HP: god of potions

Chapter 59

"Your attention, please! I would like to say a few words," Dumbledore began, his voice resonating through the room. "Eternal glory, that is what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to achieve this, the student must survive three tasks—three extremely dangerous tasks." Meanwhile, Gray was preoccupied with scratching his brain over the nature of time. "I should have made a brain-enhancing potion," he thought, realizing that enhancing his physique to peak superhuman levels didn't make him smarter. Fred whispered to George, "Wicked," grinning mischievously. Dumbledore continued, "For this reason, the Ministry has imposed a new rule. To explain, we have the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mister Bartimus Crouch."

Suddenly, thunder roared, and rain began leaking through the roof, prompting screams. A figure in the doorway sealed the roof with magic, restoring calm. "Bloody hell, it's Mad-Eye Moody," Ron muttered, his eyes wide. Hermione corrected him, "Alastor Moody? The Auror." Ron nodded. "He was a catcher. Half the cells in Azkaban are full thanks to him. But they say he's mad as a hatter these days." Moody's mechanical eye swiveled to study each student, finally settling on Gray for some reason. Limping heavily, he approached Dumbledore, grumbling, "That stupid roof," before taking a long drink from his flask. As the room buzzed with murmurs, Dumbledore silenced the hall, approached a wooden box, and transformed it into a goblet with a flickering blue flame. "The Goblet of Fire," he announced, "Anyone wishing to submit themselves for the tournament must write their name on a piece of parchment and throw it into the flame before this hour on Thursday night. Do not do so lightly. If chosen, there is no turning back." The room held its breath as students stared at the goblet, dreams of glory flickering in their eyes—except for Gray, who was still too busy trying to understand time.

-scene change-

In the quiet of a classroom, Mad-Eye Moody, his rugged presence commanding attention, introduced himself by scrawling his name on the board with swift strokes. "Alastor Moody," he declared, his voice gruff. "Ministry malcontent. And your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'm here because Dumbledore asked me, end of story, goodbye, the end. Any questions?" He wasted no time. "When it comes to the Dark Arts, I believe in a practical approach. Who can tell me how many Unforgivable Curses there are?" Hermione, sitting beside Gray, Ron, and Harry, raised her hand, making Gray chuckle as she whispered, "What?" before she answered confidently, "Three, sir." Moody nodded, his expression stern. "And they are so named?" he prompted. "Because they are unforgivable," Hermione continued. "Use of any one of them will…" "Earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban," Moody interrupted sharply. "Correct. Now, the Ministry says you're too young to see what these curses do. I say different! You need to know what you're up against." His tone turned scolding as he suddenly barked, "And you, Mr. Finnigan, find somewhere else to put your chewing gum other than the underside of your desk!" The class tittered nervously, a pupil muttering, "Aw no way, the old codger can see out the back of his head," just as Moody hurled a piece of chalk with startling precision.

Meanwhile, Gray paid attention, actually paying complete attention as he thought, "He is a little crazy, but he is teaching." As Moody continued, "So," Moody growled, scanning the room, "Which curse shall we see first? WEASLEY!" Ron jumped in his seat, startled. "Yes…" he stammered. "Give us a curse," Moody demanded. Hesitating, Ron ventured, "Well, my dad told me about one... The Imperius Curse." Moody's face darkened with a knowing smirk. "Ahhh yes, your father would know all about that. Gave the Ministry quite a bit of grief a few years ago. Perhaps this will show you why." He pulled a jar from the desk, a spider crawling inside. "Hello," Moody said almost kindly to the creature. "What a little beauty." With a flick of his wand, the spider soared around the classroom, landing on Gray's shoulder while some of the students were spooked and moved.

Gray stayed perfectly still, which earned a chuckle from Moody, who said, "Fearless, aren't you?" as he approached Gray before taking the spider off him. "Don't worry," Moody assured the uneasy students, "Completely harmless." Yet his smirk deepened. "But if she bites... she's lethal!" The class squirmed, Draco Malfoy snickering. Moody's gaze snapped to him. "What are you laughing at?" The spider flew straight to Draco's face, causing him to flinch as the class erupted in nervous laughter. Moody's tone was icy. "Talented, isn't she? What shall I have her do next? Jump out the window? Drown herself?" With a wave of his wand, he dangled the spider over a bucket of water, its tiny legs flailing. Gray watched as the spider drowned, with no hint of emotion in his eyes as he thought, "No wonder it's one of the forbidden. It's quite… useful." He pondered as Moody continued, "Scores of witches and wizards claimed they only did You-Know-Who's bidding under the Imperius Curse. But how do we sort out the liars?" He scanned the room, his sharp eyes locking on Gray. "Knight, is it? Up."

Gray then slowly and easily rose, towering over the professor. "Hmm, tall and muscular. Most professors tell me that you rank among the top of the class. Especially Snape, who tells me you have an aptitude for alchemy," Moody remarked. "There's the Cruciatus Curse," Gray said. "Correct! Particularly nasty. The Torture Curse." Moody demonstrated, the spider shrieking in agony as Gray watched. He didn't seem distraught or shocked as Moody said, "Hm, not a lover of animals, I see. Makes sense since you are an alchemist." That was when Hermione's voice rang out, desperate and firm. "Stop it! Can't you see it's bothering him? Stop it!" Moody halted, his expression unreadable as he picked up the still-squealing spider. "Perhaps you could give us the last Unforgivable Curse, Miss Granger." Hermione shook her head silently, her face pale. With a muttered spell, Moody disintegrated the spider into nothingness. "The Killing Curse," he said, his voice quieter but no less intense.

"Only one person is known to have survived it." His gaze fixed on Harry. "And he's sitting in this room." He moved closer to Harry's desk, his every step deliberate, before taking a swig from his flask, the weight of his words lingering heavily in the air.

Ron bounded down the stairs with an eager grin, his voice echoing in the stone hall. "Brilliant, isn't he? Completely demented, of course. Terrifying to be in the same room with, but he's really been there, you know." Hermione, frowning in disapproval, replied sharply, "There's a reason those curses are unforgivable, and to perform them in a classroom!" Their conversation trailed off as they spotted Neville standing motionless by a window, his expression distant. Mad-Eye Moody approached the boy, placing a rough but steady hand on his shoulder. "Son, you alright?" Neville nodded silently. "Come on," Moody said kindly, "we'll have a cup of tea. I want to show you something."

In the Goblet room, older students gathered in excited clusters, eagerly placing their names into the blue flames of the Goblet of Fire. Cheers erupted as Cedric Diggory joined the crowd, his confident demeanor shining. Ron watched with admiration, whispering to Harry, "Eternal glory, be brilliant, wouldn't it? In three years, we'll be old enough to be chosen." Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well, rather you than me." Suddenly, Fred and George Weasley burst into the scene, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you, thank you, well lads, we've done it!" George announced proudly. "Cooked it up just this morning," Fred added with a wink. Hermione interjected, skeptical as ever. "It's not going to work." The twins exchanged smirks, determined to prove her wrong. They leapt into the age line with bravado, their triumphant cheers quickly turning to dismay as the Goblet spat them back, transformed into grey-haired, bearded versions of themselves.