Hogwarts Oncemore
"I didn't expect to see you reading the Prophet." Steph briefly started at the voice standing at the compartment door, but upon lowering the page of the Daily Prophet she was reading, her lips pulled into a friendly smile at the sight of the brunette girl standing there. Tracey had an almost impish grin on her face, but despite the mischief on her face, her expression was warm and friendly as she stepped inside and sat down opposite Steph.
"Hey Trace - I suppose it can't be helped. Provided you ignore the Skeeter rag, you can get some relatively unbiased reporting in The Fortune Teller and the Wizengamot Witch. Although that requires you getting that deep in the Prophet to begin with." Tracey tilted her head just a little to the right, before frowning and pushing the top edge of Steph's paper up as the brunette swept her eyes over the front page with growing concern.
For her part, Steph continued reading the article - and could feel the urge to snort at the morbid amusement growing within her as she went on and on. Frankly, the Prophet had a monopoly on the whole media business in Wizarding Britain, with only local papers able to compete in small hamlet communities where local loyalty outweighed the desire for every scrap of information. The Hogsmeade Oracle was one such paper - and even then, it only managed to maintain a roughly even ratio to the Prophet in Hogsmeade alone.
The Quibbler was associated with Luna and her family, which could be seen as either a boon or a detriment, as the Prophet's owners hadn't seen it as a worthy target to bother buying out - a fate that befell any individual paper who got too big. The only reason the Hogsmeade Oracle hadn't been bought out was the fact that Fudge owned about a quarter of the company, and the media mogul, Lord Nott, had seen the benefit in not aggravating the executive branch.
But the article she was reading was a perfect example of bias in the media. Normally, the Wizengamot Witch and The Fortune Teller - respectively, the political and economic columns of the Daily Prophet - provided somewhat impartial reporting, with Elizabeth Sladen being the eponymous 'Wizengamot Witch' whose reports on the debates and votes in the Wizengamot informed those who knew where to look. It was also her distinctively witty writing style that made her popular enough to keep around, but whose absence meant that there was a dead giveaway that she was being strongarmed into writing what the editors wanted.
Like now, the utterly dry and humourless words giving Steph the impression that the entire column had barely anything by Sladen in it. It did, however, show that for all the control that the Traditional families had over Britain, there was still significant infighting, as the details of how Lucius Malfoy had been arraigned for possession of an illegal artefact had made the final print, and at the top of a paragraph too.
Evidently, Lord Nott did not get along with Lord Malfoy.
"... The..." Across from her, Tracey cleared her throat nervously, prompting Steph to lower the paper and look at the girl opposite her, who was gesturing at the front cover. "Have you heard anything else about that?"
Sliding a finger in to keep her page, Steph closed the paper as to glance at the cover, which was still running the headline and accompanying photo of the Dark Mark blazing over the Quidditch World Cup. A grimace came over her as she reopened the paper to her previous page, albeit laying it in her lap as to not seem rude. "Not much - they've been running the headlines for two weeks now, and it’s just been Skeeter finding new people to accuse and insane theories to peddle. Other than that, it’s just the same spiel over and over - anyone with a brain can tell she's getting bugger all from the DMLE on the situation. I reckon that's probably a good thing."
"Well..." Tracey gave a small noise of weak enthusiasm. "I don't suppose the DMLE might have caught them, could they?"
"Given who we know to be former Death Eaters, that'd be something we'd learn just about instantly." Giving a weary and frustrated sigh, Steph planted her right elbow on the window, perching her head on her half-coiled fist. "I reckon the DMLE knows exactly who did it, but hasn't got probable cause with the current laws to charge them, nor investigate the situation."
Glancing down at the next paragraph, Steph paused for several seconds, before clearing her throat and raising the paper. "This is new.. Listen to this: According to sources in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Dark Mark cast at the Quidditch World Cup was not cast by a member of the Death Eater procession, opening up the possibility that plain clothed collaborators were actively engaging in the event. Unconfirmed reports place the approximate casting area of the Dark Mark within the Ministry Employee section of the campground, and in the vicinity of the two Aurors murdered."
As she lowered the Prophet, she gazed across at Tracey, who was caught in contemplation, but her gaze quickly drifted to the left, and to the people standing at the open door of the compartment. Her lips quirked up in gentle amusement, Daphne Greengrass stood with Harry and Neville flanking her, much like Malfoy and his bell-.. Bookends. Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, Harry and Neville were both wearing polite smiles, and swiftly ducked inside the compartment after Daphne, allowing a trio of Ravenclaw girls to pass by - and Steph barely got a glance at them before spotting Chang, which drew a flickering scowl over her features.
