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In the early twelfth century, a Christian wizard declared that Fiendfyre was not a flame of the mortal world, but a magical fire from Hell. Although most wizards believed neither in Christianity nor in God, many accepted his view. No matter how one looked at it, Fiendfyre's properties truly did not seem like those of fire from this world.
If that wizard had merely stated this opinion, he would never have entered the history books. But he devoted his entire life to researching Fiendfyre and, at the moment before his death, created a countercurse capable of suppressing it.
That spell was called Fire's Quietus.
It was a spell that could cast Fiendfyre into another space and make it vanish. Whether that space was Hell was unknown.
After all, no wizard had ever been bored enough to prove it.
Although Fiendfyre had a countercurse, the countercurse was extremely difficult. It was even somewhat harder than the Patronus Charm or becoming an Animagus. Ordinary wizards could not learn it at all.
Across the entire wizarding world, very few wizards knew this countercurse. Moody happened to be one of them.
The tip of his wand burst with red sparks. The points of light flew out and touched the dark crimson flames. The space around the fire gradually twisted. Then the flame, said to burn all things, vanished together with a patch of scorched plaster.
Moody tapped his wand several more times. Each time, another point of light flew out and swallowed part of the Fiendfyre.
Before long, the Fiendfyre in the room had been cleared away.
Only then did Moody let out a breath. When he looked at Harry, his expression was difficult to describe.
This was far too exaggerated. Harry was clearly only an underage fourth-year wizard, yet his spell had been so powerful.
He had nearly lost control of a Fiendfyre spell he had never systematically studied.
Fortunately, when Moody had boasted during the first lesson, he had not actually allowed the young wizards to take turns casting Avada Kedavra at him. If Harry had given him an Avada Kedavra, it definitely would not have ended with a nosebleed.
Harry looked at Moody, his gaze evasive.
In truth, he had tried to say that he had studied Fiendfyre before, but Moody had not given him the chance. Now the ceiling of the entire room had been burned bare.
He would not have to pay for it, would he?
"Professor Moody, since you have already seen Harry's Fiendfyre, I think it is my turn now."
Dudley's voice sounded, interrupting both of their thoughts.
"Wait," Moody shouted immediately. "We are going outside."
He knew very well that the person named Dursley was even more talented than Potter.
Potter had nearly set the room on fire. Dursley would be worse.
It did not matter whether the room burned. That was Hogwarts property. But nothing could happen to the trunk. That concerned the future.
Moody chose caution without hesitation.
Just as Moody expected, Dudley's Fiendfyre was several times larger than Harry's. If Harry's Fiendfyre had begun as the size of a fist, Dudley's began as the size of a large iron cooking pot.
If Fiendfyre at that level erupted inside a professor's quarters, it might truly set Hogwarts alight.
"The most important part of dealing with Fiendfyre is controlling its form."
After seeing that Dudley and Harry could both successfully summon the magical flame, Moody summoned Fiendfyre in front of them and began the second stage of instruction.
Control.
In theory, the last thing one should ever do was strengthen an enemy. Yet when this "Professor Moody" taught Dudley and Harry Fiendfyre, he was extremely serious.
He nearly guided them step by step, and their progress became astonishingly fast.
Fiendfyre was an extremely special flame. Its greatest traits, aside from burning almost everything, were that it did not distinguish friend from foe.
In theory, if your control over Fiendfyre was stronger than someone else's, then when the other person released it, you could seize control of the flame instead.
Fiendfyre was also a highly malleable spell.
A powerful wizard could shape Fiendfyre into almost any form for attack: a giant serpent, a giant, or even an enormous version of the caster's own head.
Combined with Fiendfyre's properties, that made it far more powerful than ordinary spells.
Not all Fiendfyre was dark crimson. Special forms of Fiendfyre could appear blue, black, or ghostly green, each with its own unique properties. These forms were more powerful than ordinary dark crimson Fiendfyre.
One could say that not every Dark wizard knew Fiendfyre, but a powerful Dark wizard's Fiendfyre would certainly be powerful.
In only two weeks, Dudley could already control Fiendfyre skillfully. After one month, he had completed his study of Fire's Quietus, the Fiendfyre countercurse, while Harry had also gained a basic grasp of Fiendfyre.
Looking at their terrifying progress, especially Dudley's, Moody suddenly felt that perhaps he should not have taught them.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, not far from Hagrid's hut, the members of the disciplinary group had grown tired of the Great Hall's food and were sitting around a fire.
To accommodate the foreign students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, Hogwarts's tables had recently begun serving strange dishes from other places.
For example, a strange dish called stargazy pie had been openly placed on the tables.
The fish heads sticking out of the pastry, eyes staring upward, created a chilling sight even before anyone tried eating it.
Even Hermione, who had some familiarity with food from many countries, avoided the dish as if it were dangerous. She could enjoy the mixed fish stew that Ron, Neville, and Malfoy could barely swallow half a mouthful of, which showed how dark stargazy pie seemed to them.
As for the others, even smelling it was a trial. It was said that the first time the dish appeared at the table, Ron had vomited on the spot.
Yet the Beauxbatons students, who appeared so refined, liked the dish very much. Whenever Hermione and the others saw them eating it with relish, they felt uncomfortable just watching.
Then there was iced caramel apple pie, a dessert so sweet that even English students who lived on sugar found it cloying. The caramel inside the apple pie was even sweeter than the scoop of ice cream on top. It was like eating a compressed block of countless kinds of sugar. It was nearly impossible to swallow.
Yet the Durmstrang students ate it happily. One serving was not enough. They could ask for a second.
These dishes were only the tip of the iceberg. The Great Hall tables had practically been occupied by strange cuisine.
In Ron's words, there was not even a proper roast chicken leg. What was the point of eating?
"Brother D, what is that tin thing?"
Ron pointed at the red-and-yellow can in Dudley's hand.
"This?"
Dudley shook the can in his hand. "This is something good. A very famous delicacy from northern Europe."
"It is called fermented herring."
"Want to try it?"
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