"You are the love of my life," Y/N said. "I love you."
"If loving me comes with shame," Hermione breathed in a shaky breath. "I don't want your love."
In a matter of seconds, Y/N's world came tumbling down. Hermione's words hit her...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇
The blackboard proudly displayed the name "Alastor Moody" in a bold yet untidy scrawl, reflecting Moody's aggressive approach to writing. Below his name, he listed his credentials, declaring himself an "Ex-Auror and Ministry malcontent."
"Now, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Moody declared. Completing the introduction, Moody concluded with a decisive click of the chalk against the board.
Y/N observed Moody with suspicion, unsure if she was imagining things. While she didn't know him well, she could have sworn his handwriting was neater the last time they met; he explained to her the political state of world and went on a 30 minute long rant about inflation—she was 6.
Moody's callout brought attention to Y/N, their eyes locking. With a questioning tone, he asked, "Crimson, you seem quite focused. What's on your mind?"
Y/N appeared taken aback initially, but she quickly regained her composure and cleared her throat. "Are you Alastor Moody?"
Moody regarded her with a look that made Y/N feel like an idiot for asking, but she had to ask—her gut was telling her to. After a brief silence, Moody approached her desk at a deliberate pace, coming to a halt in front of her.
Maintaining eye contact, Y/N's intense red gaze seemed to bore into his soul. Moody, in turn, leaned over her desk, inspecting her from head to toe as if assessing her. When Y/N didn't flinch, he straightened up.
"He was right about you," Moody muttered under his breath, crossing his arms.
"Pardon?" Y/N raised an eyebrow.
"You're an observant young one," Moody chuckled. "Just like your father—I trained him, you see. Confident and outgoing on the outside, sure. But deep, deep inside..."
Moody pressed a finger against Y/N's shoulder. Y/N's jaw tightened as his finger dug into her uniform.
"Cautious, scared," Moody whispered.
Hermione, observing from the other side of the table, promptly pushed Moody's hand away from Y/N. She had disliked the man from the beginning, and the last thing she wanted was for him to touch Y/N.
"Don't touch her."
"You must be Hermione Granger," Moody remarked, shifting his attention to Hermione. "The brightest witch of your age."
Hermione looked tense but chose not to respond, only offering a curt nod in his direction.
"Well, Miss Granger," Moody paused, his gaze moving between the two girls. "Can you tell me how many Unforgivable Curses there are?"
"Three," Hermione croaked. "..sir."
Moody shimmied his way up to the board, twirling the chalk in his hand. "They are so named?"