She hadn't forgiven the girl for what she had done to Luna in her first year. What sort of sadist found pleasure in the suffering of someone - especially so young?
"Something on your mind, Steph?" Neville's voice pulled her from her momentary loathing, and in turn she pulled her lips into a slightly strained smile as she shook her head as their shoulders gently bumped.
"Nothing important. Just reminded that I hate Chang." At her words, Harry glanced over from the other side of the compartment, a small frown on his face.
"Chang as in Cho Chang? The Ravenclaw seeker?" A small nod was his reward.
"One and the same. The bint was bullying Luna in her first year - I might have accidently thrown her trunk off the Ravenclaw tower in revenge." Harry suddenly turned red at the end of that remark, and Steph opened her mouth to question his sudden embarrassment, only to turn and find Neville wearing the same expression. Daphne's eyes narrowed a little, and her tone turned suspicious, if somewhat uncomfortable as a slight tinge of pink infected her cheeks.
"Is this the reason Finnegan had that pair of... Undergarments?" Harry turned a darker shade of red, and that was enough for Daphne, evidently. But the situation was still way over Steph's head, and she stepped into the pressure void that Daphne had just vacated as she had sat back.
"Hold on, what happened?" Tracey was the one to give a small snort, responding for him.
"Daphne caught him hanging around Finnegan when he was showing them off. Bloody ratbag was claiming he got them off a Fifth year." A slight flush came to Steph's own cheeks - she wasn't ignorant to what boys did and said, and it did somewhat erode the sense of morality that she had felt upon recollection of the memory. "Issue was, Daphne heard it - and happened to be talking with McGonagall at the time. Finnegan ended up in detention until Christmas."
"I see- hang on." Wheeling left, Steph leant back just a little and stared down her boyfriend. "Why are you embarrassed then?"
Neville turned a slightly darker shade of red. "... I uh-.."
Harry piped up; his tone slightly mortified. "Nev did nothing – I told him afterwards and he just turned red. Has done so ever since."
Her eyes flashed to the other boy, before returning to Neville, watching as the boy nodded his head quickly. Part of her was suspicious - but a larger part knew that the second-hand embarrassment was so dorkily adorable that it had to be the truth. Giving a soft giggle - something she would strenuously deny ever happened - Steph leant over and pecked her boyfriend’s cheek, feeling as the boy seemed to deflate a little in the process. "That's so painfully you, Nevv."
She missed the stunned expression Tracey's face, which hung for several seconds, before fading into a slightly pensive smile, the teasing tone slipping back into her words as she went through the sentence. "So... When did that happen, Steph?"
"Greetings, to all of you. And welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our fabulous feast, I have a few announcements, as usual." The general chatter in the Great Hall settled down markedly as Dumbledore stepped up to the podium to speak, and Steph set down her goblet of water. Whilst dinner hadn't appeared yet, the Hogwarts elves had thankfully obliged her request for some water. "As usual, our caretaker, Mr Filch, has asked me to inform you that there is a new list of items forbidden within the castle. This list is now at some four hundred and seventy-seven objects, a remarkably increase of forty items since last year, the largest addition in over three decades."
There were some muffled noises of amusement - and even a small group of outright cheers coming from the Gryffindor table, with a notably smaller collection coming from the Hufflepuff table. Ravenclaw was dead silent, however muffled whispers came from the Slytherin table behind her. Dumbledore seemed vaguely amused for all of a second, before he continued. "Once again, the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to all, and Hogsmeade is out of bounds to first and second year students. I will once again remind those students who intend to go to Hogsmeade that your permission is contingent to your good behaviour."
A few scattered murmurs danced around the hall, and Dumbledore paused for a second, drawing a somewhat suffering breath. "And now, it is my painful duty to announce that the inter-house Quidditch cup will not be held this year in a formal capacity."
The hall was silent for a half second, before every table exploded in a disjointed chorus of frustration, outcries of dismay and audible anger. Steph gave a small grimace at the furore, looking across at Luna and watching at the blonde girl matched her own dismay - frankly, such a ruckus was unnecessary. Dumbledore stood firm, enduring the complaints for several seconds, before he raised his palm in a polite request for silence, and like magic, the room slowly quietened down.
