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is that a student
?” shrieked Professor McGo-
nagall, the books spilling out of her arms.
“Yep,” said Moody.
“No!” cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and
pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise,
Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his
sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his
feet, wincing.
“Moody, we
never
use Transfiguration as a punishment!” said
Professor McGonagall weakly. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told
you that?”
“He might’ve mentioned it, yeah,” said Moody, scratching his
chin unconcernedly, “but I thought a good sharp shock —”
“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of
House!”
“I’ll do that, then,” said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great
dislike.
Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and hu-
miliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered some-
thing in which the words “my father” were distinguishable.
“Oh yeah?” said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the
dull
clunk
of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. “Well, I
know your father of old, boy. . . . You tell him Moody’s keeping a
close eye on his son . . . you tell him that from me. . . . Now, your
Head of House’ll be Snape, will it?”
MAD-EYE MOODY
207
“Yes,” said Malfoy resentfully.
“Another old friend,” growled Moody. “I’ve been looking for-
ward to a chat with old Snape. . . . Come on, you. . . .”
And he seized Malfoy’s upper arm and marched him off toward
the dungeons.
Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few mo-
ments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to
soar up into the air and back into her arms.
“Don’t talk to me,” Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione
as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, sur-
rounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened.
“Why not?” said Hermione in surprise.
“Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,” said Ron, his
eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. “Draco Malfoy,
the amazing bouncing ferret . . .”
Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began dol-
ing beef casserole onto each of their plates.
“He could have really hurt Malfoy, though,” she said. “It was
good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it —”
“Hermione!” said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again,
“you’re ruining the best moment of my life!”
Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top
speed again.
“Don’t tell me you’re going back to the library this evening?” said
Harry, watching her.
“Got to,” said Hermione thickly. “Loads to do.”
“But you told us Professor Vector —”
“It’s not schoolwork,” she said. Within five minutes, she had
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
208
cleared her plate and departed. No sooner had she gone than her
seat was taken by Fred Weasley.
“Moody!” he said. “How cool is he?”
“Beyond cool,” said George, sitting down opposite Fred.
“Supercool,” said the twins’ best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into
the seat beside George. “We had him this afternoon,” he told
Harry and Ron.
“What was it like?” said Harry eagerly.
Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning.
“Never had a lesson like it,” said Fred.
“He
knows,
man,” said Lee.
“Knows what?” said Ron, leaning forward.
“Knows what it’s like to be out there
doing
it,” said George
impressively.
“Doing what?” said Harry.
“Fighting the Dark Arts,” said Fred.
“He’s seen it all,” said George.
“ ’Mazing,” said Lee.
Ron dived into his bag for his schedule.
“We haven’t got him till Thursday!” he said in a disappointed
voice.
C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N
209
THE UNFORGIVABLE
CURSES
he next two days passed without great incident, unless you
counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Pro-
fessor Snape, who seemed to have attained new levels of vindictive-
ness over the summer, gave Neville detention, and Neville returned
from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disem-
bowel a barrel full of horned toads.
“You know why Snape’s in such a foul mood, don’t you?” said
Ron to Harry as they watched Hermione teaching Neville a Scour-
ing Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Moody.”
It was common knowledge that Snape really wanted the Dark
Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year run-
ning. Snape had disliked all of their previous Dark Arts teachers,
and shown it — but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt
animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever Harry saw the
two of them together — at mealtimes, or when they passed in the
T
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
210
corridors — he had the distinct impression that Snape was avoid-
ing Moody’s eye, whether magical or normal.
“I reckon Snape’s a bit scared of him, you know,” Harry said
thoughtfully.
“Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad,” said Ron,
his eyes misting over, “and bounced him all around his dungeon. . . .”
The Gryffindor fourth years were looking forward to Moody’s
first lesson so much that they arrived early on Thursday lunchtime
and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung.
The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in
time for the lesson.
“Been in the —”
“Library.” Harry finished her sentence for her. “C’mon, quick,
or we won’t get decent seats.”
They hurried into three chairs right in front of the teacher’s
desk, took out their copies of
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