Harry sighed as he sat at his empty desk in Defense. He pulled out his book and casually flipped through, his mind torn between the other book sitting in his bag and the mysterious golden egg in his dorm. If he had expected the egg to give all the answers to the Second Task, he had been horribly wrong as all it did was emit an ear-piercing screech when opened. He and Gryffindor house had not been impressed. As soon as he had returned to the Tower after the First Task, it was as though the last three months hadn’t happened. All the Gryffindors were now cheering for him and were now encouraging him to do well in the coming tasks.

He glanced over at Hermione. Well, not everyone.

He couldn’t help but shake his head at these people. They tried to call themselves friends but they turned around and hated him in seconds then supported him again. This was not friendship and he once again wished he still had Ron with him.

“Quiet!”

He looked up and closed his book when Moody hobbled up to the front.

“The Unforgiveables,” Moody snapped, writing the word messily in chalk on the board. “How many are there?”

Naturally, Hermione’s hand was in the air but Moody ignored her until Seamus’ hand joined hers.

“Yes?” Moody barked, gesturing at the Irish boy.

“Three, sir,” Seamus said.

“Three!” Moody shouted, making a few people jump. He put a one, two, and three in a vertical row and under ‘Unforgiveables’. “Why are they called such?”

He ignored Hermione, waiting for someone else. It took several seconds but eventually a Slytherin girl slowly raised her hand and Moody called on her.

“Because they can’t be forgiven, they are the most extreme magic, the worst of magic,” the girl said quietly.

“Right!” Moody said and Harry couldn’t help but wonder why the man was always on the verge of yelling. “If you use any of these curses, you go straight to Azkaban.”

Harry blinked in surprise. There were really spells bad enough to send you to Azkaban?

The Killing Curse that killed your parents that you survived, Ron’s voice in his head said. His hand drifted up to his scar briefly.

“Malfoy!” Moody shouted. “Give us one of these curses.”

Malfoy glared at the old Auror and, after a moment, said, “The Imperius Curse.”

Harry watched as a small amount of colour entered Malfoy’s cheeks even as the Slytherin continued to glare at Moody. He frowned, wondering what the interaction was about. After a few seconds, Moody turned and hobbled to his desk, pulling a large spider out of a jar. He made it grow even more and whispered, “Imperio.”

The spider jerked and then, all of a sudden, it started to move with Moody’s wand. It hopped off the man’s hand and hopped from one end of the desk to the other. It then stopped and began to spin in a circle before flattening on the desk. With a flick of his wand, Moody sent the spider flying to Malfoy’s desk. Once there it slowly walked on and up the boy’s arm.

Harry could see he was trying not to react, keeping his eyes on Moody. Glancing back at the man, Harry noticed the small smirk on the disfigured face and he felt his stomach jump again.

“The Imperius Curse,” Moody said, moving the spider back to his desk. “Can make someone do anything you want them to. Many followers of the Dark Lord claimed to be under this curse but it is impossible to know if they are telling the truth.”

Dark Lord? Harry thought to himself. Not the usual way of referring to Voldemort.

“Another!” Moody yelled in opposition to the quiet tone he had previously used. Astonishingly, Neville’s hand very slowly rose. “Longbottom!”

Harry saw Neville swallow thickly and he had a strange expression on his face. “The Cruciatus Curse,” he finally said quietly, almost sadly.

“Yes,” Moody mumbled and added louder, “The Torture Curse.”

He grabbed the spider and walked over to Neville’s desk, one row over from Harry and one desk behind. Harry turned to look. Hermione was at the same desk and he was sure he could see tears in her eyes. Moody put the spider down directly in front of Neville who looked almost scared at this point.

Moody raised his wand at the spider again and said, “Crucio.”

The spider began to twist and contort while letting out an unearthly screech of complete agony. Harry winced at the sight and sound, and felt a jolt through his body at the mere idea of using or being under the curse. He glanced at Neville and was shocked to see the look of pure pain on the boy’s face, as though Neville himself was under the curse. The other boy was cringing, he was starting to sweat, and Harry could swear he heard a quiet whimper come from the other Gryffindor.

“Stop it!” Hermione suddenly shouted, a few tears falling down her cheeks. “It’s bothering him! Stop it!”

Harry was greatly disturbed to see Moody had been smirking again as he used the curse. With a glance at Hermione’s horrified, angry face, Moody finally cut the spell.