"I'm sure many of your teachers share your dismay - I know for a fact that Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape are both quite determined to regain the Quidditch cup from Professor Sprout and Hufflepuff. However, it is not without careful consideration that I announce such." Clearing his throat, Dumbledore raised his arms slightly, as if offering a prayer - something that Steph wouldn't have been able to identify, had she not seen a muggle leading a prayer in public in Seattle when she had gone to the city with Nanna Tina. "The inter-house competition will not be held in any official capacity, as the area of the Quidditch Stadium is required for a most important event. It is my great pleasure to announce that, after two hundred and two years, Hogwarts is host to the illustrious Triwizard Tournament, a competition involving magical cooperation between the great Magical Schools of Europe - Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang."
The Great Hall seemed to hum for a second, before there was an explosion of cheering and cries of disbelief, hurried conversations as students turned to their friends and spoke their minds. Steph could hardly believe it - she knew about the last tournament, that had been the centre of a lecture from mother on ensuring animals were properly secured. After several moments, Dumbledore raised his hands again, quieting the hall. "I will note, however, that Madame Hooch has indicated that there is enough time before then for each house to play at least one game, so I encourage you to all make the best of the matches."
That declaration seemed to alleviate the final rebellious grumblings in the air regarding Quidditch, but Dumbledore was hardly finished, bringing his hands together in a quiet clap. "Now - I have another announcement to make. After Professor Lupin resigned at the end of last year, the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor has remained vacant. This post has since been filled by an old friend of mine who has graciously returned from his retirement. Please welcome Alastor Moody, who will doubtless provide you all with a thorough and interesting year."
Thunk Thunk Thunk.
Steph snapped her head around, staring down the table at the doors to the Great Hall that had been opened almost silently. Currently thunking his way down the middle of the Great Hall was a towering figure dressed in a leather coat, holding a gnarled staff that looked as if it had been made out of a small tree. His face was horribly damaged, and a single eye remained, his other replaced by some mechanical contraption that spun around the room, seemingly scanning every face - until it got to her.
Once it reached her, it held for what felt like an eternity, but could not have been longer than a single footstep, for the next thunk heralded the eye darting away from her, continuing to sweep across the room. A breath she was unaware she had been holding escaped her, and she watched as the man thunked his way over to the podium, sharing some quiet words with Dumbledore, before passing on to the staff table.
She knew who Alastor Moody was, it would be difficult to not know who he was. He was a legend for a reason - 'Mad-Eye Moody', responsible for filling half of Azkaban, only for much of that half to buy their way out. Paranoid about secrecy, or so the tale went, and deadly beyond belief - he was the bogey man for the adults, or at least, the ones who took creative interpretations of the law.
And now he was their teacher.
Dumbledore was certainly correct. This year would be interesting, if not a little daunting.
"With that, I bid you all - dig in!"
With a wave of his hand, plates of food appeared along the tables, and Steph let out a pinched exhale. Maybe Moody could help her catch up...
"In you lot."
The thunk of Moody's leg only seemed to appear once the man had limped through the throng of students milling in the hallway outside the classroom and found his way to the door, which was swiftly shoved open as he turned, waiting for them to file in. For perhaps the first time, Steph was actively not the first in the classroom - she was waiting at the very back of the line because, frankly, Moody still unnerved her.
It had been three days since the ex-Auror had turned up during the welcoming feast. Steph had managed to gather her will enough to resolve that she would at least contribute to the class.
She was the last one into the classroom, but as she passed through the doorframe, the corner of her eye caught something. A fraction of a second later, a jolt shot up her spine and she half stumbled into the room, but managed to wheel about and flick her wand into her hand, staring at the door frame. And, also, the rather imposing figure of Alastor Moody staring right back at her, seeming decidedly unimpressed.
"Well - you're all dead, but at least you realised it lass." Thunking his way into the room, Moody swung the door closed and tapped the doorframe with his staff - and in a heartbeat a ring of runes burst to life. Some of them she didn't recognise, but some she most certainly did, and NONE of them would have been fun to be on the receiving end of. The simple fact that Moody had even put them there was horrifying enough, let alone the fact that they were genuinely armed.
