In the days that followed, discussions about the Spells Study Group gradually became the latest trend at Hogwarts.
Wade more than once overheard students feigning modesty, saying things like: "My Shield Charm isn't that great yet. It's only just taken shape, so it can't block many powerful spells."
Even before they finished speaking, the student would demonstrate the spell, conjuring a shimmering barrier.
Other students, curious, would cast a minor jinx at it and watch the spell's glow ripple across the shield or bounce off it—prompting gasps of surprise and admiration.
At the dining tables, some could be heard saying to the people beside them: "I just asked my dad—of course he can do the Shield Charm. But none of the other people in his office can! The Ministry's employee standards these days are really worrying. Twenty years ago, I doubt they'd have lasted a week."
That air of national concern made it sound like they'd be running for Minister of Magic any day now, determined to set things right.
Others came to complain to Harry and his friends: "Wait, so you guys in the SSC have been eating this well all along? And you never told the rest of us? No wonder even Neville can cast a Cheering Charm now."
Hearing his name, Neville looked up in confusion and said, "I didn't hide any food… Uh, want a potato?"
He picked a roasted potato off his plate and handed it over.
While Neville's grades weren't top of the class, he had always managed to stay in the middle. Ever since Snape stopped picking on him so frequently, even his Potions marks had improved a bit.
Because of that, he was now much more at ease and open—he no longer hung his head or shrank back, even when he knew some people were making fun of him.
"Hey, have you noticed?" Harry asked the others while they were doing homework in the umbrella room. "I think Snape's kind of afraid of Professor Moody."
"It's Professor Snape, Harry," Hermione said without even looking up.
"Snape keeps avoiding Moody's gaze, right?" Padma said, directing a quill to dance across the table with her wand. "Totally normal, if you ask me. I don't dare look at Moody's face either."
"It's not the same," Harry insisted.
He couldn't quite say what made it different, but even with the tiniest bit of thought, Harry felt sure Snape's fear of Moody wasn't for the same reasons as Padma's.
The others weren't especially interested in the professors' relationship—both of them were intimidating in their own ways. Instead, they were far more eager to talk about the latest Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.
Moody never taught them by the book. Every class involved some kind of challenge. Paired duels were the most basic—and tame—activity he set.
Sometimes, he laid magical traps in the classroom, some with faint traces of dark magic, and students had to dismantle them. Failing to do so or triggering a trap often meant getting hurt in some way.
Other times, he would release dangerous magical creatures into the classroom without warning the students. They wouldn't know until the creatures suddenly launched an attack.
Once, one of them even broke Lisa's arm. On another occasion, Zabini's nose was nearly sliced off.
Of course, none of the injuries involved actual dark magic, and Madam Pomfrey always had them patched up within minutes.
Moody never gave a second thought to students' complaints or tears. Anyone who dared cry in his class would be scolded so thoroughly, it was as if their very existence had been a mistake.
As for the howlers sent by concerned parents, Moody treated them more like daily candy treats. He often disposed of them by magical means before they even opened.
Students soon noticed: Moody almost never opened a letter directly—no matter who sent it. Even if it was from someone he knew, he'd place the letter far away and open it with magic from a distance.
As a result of this cautiousness, he managed to avoid two attacks from Bubotuber pus and one nasty curse with unclear effects.
"Constant vigilance, kids!" Moody would shout loudly each time he handled an incident. "In this world, just surviving is a challenge! Accidents always strike when you think they won't!"
Students: "…"
In their hearts, they muttered silently: None of us are nearly as good at attracting danger as you are…
Still, after that, everyone really did become a lot more careful when opening packages or letters.
All in all, no matter how much parents and students protested or complained, Moody wasn't removed from his post as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Once upon a time, Hagrid had been so devastated when Malfoy got hurt that he looked ready to throw himself off the Astronomy Tower.
But for Moody—an injury that can be healed? That was no big deal! For that, the whole family yelling at him? Nonsense!
He firmly stuck to his teaching methods, never wavering, and even wrote to some of his old friends and borrowed several dark magic artifacts confiscated by Aurors, to teach students how to identify and distinguish them.
Michael said with a conflicted expression, "Professor Moody's DADA class is scary… but it's also useful. Sometimes, it's even fun… but yeah, mostly scary."
Theo let out a deep sigh and added, "There's also a constant risk of injury and pain… sometimes even danger to your life."
He rubbed his neck nervously, still shaken.
"Today, Theo was almost strangled by a scarf," Ryan told everyone. "In the hospital wing, we overheard Madam Pomfrey and Professor Moody having a huge argument. I've never seen her that angry."
"Why doesn't the Ministry do anything about Moody?" Harry asked, puzzled. "I've worried more than once that he's going to end up in Azkaban."
"You've seen the scars on his body," Wade replied. "They say half of Azkaban's cells were filled by him. He was an Auror for many years—highly decorated. Even now, in retirement, he's still considered one of the best."
"So we're lucky to have him passing all his hard-earned experience down to us?" Michael said, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Wade nodded. "Exactly."
Harry looked uncertain. Becoming an Auror had always been one of his dream careers—right up there with being a professional Quidditch player. But watching Moody, Harry thought maybe he needed to think it over a bit more.
"Ah! I'm done!" Hermione suddenly dropped her quill, pulled out her wand, and tapped her parchment. Instantly, multiple copies of what she'd just written appeared. She got up and handed one to each person.
Harry looked at the parchment in confusion. "The Vomit? What's this?"
"It's not vomit, it's S.P.E.W.—the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I'm starting a new club."
[TN: spew — to vomit (informal british)]
Hermione gave Padma a warning glare, then swept her gaze across the others and said firmly, "You'll all join, right?"
Everyone fell silent. Even Michael, for once, didn't immediately jump on board with Hermione's cause.
"That's actually a good idea," Wade said. "But I do have a few questions."
"Go ahead," Hermione replied, lifting her chin proudly.
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