Every student turned to look at the two.
Malfoy stared straight ahead, expression rigid. "No, sir."
"Any injuries?" Moody asked.
"No, sir."
"Why?"
Moody leaned in, his scarred face looming large in Malfoy’s line of sight. "Did the Boggart show mercy?"
"No," Malfoy said, voice flat. "We ran into the forest."
"Exactly," Moody said. "If you’d acted like Malfoy that night, you wouldn’t be able to say things like ‘Why were we attacked?’"
He pulled back, scanning the room as he walked.
"Real attacks come without warning. Death comes the same way. But you won’t always be as lucky as Malfoy—surviving something like that."
Wade glanced at Malfoy’s pale face. He thought the word luck was a misnomer. What Malfoy had survived wasn’t luck—it was his parents.
"You can’t always learn magic in a safe, orderly way," Moody growled. "You must learn to handle the most dangerous, chaotic situations!"
"Pair up!" he roared. "Start practicing defensive spells. Let’s see how good you really are!"
With another wave of his wand, dozens of thick cushions appeared around the room. Moody returned to the podium, turned—only to find most students still standing there, blank-faced, waiting for instructions.
"Move!" he thundered. "The enemy’s right here! Are you going to wait for them to strike first?"
Zap—
A flash of light. Wade sent Michael flying out of the duel with a single spell.
(End of Chapter)
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