Harry Potter with Technology System Ch350- Wretched!

Ch350- Wretched!

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Moody turned back to the class, still holding the twitching spider between his fingers. "The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how. But it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can."

His voice suddenly rose. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, making several students jump again. He tossed the spider back into the jar, slamd the lid shut, and shoved it aside.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

Harry’s eyes flicked toward Neville, who was sitting rigidly in his seat, his hands clenched into fists on the desk. Moody’s question seed to hang in the air, unanswered for a mont too long. Then Harry leaned slightly toward Neville and said quietly, "Stare ahead and say it."

Neville didn’t move at first, but after a second, he unclenched his fists and raised his hand slightly. Moody’s normal eye settled on him, while his magical one continued its restless spin.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Neville said, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture.

Moody gave a small nod. "Your na?"

"Neville Longbottom."

"Ah," Moody said slowly, a note of sothing unreadable in his tone. "Longbottom."

Several students glanced curiously at Neville, but Moody didn’t give them ti to dwell on it. He reached into the jar again, pulling out another spider, and set it down on the desk in front of him.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Moody said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. "One of the darkest spells in existence. Causes unbearable pain. You wouldn’t know which way was up by the ti it’s done with you."

"The Cruciatus Curse," he continued. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!" The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula.

Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody's desk as possible.

Without warning, Moody pointed his wand at the spider and muttered, "Crucio."

The reaction was imdiate. The spider’s legs curled inward as it writhed violently, tiny spasms shaking its body. Its movents were frantic, erratic, and entirely unnatural. A few students recoiled, looking sick. Hermione had gone pale, her hand clutching her quill tightly.

"Stop it," Neville muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, but Harry, sitting beside him, heard it clearly.

Moody didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he ignored it. He held the spell for another second before lifting his wand. The spider stopped thrashing but remained curled up, twitching slightly. It looked utterly broken.

"Unforgivable," Moody said, his voice like iron. "The use of the Cruciatus Curse on another human being is one of the most heavily punished cris in our world."

"Reducio," Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

"Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture soone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse... That one was very popular once too. Right... anyone know any others?"

Both of his eyes locked on Harry, who stared back coldly. The whole class turned silent, the raised hands fell back, watching the standoff. Harry didn’t answer. He knew exactly what Crouch wanted—he wanted to hear Harry say it. But Harry had no intention of giving him that satisfaction.

“How cruel. To make Longbottom say it, but you refuse. Isn’t it hypocritical, Harry?” Nigel’s voice echoed in his mind, laced with mocking amusent.

Harry ignored him, keeping his gaze steady on the fake Moody.

A few seconds passed, tension thick in the room. It was Blaise who eventually broke the silence, leaning back in his chair and muttering, “He’s waiting for you to say it, Potter. Looks like you’re the star of today’s performance.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Crouch’s face—just for a mont, but enough for Harry to catch it. He wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as the real Moody. Harry didn’t blink, letting the silence stretch longer until it beca uncomfortable.

“Fine,” Hermione said abruptly, her voice sharp. “The Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra.”

Several students sucked in their breath. Harry kept his expression neutral, though he could feel the weight of the room shift. The fear was almost palpable.

"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra... the Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface. Moody raised his wand, and Harry felt a sudden thrill of foreboding.

"Avada Kedavra!" Moody roared. There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible sothing was soaring through the air - instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him. Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of ."

Harry smirked. "You’re wrong, Professor."

Moody’s magical eye locked onto him, squinting slightly as his real one narrowed. "What do you an, Mr. Potter?" he asked in a low growl, clearly expecting an answer that would challenge his authority.

Harry leaned back casually, his smirk widening just enough to irritate the imposter further. “You said there’s no countercurse for the Killing Curse—no way to stop it. But that’s not entirely true, is it?”

The class was dead silent. All eyes turned toward Harry, confusion, curiosity, and unease rippling through the students. Even Hermione, who had been tense since the start of the lesson, looked more puzzled than worried now.

“Go on, Potter,” Moody said, his voice gruff. There was sothing dangerous in the way he spoke, like he didn’t appreciate being corrected in front of the class. His magical eye spun wildly, locking onto Harry again, as if trying to read more than what was being said.

Harry tapped the edge of his desk lazily with one finger before replying, “Transfiguration, if tid perfectly, can block it. I’m sure you’ve read about those cases where soone turned a nearby object into a shield just in ti. It’s not exactly reliable, but it’s been done.”

Moody’s lips twisted into what might have been a grin or a grimace—it was hard to tell with his scarred face. “Theoretically, yes. But I doubt you’ll find many wizards quick enough to pull it off in the heat of the mont.”

Harry’s smirk widened slightly. “Perhaps, but you didn’t say anything about theory, did you? You just said it was unstoppable.”

Moody grunted, clearly irritated but unable to outright deny Harry’s point. Before he could respond, Harry continued, his voice calm but with an edge of amusent. “And there’s the little matter of what my mother did. That ritual she used—ancient magic—managed to stop the curse and even rebound it. Isn’t that how she killed that wretched Voldemort?”

The ntion of Voldemort’s na caused a ripple of discomfort through the room. Several students flinched, and Ron looked like he was about to say sothing but decided against it. Moody’s magical eye stopped spinning, locking firmly on Harry, as if trying to pierce through him.

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