That was a runic ward system that would not be out of place on something like Azkaban - or so she would have imagined, with what she knew. But as many Ravenclaws would have sworn was their personal motto, 'I know that I know nothing', and to that effect, she was aware that Azkaban would have almost certainly had some ugly wards to be on the receiving end of.
"I see that you recognise it, Scamander, or at least some of those runes. Two points to Ravenclaw. Now siddown!" Moody's gruff voice sent the class collectively scrambling for seats, a brief and hasty ruckus that meant that several people were sat next to those they would never dream of sitting with normally. Harry and Daphne ended up next to each other, but Tracey ended up stuck next to Parkinson - and when the girl realised it, she shot Steph a strained expression that would have been amusing in most other circumstances.
It took only a couple of seconds for Moody to clunk his way to the front of the room, and by the time he picked up the chalk, the class was fully seated - and it was to her relief that Neville had managed to grab them a desk that she sat down at. Pulling from her satchel the textbook for this year, and last year she had noticed, Steph set it on her desk and gazed up at the front of the classroom as the Professor began to speak. "Alastor Moody - Ex-Auror, Ministry Malcontent and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher. I am here because Dumbledore asked me. When it comes to the Dark Arts, I prefer a hands-on approach, so put those blasted textbooks away."
Steph paused for several seconds as she looked at the book on her desk. This was new, frankly, and she wasn't sure how to feel about being told to put away the textbooks she had clung to as a Ravenclaw. Of course, this didn't last long, as she plucked the book up and carefully set it down in her satchel, straightening up as Moody swept the room, magical eye flickering across the faces of students. "Now - Professor Lupin left me a summary of your course materiel. You've covered Dark Creatures a lot, haven't you?"
The general murmur of asset was enough, and as it filtered into the air, Moody's magical eye stayed trained on her - which made sense in a way, she was the one who was still ahead in Care. Grubbly-Plank and Hagrid had already started her on her OWL Care classes, and she certainly felt like she was ahead of most of the fifth years in that course. Dark Creatures might have been covered in DADA, but she had done so well in Lupin's class – despite her dislike of the man – because of all the adjacent knowledge she had at her disposal.
"You're dangerously far behind on curses - fat lot of good knowledge of how to defeat a Kappa or Grindylow is when there's a Dark Witch or Wizard throwing the Killing Curse at you. Two Aurors at the Quidditch World Cup found out the hard way that the job isn't about standing around and posing. You need to pay attention, you need constant vigilance, you need to be prepared, and you need to find another place for your chewing gum other than the underside of your desk Finnegan!" With a rapidly increasing intensity, Moody spun on the spot and flung the stick of chalk across the classroom, where it bounced off the forehead of the utterly stunned Gryffindor in question, who gave a cry of alarm as the chalk dropped onto his desk. Several seconds passed as the revelation set in - Moody could see through the back of his head. Nothing was secret from his prying eye.
"Now. As those Aurors learned, Dark Wizards don't particularly care if you're ready to fight them before slinging curses your way - in fact, they quite prefer it if they catch you flat footed. The Ministry says I'm supposed to show you counter curses, but Dumbledore wanted me to show you a bit more - and after the fiasco at the World Cup, the Ministry caved." Clunking his foot on the ground, Moody rapped the knuckle of his wooden staff on the chalkboard over his shoulder, and a piece of chalk rose, beginning to write behind the Auror's back as he spoke. "After all, what bloody use is a counter curse if you don't know how to identify the curse you're meant to be countering! You need to be alert; you need to be prepared. You need to put that letter down, Bones!"
A small squeak left Susan Bones, and there was the rustling of paper as the girl evidently did as asked, not that Steph looked - in fact she doubted anyone actually looked, so fixated on this animated teacher that they had standing at the front of the room. "Now - everyone's got a different level of knowledge on curses. Some of you might have grown up in environments where they were taboo, others in environments where they were... Prevalent, shall we say."
Moody's eye magical whirred to the right of the room, and Steph couldn't help but follow his gaze for a second - finding it lingering on the right hand most column of desks, filled with Slytherin students. That was about as subtle as a Fiendfyre in the Ministry Atrium, but Moody simply didn't care it seemed. She didn't blame him, that was rather the stereotype, given the generation to which they belonged.
"And some of you may have had no exposure to curses, raised in an environment with little to no magic. Whatever your level, there is a specific set of curses you will all know of." With a pair of clunking steps, Moody stepped aside, revealing the chalkboard, upon which two words were written in bold chalk. Unforgivable Curses.
Hers and Neville's hands clasped between them before either of them actually realised they had made the unconscious movement. A lump settled in her throat, and a phantom shiver of pain shot through her, manifesting as an uncomfortable shudder that shook her to her core. She didn't have to look to know Neville was probably looking at her with worry, but she didn't dare drag her eyes away from the front of the class. Instead, she squeezed her boyfriend’s hand, just enough to convey a sense of safety.
It helped.
"Now, the use of many curses is punished heavily by the law. But who can tell me the curses most heavily punished by the law?" A few hands crept into the air, but it was Granger's hand that practically shot up, and Steph felt her stomach churn at the implication. Was this girl so eager to demonstrate her intelligence that she would ignore the implications of being eager to learn about some of the darkest magic available to them as Wixen?
"The Unforgivable curses, sir."
"Good - yes, the Unforgivables. So named because the simple use of them will earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban." Moody's writing on the board became decidedly darker and firmer, his voice adopting a slight strain as he finished speaking. Stepping back from the board, he flicked his eyes over the classroom, before settling on someone. "Bones, perhaps you can give us one of the curses?"
Susan was silent for a second, before her voice rang out across the classroom, careful and deliberate. "The Imperius curse."
"Aye, the Imperius Curse. It gave the Ministry quite the spot of trouble several years ago - scores of Witches and Wizards claimed they only did the bidding of You-Know-Who because they were under the Imperius curse. Once the first person was acquitted by the Bagnold government, several Witches and Wizards who were once You-Know-Who's most loyal used it as an excuse to escape punishment." There were some soft complaints from the right side of the room, but the millisecond Moody's eye flicked over there, the grumblings died down. The Wizard slammed his staff into the floor, where it stood still as the ex-Auror reached into a jar on the front desk and withdrew-
The noise of Steph's chair legs scraping along the floor drew the attention of the room, but the girl didn't care in that moment, pointing her left hand at the front of the room and managing only a stutter as she stared at the fucking Acromantula hatchling in Moody's hand. "U-Uh... Th-.."
"Quiet down Scamander, I know what it is." With simple motion, Moody turned his attention back to the Acromantula in his hand, jabbing his wand and loudly uttering the phrase. "Imperio!"
There was a collective gasp around the classroom at the intonation of the spell - in sync with the spider seeming to wilt just a little, before returning to its previous posture. Moody took that as the cue to flick his wand, sending the spider down onto the teachers desk, where it crouched into a position fit for lunging. It was then that Steph managed to piece together what the man was doing - and in doing so, drew her own wand, resting it on the lip of her desk, clutching it in firm fingers. The Professor spoke as he swept his gaze around the room, as if scouting each desk. "Now - as I mentioned, use of any of these curses will earn you a one-way trip to Azkaban, but the Ministry has allowed me to demonstrate them to you. I have even been authorised to place you under the Imperius curse, if you permit me to."
That too earned several worried whispers, but Moody continued onwards, flicking his wand forwards - and the Acromantula followed, springing onto the desk at the front of the room, occupied by Millicent Bullstrode and Lilith Moon. Quite rightfully, Lilith shrieked in alarm and tumbled backwards away from the rat sized spider, falling onto the floor, and shuffling away as fast as her robes would let her. Millicent stared, face ashen and totally paralysed with fear as the Acromantula slowly turned to face her, before scuttling towards her across the desk with alarming speed.
Millicent gave a choked screech and tipped over sideways, out cold.
Someone in the class laughed, and a general chuckle slowly rose from the Gryffindor side of the room - but Steph couldn't help but feel sick to her stomach as the spider leapt onto the desk behind Lilith's, landing between perhaps the most unlikely desk mates. Malfoy screamed like a little girl and practically threw himself away from the desk, whilst Ron Weasley made the highest pitched noise Steph had ever heard from a boy - and practically shivered out of his own skin.
Moody waved his wand, and Weasley seemed to jolt a little, the gruff Auror flicking his wand to the right, and the Acromantula leapt the gap of the aisle and ended up on the desk of Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil, both of whom shrieked at different pitches and scrambled to lean as far away from it as possible.
It vaguely occurred to her that the Gryffindor's were no longer laughing, but some of the Slytherins had started some cruel chuckles.
