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At the mention of the "Unforgivable Curses," a profound, chilling silence fell over the Great Hall. The playful, competitive energy of the dueling club vanished, replaced by a heavy, oppressive tension. These were not just spells; they were legends, boogeymen from the darkest corners of their world, words that were only ever spoken in hushed, fearful whispers.
Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had been so confident a moment before, took a deep, shuddering breath. "The Unforgivables," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "are the Imperius Curse, for control… the Cruciatus Curse, for torture… and…" He hesitated, the final name a poison on his tongue. "…and the Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse."
"Correct," Hermione said, her voice cutting through the silence like a shard of ice. "Control. Torture. Death. The unholy trinity of the Dark Arts. And I have always believed that the only way to truly defend against such things is to first understand them. To look them in the eye. How can you fight an enemy whose capabilities you do not comprehend?"
She paused, a slow, cold smile spreading across her face that made a fresh wave of unease ripple through the crowd. Snape, who had been watching with a detached, bored expression, suddenly went very still. She wouldn't dare, he thought, a flicker of genuine alarm in his dark eyes.
"So," Hermione announced to the silent, staring hall, "let us witness, with our own eyes, precisely what these curses can do."
Lockhart, who had been preening on the sidelines, almost choked. She's going to what?! This wasn't in the lesson plan! This was illegal!
"The Ministry believes that young wizards are too fragile to learn of such things," Hermione continued, her voice now a low, contemptuous purr. "I disagree. I believe that to be prepared for the darkness, one must be willing to face it."
She reached into a small, unassuming wooden box at her feet and pulled out a spider. It was large, hairy, and deeply unpleasant, but it was just a spider. Then, she pointed her wand at it. "Engorgio."
The spider convulsed, its spindly legs kicking as it grew at a horrifying, unnatural rate. In a matter of seconds, it was no longer a simple arachnid; it was a monster, a half-grown Acromantula, as large as a wolfhound, its multiple black eyes glittering with a malevolent intelligence, its fangs dripping with a viscous, green venom.
A wave of screams and panicked shouts erupted from the students. Parvati Patil let out a piercing shriek and practically climbed Lavender Brown like a tree. Justin's face went white, his legs trembling so violently he could barely stand.
The giant spider, its predatory instincts now magnified, scuttled toward the front of the crowd, its fangs bared, ready to strike at the closest student.
"Imperio!"
The word was a calm, quiet command. The charging monster stopped dead in its tracks, its legs frozen mid-stride. A faint, dreamy look seemed to pass over its multifaceted eyes.
"Walk to the window," Hermione commanded. Like a puppet on invisible strings, the Acromantula turned and began to calmly, placidly, scuttle up the stone wall toward a high, arched window. She then pointed her wand at Lockhart. The spider immediately turned and began to scuttle towards him. The professor's face went pale with terror.
"Professor," Hermione said, her voice dangerously sweet. "As the official teacher of this course, I trust you will not abandon your post in the middle of this very important practical demonstration. Move, and I release the curse."
Lockhart froze, a rictus of a smile plastered on his terrified face. The giant, venomous spider crawled onto his shoulder and just sat there, its hairy legs gently stroking his cheek. The crowd watched, mesmerized by the horrifying, absolute control she wielded.
"This," Hermione announced to the silent, staring room, "is the Imperius Curse. Total subjugation of will. I could make it dance. I could make it sing. I could make it kill its own young. And it would do so with a happy, vacant smile on its face. Remember this feeling. Remember what it looks like to have your will completely erased."
Her gaze then swept the crowd until it landed on Neville Longbottom. "Neville," she called out, her voice suddenly sharp.
The boy flinched as if he had been struck.
"I believe your parents are in St. Mungo's, are they not?" she asked, her voice devoid of all sympathy. "Driven insane by this next curse."
Neville's face went white. He began to tremble. "Hermione, please… I can't…"
"No," she said, her voice hard as steel. "You can. And you will. Crucio!"
The red light of the curse lanced out and struck the spider on Lockhart's shoulder. It fell to the stage, its body convulsing violently. But it was the sound that was the true horror. A high, piercing, agonized shriek, a sound that was not animal, but chillingly, unnervingly human, filled the Great Hall. The creature's legs curled in on themselves, its body arching in an unnatural, pain-wracked spasm.
It was the sound of pure, unadulterated, soul-shattering agony. And it went on. And on. And on.
The students recoiled, their faces a mask of horror. Many turned away, unable to watch, their hands clamped over their ears. Neville was shaking uncontrollably, his eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down his pale cheeks.
Snape's own face was a rigid, chalk-white mask, his dark eyes fixed on the writhing creature, a storm of his own dark memories raging behind them.
Hermione walked over to Neville and knelt in front of him, her voice a low, intense whisper that only he could hear. "I know what happened to your parents," she said, her voice devoid of all pity. "But that is the past. And it will happen again. To your friends. To your family. To the people you love. And if you cannot even bear to look upon the tool that destroyed your life, how will you ever find the strength to fight the people who wield it?"
Her words were a brutal, merciless kindness.
"Look at it, Neville," she commanded. "Look at it, and remember. Let the anger, not the fear, be your shield."
Slowly, painfully, Neville raised his head. He forced his tear-filled eyes open and looked at the twitching, screaming creature on the stage. His expression of pure, terrified grief began to change. The fear was still there, but underneath it, a new, hard, and defiant anger was being forged in the crucible of his own trauma.
When the curse finally ended, Neville collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, drenched in sweat.
"Better?" Hermione asked softly.
He looked up at her, and though his face was pale and weak, a small, genuine, and profoundly grateful smile touched his lips. "Much better," he whispered. "Thank you."
Hermione stood, her attention now turning to the final, and most terrible, of the three curses. Her gaze swept over the crowd and landed on Harry. Snape, seeing where her eyes were fixed, took an involuntary step forward, a silent "no" forming on his lips.
But it was too late.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A bolt of blinding, sickly green light erupted from her wand. It was not a color from nature. It was the color of death, of rot, of a soul being extinguished. The air grew cold. A profound, unnatural silence fell. The light struck the twitching spider, and it simply… stopped. All life, all motion, all sound, ceased. It lay on the stage, a still, empty husk.
Harry cried out, his hand flying to the scar on his forehead as a searing, white-hot pain, a phantom echo of the night his parents had died, shot through his skull. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white, but he did not look away. He met Hermione's cold, analytical gaze and gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. He understood. This was a lesson.
Snape, who had been about to intervene, relaxed, a strange, complex mixture of relief and horror on his face. He did not understand this girl. He did not understand her at all.
Hermione kicked the lifeless spider. "This," she announced to the silent, terrified room, "is a dark creature. Do not waste your compassion on it. Its only instinct is to kill you. In a war for survival, there is no room for sentiment. There is only victory, or death."
A small, dreamy voice cut through the heavy silence.
"But," Luna Lovegood asked, her head tilted in genuine curiosity, "doesn't using those spells on people get you thrown in Azkaban?"
"Only if they're used on a human," Hermione confirmed.
"Oh," Luna said, a look of sudden, profound understanding on her face. A slow, beatific smile spread across her lips. "So as long as no one finds out, it's alright, then."
The entire Great Hall just stared at her. Even Hermione, for a moment, was rendered completely and utterly speechless.