The captured wizard seemed to sense something. He stopped clamouring and stared wide-eyed as Moody approached him and slowly drew his wand.
"We do not have much time."
Moody's voice was low, as though he were whispering into the wizard's ear, yet it was perfectly clear to everyone present.
"We do not have any Veritaserum readily available, and the Ministry has authorised the use of Unforgivable Curses. However, you should be aware that neither Hogwarts nor the Ministry of Magic provides training in such spells."
The wizard's bruised and swollen face twisted into a mocking smile, yet many of the watching students could see an undisguised sense of relief in his eyes.
However, Moody slowly raised his wand, his voice quiet but exceptionally fierce.
"Yes, none of us have used Unforgivable Curses before, unlike you people. But even if I am not proficient with the Imperius Curse or experienced with the Killing Curse, there is another spell worth trying. I happen to want to know what my colleagues looked like when they were tortured with this very spell."
The wizard's pupils contracted sharply.
The students standing around Sherlock couldn't help but stare in shock, their mouths hanging open.
Some had already guessed what was about to happen.
Hermione instinctively wanted to turn away to avoid seeing what would happen next, but she quickly gritted her teeth and forced herself to face forwards, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the wizard at whom Moody was pointing his wand.
Ron's face was deathly pale, and his lips trembled as though he were trying to say something, but no sound came out.
Harry did not react as strongly as they did, but he clenched his fists tightly, staring tensely at Moody with wide eyes.
A few timid girls, including Lavender and Parvati, had already huddled together.
Meanwhile, Sherlock silently approached Neville.
Neville's reaction appeared far less intense than the others', but only Sherlock, who had been watching him, knew that his emotions were more tightly wound than anyone else's. His body was trembling slightly, his face expressionless, and his gaze utterly vacant.
Sherlock knew something about Neville's family. His parents, Mr and Mrs Longbottom, had both been outstanding Aurors in the Ministry of Magic. Later, after Voldemort fell, they were captured by a group of Death Eaters led by Bellatrix, who used the Cruciatus Curse to torture them for information about Voldemort's whereabouts, ultimately driving them insane. They had been receiving treatment at St Mungo's ever since.
Compared with the others, Neville's fear of this Unforgivable Curse ran deeper, because it was this very spell that had left him in a situation not unlike that of an orphan.
Sherlock gently patted Neville on the shoulder. Neville's body shuddered violently before he turned to look at him, his fearful eyes cautiously meeting Sherlock's gaze.
Sherlock spoke very softly. He and Neville were standing at the very back of the group, and his voice was too quiet for anyone else to hear.
"If you're truly afraid, Neville, you can close your eyes."
Neville heard what he said. His lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but in the end, he managed only a sound as faint as a whisper.
"...Professor."
"There's nothing to apologise for." Although Neville had not said what he wanted to, Sherlock guessed what he meant. "Think back to your second year, when you pulled out that sword in the Gryffindor Common Room. Do you know what it is?"
Neville lowered his head and shook it.
"That is a relic of one of Hogwarts' four founders—Godric Gryffindor. Legend has it that only those who truly possess the qualities valued by Gryffindor can draw it. You possess the true character of a Gryffindor, Neville."
Neville seemed stunned. He listened blankly to Sherlock's words.
"Everyone is unique, just like the stars in the sky. No two are exactly alike. You are no worse than anyone else, nor do you lack the courage of any other Gryffindor. So don't blame yourself for being timid or afraid."
Sherlock patted him on the shoulder one last time before returning to the front of the group.
Left standing where he was, Neville stared blankly at Sherlock's retreating figure. Soon, the look in his eyes grew firm. He had never clenched his hands so tightly before, and he whispered to himself in a barely audible voice.
"Thank you, Professor Cavendish."
He did not close his eyes or cover his ears as Sherlock had suggested, pretending that he had seen nothing and that nothing had happened.
Instead, he fixed his gaze on Moody, who had already raised his wand and was casting the Unforgivable Curse.
"Crucio!"
No light flashed from the wand, but where its tip was pointing, the wizard curled up desperately, a scream that seemed to rise from hell tearing from his throat.
"Ah!!!"
The wizard thrashed on the ground.
Veins bulged across his forehead, neck and arms, while tears, mucus and saliva covered his face.
Sherlock watched the scene coldly and without sympathy, while most of the students around him could no longer bear to look.
Many of the Hufflepuff students buried their faces in their knees, covering their heads with their arms and refusing to watch or listen to the scene unfolding before them.
Sherlock did not reprimand them or tell them to raise their heads.
For fifteen-year-old students, such a scene was indeed too cruel and distressing.
However, after careful consideration, Dumbledore and Sherlock had decided that this was something the students needed to understand.
Even if Voldemort's second rise never came to pass, these students, who had spent their days safely protected within the castle and believed that peace in the wizarding world was something to be taken for granted, still needed to know the truth.
They needed to understand the price others had paid to secure the peace they now enjoyed.
"Where! Speak! Williamson! Savage! And Gideon! Where did you take them!"
Moody's roar, like that of an enraged lion, rang out.
At that moment, the surrounding scene—the dilapidated, dark room and its ragged-looking furniture—shattered completely.
The fragments transformed into wisps of silver light, swirling among the students, who had returned to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, before eventually disappearing into the air.