It made its way two desks further back - jumping clean over the heads of Padma and Dean Thomas, both of whom themselves jerked out of the path of the spider's leap - ending up before Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones. The former went bone white and froze. Susan, however, stared at the creature with her wand on her desk, the tip pointing in the direction of the arachnid, having never laughed at the spider's display.
There were a few else who hadn't - Daphne and Harry in front of her hadn't, nor had Neville beside her. At the front of the Slytherin column Theodore Nott hadn't, something she had only noticed because of how out of place he looked amidst chuckling students, but she couldn't really name any others - she hadn't been looking anywhere else.
"So - this is funny? What would happen if I told her to bite one of you? She's lethal in two minutes!" The laughter petered out at the furious growl in Moody's voice as the man swiped his wand across the room, bringing the spider leaping across the desks and back to where it had leapt to initially - standing atop Millicent Bullstrode's textbook. "I could make her crawl down your throat - don't make me cast that stomach calming charm on you again Weasley - or drown herself in a puddle. Or I could make her leap to her death, or rip herself to pieces."
No one was laughing now.
"Total. Control." Carefully enunciated, Moody's voice was cautious, almost as if he was attempting to warn them of the spell - which he really was. The Imperius curse was the least... Overtly threatening spell, but it could do the most damage. "The Imperius Curse caused chaos in the last war. No telling how many died because of it, but because it doesn't do any physical damage on its own, many have fallen into the trap of considering it the 'least' of the Unforgivables. I consider it to be the worst."
"Malfoy! Next one." The blonde boy's face was bright red, and he hadn't sat down after being scared out of his seat by the Acromantula. Moody's address seemed to prompt an almost walk of shame as the Slytherin boy walked back over to his seat, sitting as far as possible from both Weasley and the teacher as possible, all whilst remaining behind his desk. The boy's voice trembled with impotently stewing rage.
"Cruciatus." The way it was spat made it seem that the boy would like nothing less than to use the spell on the Professor, but Moody gave what looked perversely like a smug grin as he directed his wand at the Acromantula. The lump in her throat became just that little bit larger - surely the man wasn't going to...
"Crucio!"
The screaming came back to her in that moment, the pain crawling under her skin - stretching it over her chest and pulling it tighter and tighter, as every fibre of her being unravelled itself in ghostly agony that sent shivers up her spine. Her teeth grit as she could feel the blood dripping down her face, blood that was warm and hot and entirely absent as her eyes cried their mortal ichor.
She could hear Wormtail, could hear his sadistic glee as he practically sang the curse he placed her under. Her hands clenched into tight fists as she tried to look anywhere but the writhing Acromantula on the teachers desk. Suddenly, her left hand was firmly squeezed, and the tightness in her chest vanished.
She glanced left at Neville, who was staring with wide eyes at his desk, looking anywhere but the teachers desk. She squeezed his hand a little tighter, and he responded in kind, his gaze slowly drifting to meet hers.
"Scamander. The last one?"
Steph glanced up at the ex-Auror and blinked twice. Her occlumency closed in, grasping the sickened sensation in her stomach and dragging it away, leaving her mind with a momentary blankness to it. It meant her response was monotone. "The Killing Curse. Instant, indefensible death."
"Aye, the Killing Curse. Some would say the worst of the Unforgivables - but they're the politicians. They're the ones who fear death, and not the finer details of it. As someone who's fought those who use death as their greatest tool, the Killing Curse is the kindest. A quick and painless death, devoid of suffering." Moody was quiet for several seconds, before turning his head down to look at the visibly injured Acromantula, levelling his wand at it and barking the final spell. "Avada Kedavra!"
There was a flash of light - and Penny hit the floor. A blink replaced her corpse with that of the Acromantula, curled up on its back.
In front of her, she could see Harry's body tense as the spell landed - but like her, he seemed almost transfixed on the dead creature on the teachers desk. She didn't feel regret in that moment - Acromantula were pests, they killed just about everything they came across, and had the tendency to breed like rodents. They'd invade an area, kill off the native creatures, then breed out of control until they hit a plateau, whereupon they'd start culling their own young to maintain their population.
On several occasions, Acromantula had bred so rampantly and infested woods to such an extent that the Ministry had authorised controlled burns using Fiendfyre to remove particularly troublesome colonies, such as the one in Swinley Forest. That had gone.. Less than stellar, according to the Prophet.
Then again, that was according to the Prophet.
