3rd Nov 1992
Hogwarts
"Excuse me."
I turned my head to look at the two girls standing over my shoulder.
"Hi," smiled the clearly flustered Ravenclaw.
"Hi," I smiled back.
"Um...would you mind signing this for me, please?" she said, thrusting forward a copy of Race to The Golden City.
"Of course not," I replied, taking the book. "Anything for a fan," I smiled.
"Thanks. You can make it out to Cho!" she quickly added.
"Sure," I said. Retrieving my pen from my pocket, I wrote down:
To my friend Cho,
Best Wishes
Richard Castle
"Here you go." I handed her the book back.
"Thank you! Oh, and I really enjoyed your movie, by the way. It was fantastic!" she said excitedly.
"Thank you," I gave her a smile and she walked away.
"What number does that make?" Neville asked Harry. They were both sitting in front of me, having dinner.
"56, 57 maybe," Harry remarked offhandedly, taking a bite out of his lamb chop. "I don't know, I lost count after 50."
"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione.
"Number of girls that's asked Ben for an autograph," smirked Harry.
"Jealous, boys?" I asked with a light smile.
"Oh, please! We've seen how you've been spending even more time in your lab lately... hiding from all your wonderful fans," chuckled Neville.
"Actually, it's because I'm close to making a breakthrough in one of my projects. Hopefully, it'll be ready for testing in a few months," I said, doing some calculations in my head. "In other news, I heard our new Defence teacher will be arriving today."
"Where did you hear that?" asked Daphne. She took a look at the High table—where alongwith the other teachers, the headmaster was seated, wearing a pensive expression. "Did Dumbledore tell you?"
"Maybe," I said noncommittally.
"I still can't believe Lockhart just ran off like that," said Tracey.
The morning after halloween, we were all having breakfast in the Great Hall when Filch came in carrying a letter for Dumbledore. Apparently, Lockhart had given it to him after the Halloween feast and instructed him to hand it over to the headmaster at breakfast.
Reading the letter, Dumbledore announced to the dumbstruck hall that Lockhart had resigned from his post and left the castle already, as he had to take care of an urgent matter of great importance somewhere else.
"I can't believe just how happy the other teachers looked hearing that Lockhart was gone," commented Hermione. "Wonder where he is now."
"Ireland," I answered.
"Excuse me?" she said, confused.
"I put some tracking charms on his belongings," I explained. With a thought, the mini map function of my glasses activated. The map swiftly expanded to show all of Europe, where a red dot hovered over Ireland. "Right now, he is in Bandon, Ireland. He is probably trying to do damage control before it's too late. The poor sod has no idea that he is leading us exactly where we want him to."
"Well, I say good riddance! The man was such an annoying humbug," scoffed Daphne. "I just hope we get someone halfway decent this time."
As if in response to her words, the doors of the Great Hall banged open.
Every head in the room swiveled towards the sound. There stood in the doorway a burly, heavily scarred man with a whizzing electric-blue prosthetic eye and a heavy wooden leg. He was leaning upon a long staff, dressed in a black travelling cloak.
The man stood there for a moment, his blue eye taking in all the details of the room; before he started making his way to the teacher's table.
"Hey, Mr Moody," I jovially greeted the man walking by us, shattering the silent atmosphere of the hall.
"Benjamin," he gave a curt nod in passing.
"Moody? As in Alastor Moody?" Neville whispered once the man was a fair distance away from us. "The Auror?"
"Yep, that's him," I confirmed, watching him shake Dumbledore's hand.
"What's an Auror doing here?" said Harry, confused.
"He retired a year ago. Must be here on Dumbledore's request," I answered.
"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered, her eyes fixed upon the lines of scars running along his countenance. "What happened to his face?
"Well, every wartime Auror has got their fair share of scars—and Moody was one of the very best," I said. "More than half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him."
"You sound like you know him," said Daphne, watching Moody sit down on the empty chair on the Headmaster's right-hand side.
"We met a couple of times when I went to the Ministry with dad," I replied. "I gave him a few ideas about some gadgets the Aurors could use. He seemed interested."
Dumbledore stood up. "May I introduce our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."
Normally when a new teacher is introduced, there would be applause. For Moody however, Dumbledore was the only one who bothered to clap. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by his grim visage to do more than stare at him. I joined the headmaster in welcoming the new professor, and my friends joined me. So it didn't end up as embarassing as it could have been.
Moody seemed completely indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Pulling a plate of sausages toward him, he stabbed one with a fork and started eating.
I watched him closely. I knew that there was almost no chance of Moody being an imposter in this timeline. But still, best to be sure.
Relief flowed through me when he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice from the nearby jug, instead of drinking from a flask which could contain anything—including Polyjuice potion. Now I just needed to make sure that he could go for an hour without having a drink of any kind.
---
5th Nov 1992
Hogwarts
We didn't have DADA again until Thursday afternoon. By now Moody's reputation as an ex-Auror had become common knowledge. So when the time came, the second year Ravenclaws and Slytherins eagerly queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung.
Daphne, Tracey, Hermione and I sat down in the front row and waited. Soon, the old grizzled professor made his way into the classroom with a register.
He stumped over to his desk and sat down. Opening the register, he started calling out names. His normal eye moved steadily down the list, while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as they answered.
"Right then," he started, snapping the register shut and standing up. "I am Alastor Moody. Ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent and your new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher," he said, looking around the room. "Any questions?"
No one uttered a word.