“The Torture Curse,” Moody said again. “A common tool of the Dark Lord’s and his followers. There was once a time, a very long time ago, that our very own Ministry would use this curse in interrogations. Of course, it is no longer used. Prolonged exposure can cause insanity and even death.”

The class was silent with a mix of curiosity and horror. Dumbledore could not have possibly approved the use of these curses, could he?

“One more,” Moody said, picking up the spider and looking around the room. Harry looked up and met both of Moody’s eyes steadily. The spider was placed in front of him, still twitching. “Perhaps you know the third one, Potter? You have experience with it as well.”

Don’t answer. Engage him as little as possible, Ron’s voice said.

Listening to the voice, Harry just shook his head without speaking.

Moody hummed and Harry felt his entire body tense in preparation for what he was expecting to come.

“Avada Kedavra,” Moody hissed and the flash of green was a sight Harry knew he had seen before. His breath caught in his chest and his heart pounded painfully. He stared at the dead spider for a time before returning his hardened gaze to the Auror whose own eyes were glinting.

“The Killing Curse,” Moody said into the dead silent classroom. “Impossible to survive. Only one person in history is known to have survived it.”

Not one person even dared to breathe. The atmosphere was uncomfortably tense and thick. Harry knew everyone was just staring at him and Moody as they continued to stare at each other. When the bell rang, everyone jumped and raced from the room, many students nearly forgetting their bags in their haste. Harry was the last to leave, and as he did so, he felt Moody’s eyes continue to bore into the back of his head.

Once outside, he found himself shuddering involuntarily. He blew out a breath and began to head down the stairs. A little way down the staircase at one of the windows was Neville, standing there and staring out at the rain falling outside.

“Neville?” Harry said quietly and the other boy slowly raised his eyes to look at him. The other Gryffindor’s face was drawn and there was something haunted in his eyes. “Want to go to the room?”

Neville just nodded and they made their way to the Room of Requirement. They gained a room similar to the one Malfoy had asked for that first day. Theirs was smaller, however, with only two chairs and a small table in front of a fireplace that was blazing comfortably. They both sat in silence for a time as they just gazed into the flames.

“I live with my grandmother,” Neville finally said, still watching the fire. “Obviously you know that but I live with her because something bad happened to my parents. They were big targets of You Know Who like your parents. Death Eaters were sent after them one day and they were tortured. They were tortured for so long that they went insane. They are in St. Mungo’s and have been my whole life. They don’t even recognize me. They didn’t break though. They were so strong; they never gave up any important information. I want to make them proud.”

They allowed it to go quiet again as Harry processed what his friend had told him. Glancing over revealed that a fear tears had fallen down Neville’s face.

“They would definitely be proud,” Harry said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and keep trying. They’ll always be proud of you.”

Neville gave a watery smile. “Thanks, Harry.”

Harry smiled back. “I can sort of relate.”

Neville looked at him steadily. “Must’ve been hard to watch that curse.”

Harry nodded. “I don’t remember that night, not really. I’ve just always seen green flashes in nightmares and I hear my mother screaming when Dementors are around.”

“M’sorry,” Neville said and Harry smiled slightly again.

“Me too.”

And they sat in silence, their shared experiences between them.

“How’re you feeling?”

Harry looked up from his book when Snape spoke. He shrugged slightly. “Alright, I suppose. Glad I survived, if that’s what you mean.”

“We are all glad you survived,” Snape said and Harry’s lips twitched.

“Even you?”

Snape rolled his eyes and gave a half-hearted glare. “Yes, even me, Potter.”

Harry chuckled quietly. “Didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Would you like to leave?”

“No, sir.” Harry sobered. “Sorry.”

Snape hummed. They were quiet for a time and, as Harry attempted to continue reading, he found his thoughts wandering. He began to think about the First Task and all the times he’d heard Ron’s voice. He knew he had been—was still—absolutely destroyed when Ron died, but should he really be hearing his dead friend’s voice? Hermione had said in second year that, even in the wizarding world, hearing voices was a bad thing.

“Professor,” Harry said and the professor looked up. “Is it a bad thing if I’ve been hearing a voice?”

“It would depend on many factors.”

“I’ve been hearing Ron regularly since he died.”

“When do you hear him?”

“Usually when I need some kind of help. He reminded me to use my wand in the First Task,” Harry said. “He also told me not to engage Moody in class when he showed us the Unforgiveables.”

Snape’s eyes sharpened. “We will return to your last point.”

Harry just nodded, confused.

“As for the rest, you can be assured that you are not mad,” Snape said.

