The Other Potter. Book Four.

Willow & Moody. haha, That's a pun.

Potions were always a fun experience. Snape had seemed to become even more of a prick over the holidays and was scaring the shit out of Neville, who had melted his sixth cauldron by the fourth day of term.

I began to hum a beautiful tune with words ‘I hope a bird shits on your head’ during my potions lesson. Snape tried to tell me off, but hey, I’m Willow, I don’t listen to Snape. In a way, he is kind of like that uncle who no one likes, and I must piss him off at all opportunities.

Uncle Snape.

Like a Willow.

 “You know why Snape’s in such a foul mood, don’t you?” said Ron to Harry, Neville, Hermione and I once we were safely back into the common room.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Moody.” 

It was common knowledge that Snape really wanted the Dark Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape had disliked all of our previous Dark Arts teachers, and shown it - but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt hatred to Mad-Eye Moody.

“I reckon Snape’s a bit scared of him, you know,” Harry said thoughtfully. 

“Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad,” said Ron, his eyes misting over, “and bounced him all around his dungeon…” 

“I think I might buy Malfoy a Christmas present.” I said randomly. Ron toppled off the back of his chair. Harry’s jaw dropped.

“What?” They both half shouted.

It was amusing.

“I’m thinking of getting him a ferret.” I smiled.

Ron snorted. “Only you Willow, only you.”

We were looking forward to Moody’s first lesson so much that we all arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in time for the lesson. 

“Been in the -” 

“Library.” Harry finished her sentence for her. “C’mon, quick, or we won’t get decent seats.”

We hurried into four chairs right in front of the teacher’s desk – like lame teachers pets – and took out our copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and waited, unusually quiet. Soon I heard Moody’s distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. I could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes.  Hot.

“You can put those away,” he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, “those books. You won’t need them.” 

We returned the books to our bags, Ron looking excited. 

Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swivelled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.  He looked at me when I said my name as though y name was stupid...I wonder why.

Willow Potter-Tree

I’m such a fruit. But I can’t think of a fruit as of yet, so I shall continue to sit here defining myself as a fruit.

I like llamas. Did you know?

“Right then,” he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you’ve covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?”   There was a general murmur of assent.  “But you’re behind - very behind - on dealing with curses,” said Moody. “So I’m here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark -”