0478 The Unforgivables (Part-3)

As the ancient clock tower of Hogwarts began to chime, signaling the imminent end of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Bryan didn’t keep them in suspense for long. His earlier question about the Unforgivable Curses still hung in the air, but he chose not to wait for raised hands or hesitant answers. Instead, he launched into his explanation.

“There are several crucial reasons on why these spells are considered unforgivable,” he began, his voice carrying easily to every corner of the room. “First and foremost, we must consider the profound and irreversible effects of these three curses. They represent magic at its most potent and, arguably, its most terrible.”

“Secondly,” Bryan continued, his tone taking on a more ominous note, “and this may come as a shock to many of you – the threshold for casting these spells is not nearly as high as one might hope or expect. In fact,” he leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting, “it’s entirely within the realm of possibility that even wizards at the OWLS level could with the right technique successfully cast these curses.”

A collective shudder ran through the room. Students began to cast furtive glances at their neighbors, as if suddenly reevaluating their classmates as potential threats. Lavender still pale from the earlier demonstration, inched her chair away from those nearest to her, her eyes wide with renewed fear.

“But the most crucial factor,” Bryan pressed on, “lies in a characteristic shared by all three Unforgivable Curses. It’s a trait common to many spells classified as Dark Magic, and it bears a striking similarity to a spell you may be more familiar with – the Patronus Charm used to repel Dementors.”

At the mention of the Patronus Charm, a ripple of interest passed through the class. Many students sat up straighter, their curiosity piqued. The previous year’s dramatic events during the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, where Professor Watson had conjured a spectacular Patronus, had left a lasting impression on the school, so they had some knowledge about Patronus Charm.

“Can anyone tell me,” Bryan asked, his eyes scanning the room, “what is the key to successfully casting a Patronus Charm?”

Harry shot his hand into the air, nearly lifting him out of his seat in his eagerness to answer. Bryan’s lips quirked in a small smile as he nodded towards the boy.

“It’s a happy memory, sir,” Harry said. “The strength of the Patronus depends on the power of the happy memory you focus on while casting. If… if the happy memory is more profound, then the Patronus you conjure will also be stronger–“

As Harry spoke, Draco’s face contorted into a sneer of disdain.

“Excellent, Mr. Potter,” Bryan nodded approvingly. “Five points to Gryffindor. You may sit down.” He turned to address the class as a whole, his expression growing more serious. “As Mr. Potter has astutely pointed out, many advanced forms of magic harness the power of emotions. The Patronus Charm channels positive emotions, but the Unforgivable Curses… they tap into something far darker.”

“For the three Unforgivable Curses, the key lies in the caster’s malicious intent. The more powerful you want the spell to be, the crueler and more vicious your thoughts must become. You see,” he said, his eyes scanning the engrossed faces before him, “a wizard’s pursuit of magical power is often relentless, bordering on obsessive. These curses prey on that desire, encouraging the caster to delve deeper into cruelty, to fill their mind with increasingly sadistic thoughts. They drag you into an abyss of darkness from which it is nearly impossible to escape.”

A chill seemed to settle over the classroom as Bryan’s words sank in.

“This pattern,” Bryan went on, his voice low and intense, “is common among many Dark Magic spells. They lure the user with promises of immense power, all the while corrupting their very essence. Unless one possesses exceptional mental fortitude and an unshakeable will, dabbling in such magic is a perilous endeavor. Curiosity, in this case, can indeed be a dangerous thing.”

As if on cue, the bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Bryan, known for his admirable habit of never running overtime, immediately gathered his materials and made for the exit, leaving the students to ponder his ominous words.

In the ensuing commotion of students packing up their belongings, Hermione’s voice cut through the noise.

“Oh! Professor Watson forgot to mention one crucial detail!” She was frowning, her eyes fixed on the door through which Bryan had just departed. “He told us there’s an ancient technique that can effectively resist mental magic attacks like the Imperius Curse, but he didn’t elaborate on what it was. I simply must get to the library!”

Ron in the process of stuffing his textbooks haphazardly into his bag, looked up at Hermione. “You’ll need to get a note first,” he pointed out. “If you’re looking for magic that can resist the Imperius Curse, those books are bound to be in the Restricted Section.” He paused, a hint of confusion crossing his freckled face. “By the way, what was that about this morning? Harry mentioned you thought Professor Moody was wrong to punish Malfoy?”

Ahem–

At Ron’s words, Harry, who had been lost in thought about whether Hagrid might know of any small magical creatures less repulsive than earthworms or spiders for his theoretical anti-Killing Curse armor, suddenly snapped to attention. He coughed loudly, twice, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Hermione glanced sideways at Harry and let out a soft snort.

Their exchange was interrupted by Moody’s gruff voice calling out from the front of the classroom. “Longbottom,” he said, his magical eye swiveling to fix on Neville, who had nearly reached the door. “I assume you don’t have anything else planned before lunch. Perhaps you’d care to join me in my office for a spot of tea?”

Neville, who had been wearing a distracted, almost dazed expression since the lesson on the Cruciatus Curse, jolted violently at the sound of Moody’s gruff voice which had taken on an oddly gentle tone, and this seemed to unnerve Neville even further. He looked helplessly towards the three classmates he was most familiar with in the classroom.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Professor Moody, clearly on the verge of voicing an objection. But something – perhaps the peculiar gentleness in Moody’s manner – made her hesitate.

Moody noticed Hermione’s reaction immediately. His magical eye fixed upon her as a kind smile spread across his scarred face. “It’s quite alright, Miss Granger,” he assured her. “I just wish to share a cup of tea with Mr. Longbottom. I have a few books that I believe he might find particularly interesting.”

Without waiting for further protest, Moody placed a gnarled hand on Neville’s shoulder and steered him out of the classroom. Neville casted one last pleading look at his friends before disappearing into the corridor.

As the door closed behind them, Ron turned to Harry and Hermione, his brow furrowed in suspicion. “A few books that Neville might find interesting?” he repeated skeptically. “Do either of you actually believe that?”

Harry hesitated, his green eyes clouded with concern. Instead of answering Ron’s question directly, he voiced the worry that had been gnawing at him throughout the lesson. “You’ve both noticed it too, haven’t you? Something’s not right with Neville.”

Ron’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked, clearly having missed the subtle signs that had alarmed Harry and Hermione.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head at Ron’s obliviousness. “Neville is absolutely terrified of the Cruciatus Curse,” she explained. “It’s more than just fear. The questions he was asking… it’s quite obvious, isn’t it? Someone in his family must have been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, and from his reaction, I’d say they suffered severe, lasting damage.”

“His grandmother?” Harry blurted out, but almost immediately shook his head, dismissing the idea. “No, that can’t be right. Neville mentioned that his grandmother refused to let him go to the Quidditch World Cup over the summer. She must be of sound mind to make that kind of decision.” He paused, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Neville has an uncle who’s quite fond of him, doesn’t he? What was the name of Neville’s great-uncle… Algie, wasn’t it?”

Hermione struggled to hoist her overstuffed book bag onto her shoulder, nearly toppling under its weight. She fixed Harry and Ron with a serious, almost stern look. “Whoever it is,” she said firmly, “it’s clear that Neville would prefer to keep this private. So, you two are absolutely forbidden from asking him about it, understood?”

Without waiting for a response, Hermione hurried out of the classroom. She had an Arithmancy class before lunch and couldn’t afford to be late.

Ron watched her go and grumbled. “Oh, she’s treating us like we’re complete idiots again!”

It wasn’t until lunchtime that Harry caught sight of Neville again in the Great Hall. He was sitting alone at the Gryffindor table, seemingly oblivious to the lively conversations swirling around him. While his classmates eagerly discussed Professor Watson’s unconventional teaching methods and the morning’s extraordinary Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Neville was hunched over several large, leather-bound tomes, his round face a mask of intense concentration.

As Harry approached, he noticed that Neville seemed calmer than he had been during class, though still not quite his usual self. His eyes were rimmed with red, suggesting he might have been crying.

“Are you alright, Neville?” Harry asked gently as he and Ron drew near.

Neville’s head snapped up, startled by the sudden address. “Oh, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice a touch too bright to be entirely convincing. “I’m doing well, thank you. Just reading this fascinating book Professor Moody lent me.”

He tilted the cover so Harry could read the title: “Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties.”

“Apparently, Professor Sprout mentioned to Moody that I’m really good at Herbology,” Neville explained, a hint of pride creeping into his voice that Harry rarely heard before. “Professor Moody thought I’d find this interesting.”

Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Neville’s eyes darted away as he spoke, the slight tremor in his hands as he closed the book. It was clear that, just as Ron had tried to hide his disappointment at being excluded from the Physical Education class, Neville was attempting to conceal something from them. Without a doubt, it had to be related to his family, but Harry, heeding Hermione’s earlier warning, refrained from pressing the issue.

As they settled into their seats, Harry’s gaze instinctively drifted towards the staff table. What he saw – or rather, didn’t see – caused him to do a double-take. “What’s going on?” he muttered, more to himself than to his friends.

The staff table was eerily empty. Professor Dumbledore’s chair was vacant, as did the seats usually occupied by Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and several other faculty members. Even Professor Watson, who had left the classroom few minutes ago, was nowhere to be seen. Only Snape was shamelessly in his seat, his sallow face set in its usual scowl as he picked at his meal.

In all his years at Hogwarts, Harry had never witnessed so many professors absent from a meal simultaneously. A knot of unease began to form in his stomach.

‘Could something be amiss at the school?’

Turning back to Neville, Harry asked urgently, “With so many professors missing, have you heard any rumors?”

Neville’s eyes widened in surprise as he too noticed the unusual absence. “They weren’t here when I arrived,” he said, shaking his head. “I hadn’t even noticed until you pointed it out.”

Meanwhile, on the third floor of the castle.

Bryan, who had been calmly adjusting a monitoring mirror in his office, suddenly furrowed his brow. He abandoned his work, leapt out from among a pile of components, and strode quickly towards the door. He pulled it open before the knock could even sound.

There, crowding the corridor outside his office, stood what appeared to be the entire Hogwarts faculty. At the forefront was Dumbledore himself. Behind him, looking concerned and agitated, were Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and others.

“Everyone?” Looking at the crowd of professors blocking his doorway, Bryan asked seriously, “Has something serious happened?!”

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