But the death of the Acromantula didn't really bother her, it could have happened any other way and the result probably would have been the same, she had killed the creatures herself several times. The response she had, however, was the problem.
She didn't catch herself at first, but it was only once her occlumency subconsciously slipped into place and lashed down parts of her brain that she realised she was clutching her wand with trembling fingers. Her mouth was dry and yet it hungered. It was an ambition within her - the darkness within, coiling and coiling through her head and slowly sinking its fangs into her.
How do you cast it.
She wanted to know - she had almost cast it the previous year, but she had responded almost instinctively there, it was doubtful she would have been able to cast the spell at all, let alone have been able to recreate the reflexive action. But she craved the knowledge of how to cast something so powerful, and yet so terribly single minded. There was a reason you didn't use it in combat - seven syllables long, painfully obvious as to what it was, useless if your opponent summoned a physical barrier or ducked into cover.
And then that hungry fog in her head was cleared as her occlumency ripped the darkness' fangs from her mind, and a soft gasp slipped her lips. Beside her, Neville gave a worried glance, one that Steph responded to with a strained wince, before deflecting her face away as sickening shame ran through her.
What is wrong with me.
The toll of the bell would normally have had the whole class scrambling out of their seats, but for perhaps the first time in her time at Hogwarts since the first couple of days of being in the castle, no one moved an inch. Moody stood silent for what felt like an eternity, but could not have been more than a handful of seconds, before grabbing his staff and heaving a sigh. "Right, off you go. Scamander and Longbottom, I want a word. Rest of you, get out of here."
The effect was incredible - within twenty seconds the classroom was devoid of other students, and Steph was left only with Tracey's concerned gaze and Harry's pensive worry as he clapped Neville on the shoulder gently. Doubtless, they had some sort of empathetic brotherly bond going on that Steph would never be able to understand. Despite that, they were left alone with the ex-Auror as he reached behind his desk and went through a stack of books piled up next to it, the only noise the rustling of paper and the soft thumping of leather on leather.
"I s'pose I should apologise to both of you. When you've spent so long in my line of work, you tend to forget that you're not always dealing with Aurors who signed up for this." With a single clunk, Moody turned, before softly clunking his way over to their desk and setting a leather-bound book upon it. A flick of his hand knocked away a layer of dust, revealing the title - Magical Mediterranean Water Plants and their Properties. He seemed strangely proud of it, and when she turned to look at Neville, his eyes had widened and gained a small sparkle to them - something that Moody explained in short order. "Sprout told me you're a dab hand at herbology, figured this would go a small way to apologising. Only a dozen of 'em ever printed. Alice and Frank were good people - good wizards. I trusted them both, and it’s a shame what happened to 'em. Didn't figure you might remember it, Sonny."
"T-Thank you Professor..." Neville gingerly picked up the book, his voice filled with awe as he tentatively tilted it over to examine the back of the dust cover. As interesting as books were, she had decidedly less interest in Herbology than Neville - although a nearly one-of-a-kind book was certainly enough to be worth reading at the very least. As Neville fawned, Moody turned to look at Steph, and for a moment she was frozen - staring at the man in vague recognition. Something about him was... Familiar.
"Scamander - I've heard that you're liable to be wanting revenge." At the blunt comment, Steph couldn't help but straighten up with a jolt. Now where the hell had he gotten that from? At the shock that was probably plastered all over her face, the Professor gave a grim grin. "You're a Ravenclaw. Smart and capable, but don't like being reminded of your own mistakes. Dumbledore warned me you'd be like that, said you'd probably ask for private instruction - asked me to turn you down."
The surprise gave way to silent fury as she fumed privately in her mind. Bad enough that the man had psychoanalysed her based on simply her Hogwarts House, but now Dumbledore had not only taken a private interest in her, but had decided to meddle in her life, as if he were her parent. What right did he have to do so? Before she could even voice a fraction of her complaint, Moody shut her up. "I say bollocks to that. You need to be prepared - Dumbledore is a good man, but he can't seem to figure out that your generation needs to be just as prepared as the ones before you. What do you think?"
She stared at him for a second, before feverishly nodding before the man could rescind his offer. Moody's grin grew somewhat foreboding. "Good lass. I'll get in touch, but keep this on the downlow. Don't need Albus complaining to me. Oh, and Scamander? Don't think this is all a blessing - I taught Aurors."
Steph blinked, then glanced sidelong at Neville. Maybe this could have used some thought.