"Good!" he growled. "Now normally, when taking over a new batch of trainees, I would question their previous instructors to determine their level. Unfortunately, that's not an option with you lot—one of your previous teachers being dead, the other one being incommunicado at the moment. So we'll have to settle things with a baseline test."
The class groaned.
"Twenty questions. Nothing complicated, just a simple assessment of your current abilities. You don't even have to put your names down if you don't want to. But there will be no cheating," he glared.
"Cheating hurts you—not me. Answer as quickly as you can. Skip those you're not sure of, return to them after finishing the rest. You have ten minutes." He waved his wand and parchments settled in front of us.
The students looked down at the sheets with caution, Lockhart's little test still fresh in their minds. A quick peek however, assured them that the paper was on point. The questions covered stealth spells, basic counters, creature classifications, and identifying curse signatures.
Still groaning, most of the class started at once.
After ten minutes, Moody announced, "Time's up," and waved his wand. The parchments flew to his desk, some with long ink lines on them as their owners had failed to lift their quills in time. "Take out your copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, Chapter 1 and start reading. If you don't have your copy with you, share with someone else. There will be no talking."
After giving out those orders, he spent the next few minutes flipping through the papers. He didn't say anything, but his deep sighs and growls did not paint a happy picture.
"Alright, that's enough," he called out, and the students focused back on him. "I believe I have a decent grasp of your current situation... and it is abysmal," he pronounced with a severe gaze.
"Homework! Owl home and have your parents send over your copy of last year's The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection & The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. Before the end of this month, I expect each and every one of you to read and understand everything that's written in both of those books."
The entire class gasped, and then groaned. Hermione looked ecstatic, while Crabbe and Goyle looked like someone had just informed them that Christmas was cancelled this year and they would be spending the day shoveling snow at Hogwarts.
"Failure to do so will result in an automatic F in your DADA finals," he announced to the disgruntled students. "What you learnt last year, or atleast were supposed to learn—is the basis of everything that you will learn from this day forth."
"Now, when it comes to Defense against the Dark Arts, I believe in a practical approach. You'll always remember what you learn by doing a thousand times better than any lecture you hear sitting on your arse!" he thundered.
"Today we begin with counter-curses—one of the most important parts of defensive magic, and one of the most neglected. Most wizards assume a simple Finite will fix everything. It won't. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it only makes things worse. And sometimes it gets you killed."
He waved his wand towards the blackboard, conjuring precise instructions in terse handwriting.
Three Rules of Counter-Cursing—
1. Identify the curse correctly.
2. Break the curse without strengthening it.
3. Contain collateral effects.
Moody pointed to the first line.
"Rule no. 1: If you don't know what hit you, don't cast blindly. Countering the wrong curse can lock the spell in place. Or reverse it. Or detonate it. So today, we learn to read curses."
He flicked his wand again, and ten small stones appeared on his desk—each engraved with a faint, glowing rune.
"These stones carry basic jinxes. Harmless, if you treat them correctly. Disastrous, if you don't."
Uneasy shifting rippled through the class.
"You will work in pairs. One stone per pair. Your task is simple: identify the jinx, then break it safely."
His eye whirred.
"I will not intervene unless you are about to lose a limb."
A few faces paled.
Hermione whispered, "He can't be serious!"
"He is always serious when it comes to losing limbs," I shrugged.
Moody demonstrated, choosing one of the stones.
He held it up.
"Observe the aura, the behaviour, the residue. Even low-level curses leave a signature. This one—"
He rotated the stone; faint sparks of yellow flickered around it.
"Petrificus-type variant. Low-grade. Stuns the hand of whoever picks it up. Safe enough."
He tapped it with his wand.
"Finite."
The rune dimmed and vanished.
"Your turn."
The stones levitated, drifting down to pairs of students. Hermione took ours carefully.
"This one…" she murmured, studying the glow, "feels like a tripping jinx. Modified, maybe?"
I nodded. "Short-range, object-bound. Likely collapses if you cut its anchor."
Moody passed behind us, listening.
"Correct," he said gruffly. "But don't just cancel it. Break the curse at its weakest point."
He moved on.
Around the room, students worked quietly, cautiously. Daphne and Tracey muttered diagnostic spells with careful precision. Across the aisle, Terry Boot hesitated for long minutes before attempting his counter; Moody muttered a corrective charm mid-air to stop the curse from rebounding.
"Identify first!" Moody barked at a panicked Slytherin who nearly Finite'd a stone that was visibly pulsing red. "If you can't identify the magic, you can't break it. And if you can't break a basic jinx, you will not survive a curse."
By the time he ordered wands down, everyone looked drained—even Hermione, who lived for challenges like these.
Moody strode to the front again.
"What did you learn?"
Silence.
Then Hermione raised her hand.
"To diagnose before countering, sir."
"Correct. Ten points. Anyone else?"
Daphne lifted her chin slightly. "That some curses hide their true form."
Moody nodded. "Another ten points. And remember this: Dark magic rarely announces itself."
He scanned us, both eyes unblinking.
"Counter-curses are not about heroics. They're about survival. You recognise danger, break it down, and live long enough to escape. That is the foundation of Defense Against the Dark Arts. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
He snapped his fingers; the cursed stones vanished.
"Next week we advance to real spellcasting. If today was difficult, then prepare yourselves. You will not be learning the sanitized version here."
He swept the room with one final glare.
"Class dismissed."
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[Taking a short break and watching a couple episodes of Pluribus rightnow.
What would you do if you were one of the dozen people left with free will on Earth, with everyone else bending over backwards to serve your every whim?]