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Ch355- Reaction
Ch355- Reaction
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The next morning, word had already spread across the castle about Harry’s impromptu lesson in mental defense the night before. By the time he entered the Great Hall for breakfast, conversations were buzzing at every table—snippets about Occlumency, resisting curses, and “that Potter and his dueling club.” Most students glanced his way as he walked toward the Slytherin table.
Before he could even sit down, Professor Flitwick approached with Professors Snape, Sinistra, and Bathsheda Babbling in tow. The group of professors blocked his path, drawing attention from nearby students.
“Mr. Potter,” Flitwick began, his tone unusually cheerful for the early hour. “I must say, I’ve heard quite a bit about your efforts last night. Very impressive, very impressive indeed.”
Harry chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Word travels fast.”
“Indeed,” Flitwick said, his eyes twinkling. “Your approach to mental defense training caught our interest. Very clever, incorporating a simulated curse into your magical books.”
Snape, standing slightly to the side, crossed his arms and gave Harry a slow nod. “It seems you’ve taken Professor Moody’s rather blunt method and made it more... palatable.”
Harry knew that was Snape’s way of giving a compliment. He shrugged. “Didn’t think letting students get controlled by curses would do them much good long term.”
“Well said,” Sinistra chimed in, her tone approving. “Teaching students to resist without breaking them down mentally? Smart.”
Bathsheda, ever the straightforward type, got straight to the point. “Can you send the simulation and steps to our books as well? It’ll be a valuable tool in our classes.”
Harry gave a slight nod. “Yeah, I can link it to the staff books. I’ll sort it out after breakfast.”
“Excellent,” Flitwick said, clapping his hands together. “We look forward to seeing how this develops. Well done, Mr. Potter.”
With that, the group of professors turned back toward the staff table, where Dumbledore was seated, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression. His fingers were steepled in front of him, and though he didn’t say a word, there was something in his gaze—calm, thoughtful, but difficult to read.
Barely after Harry sat down and took a sip from his goblet, a familiar thudding sound echoed from the entrance. Moody stormed into the Great Hall, his wooden leg clunking loudly against the stone floor as he made his way toward the Slytherin table. The conversations around the hall quieted considerably, students craning their necks to watch what promised to be an interesting confrontation.
Moody’s lips twisted into a snarl, but before he could snap back, Nigel cut in with another jab, "Careful, Harry. He’s one fake leg away from snapping completely. Next thing you know, he’ll be demonstrating Cruciatus on a plate of toast."
Harry ignored him, eyes locked on Moody. He knew the man—or rather, the imposter—couldn’t outright accuse him of wrongdoing without drawing more attention than he wanted. Playing the role of the gruff, paranoid ex-Auror meant keeping up appearances. Blowing up at a student over an extracurricular lesson wouldn’t help that image.
“I hope this little club of yours isn’t interfering with my lessons,” Moody growled, his magical eye spinning wildly again. “Because if it does, Potter, you’ll find yourself spending more time in detention than in that dueling hall of yours.”
“It won’t interfere,” Harry replied smoothly. “If anything, it’ll make your job easier. Fewer students panicking when you hit them with the Imperius Curse.”
A few students nearby snickered, quickly covering their mouths when Moody’s glare snapped toward them. The Headmaster finally intervened, his voice carrying through the hall with calm authority.
“Now, now, Alastor,” Dumbledore began, his blue eyes twinkling slightly as he steepled his fingers. “I am sure Mr. Potter has his heart in the right place. So far, he has done a tremendous job with the Duelling Club, and I must say, his magical book is nothing short of genius. The students have only gained from his efforts, not lost.”
Dumbledore glanced at McGonagall, who gave a small nod. “In fact, Minerva has shown me what Mr. Potter is teaching, and I must admit, it is quite clever—safe, with no side effects, save perhaps a headache if overdone.” He chuckled lightly, though his words left no room for further argument.
Moody’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t immediately reply. His magical eye spun briefly toward Dumbledore before returning to Harry, clearly unsatisfied but unwilling to push the matter further in front of the Headmaster. “Fine,” he grunted, his tone rough. “But if I see any signs of this interfering with my lessons, Potter, you’ll wish you hadn’t been so clever.”
Harry gave a polite nod, though his eyes didn’t waver from Moody’s. “Understood, Professor.”
Moody turned sharply, his wooden leg thudding heavily against the floor as he marched toward the staff table. The students nearby waited until he was out of earshot before murmurs spread through the hall like wildfire
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