“Hermione said once that it’s bad to hear voices, even here, like when I heard the Basilisk.”

“Neither of these cases qualify as the wrong kind of hearing voices,” Snape said. “In your second year, you were hearing a real voice. It just happened to be a voice only you could hear due to your ability to speak Parseltongue. In your current case, you have simply adopted your friend’s voice as your conscience. You suffered a great loss when Mr. Weasley died and you are, naturally, holding onto him in some way. It is not uncommon. I am sure you had his voice speak to you sometimes even when he was alive.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Harry said. “Thanks.” He smiled a little.

Snape inclined his head and turned serious. “Now what was this you said about your last class with Professor Moody?”

“Oh, uh, nothing really,” Harry said with a shrug. “He taught us about the Unforgiveable Curses and showed them.”

“He performed them in the room?”

Harry nodded. “On a spider. He had a few of us name a curse and then he cast it on the spider.”

“Who named the curses?”

“Malfoy said Imperius, Neville said Cruciatus, and he wanted me to do the last but that was when I heard Ron. He told me not to answer and not to engage Moody,” Harry said.

“Unbelievable,” Snape muttered.

“Neville didn’t handle it well,” Harry said. “He told me about his parents.”

“And you?”

Harry shrugged again, flicking at a page in his book. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. That green light was the only thing I remembered from that night for most of my life. I used to dream about it every night. I saw it in a nightmare this summer too. I’m not sure what I felt when Moody cast it. Was…intense to see up close, in person what killed my parents.”

“I will have a talk with the headmaster about Professor Moody’s lessons,” Snape said.

“He said Dumbledore knows, that Dumbledore approved.”

“I will speak to the headmaster regardless. There is something off about Moody.”

“He’s sort of mental,” Harry said.

“Have respect, Potter. He is still your professor.”

“Sorry.”

“Tell me about this nightmare you had this summer,” Snape said.

“Oh, it was nothing. It was just a dream.”

Harry kept his eyes on Snape’s hoping the man would believe him and move on. After several seconds, Snape hummed and nodded. Something in Harry told him Snape didn’t believe him. He also had Ron telling him he should be telling Snape about the strange dream.

“Very well,” Snape said. “I think it is time for you to return to your common room. It is nearing curfew.”

“Have a good night, sir.”

“And you, Potter.”

Harry blinked and looked around. He didn’t remember falling asleep but he must’ve while reading if he was back in the strange house he had first seen in the summer. He walked up the stairs again, stopping outside the door to once again observe the not-quite-human Voldemort, Pettigrew, and the strange man he didn’t know. He flinched and looked away when he watched the muggle caretaker die once again.

He turned around to go back down the stairs when he found the dream had not ended in a flash of green the way it usually did. When he turned, however, he was no longer in the rickety old house but was now in a misty graveyard. He frowned, feeling his stomach sink. The graveyard was not a comforting place and he knew, deep inside, that something bad would happen there.

He gazed around, spotting the large statue next to the inscribed tombstone. He stared, unsettled, at the statue that was a cloaked skeleton wielding a scythe. The face within the cloak was an angry looking skull with empty eyes and the hands that held the scythe had been carved into skeletal fingers. He guessed it was meant to be the grim reaper.

He slowly approached the grave, straining to see past the mist to read what was inscribed on the tombstone.

“Harry Potter!”

He spun around when he heard his name hissed out from somewhere in the dark. There was a quiet screech and the graveyard was illuminated by green light. He turned his head to the sky to see the smoky-looking Dark Mark floating above. He cried out when his scar burst with pain.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he spun only for the scene to change again and for the pain in his scar to stop abruptly.

“Harry.”

Harry turned his head and found he was back in the meadow. Ron was still under the tree that was still the only relatively light spot in the entire meadow. The storm clouds that they had watched the last time had grown closer and darker. He made his way over to Ron and sat down.

“That graveyard’s a bad place,” Ron said and Harry frowned.

“Why?”

“Can’t tell you that, but I wish I could,” Ron said.

“I heard you during the First Task,” Harry said.

“We were best friends,” Ron said with a smile. “Not strange I’d still hang around somehow.”

Harry chuckled. “Snape said something similar.”

“How’s that going?”

“Oddly good,” Harry said. “He’s changed or maybe I have. Whatever it is, he’s actually been a lot of help.”

“He’s certainly one to keep on your side,” Ron said and Harry looked at him in confusion. “You’ve got a lot to face, mate.”

“Trust me, I know.”