I, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Will Teach You What "Trouble Comes from the Mouth" Means!

Snape's face was paler than the rarest dittany in his Potions classroom dungeon.

There were no flames in those obsidian eyes, only two patches of darkness compressed to their limits by utter fury, colder than ice.

He did not even look at Malfoy. His gaze bored straight into Moody's face, making no attempt to avoid the magical eye turned toward him.

The first blaze burned toward his own house.

Useless!

A bunch of useless fools!

The Weasley twins and that little girl had routed them in an instant, in front of the entire school, with two jinxes so crude and so utterly beneath contempt.

This was simply the most shameful moment since Slytherin's founding.

Malfoy, the heir to pure-blood glory in whom he had placed such high hopes, now looked more disgusting to him than a slug crushed underfoot.

The second, fiercer blaze burned straight toward that smug Mad-Eye leaning on his walking stick.

Snape shot to his feet.

His ever-present black robes stirred without a breeze, like a giant bat spreading its cold wings, poised to strike.

"Moody!"

His voice sounded as though it had been squeezed out from beneath a frozen lake, every word carrying a chill that could scrape bone.

"Is this what your Academic Affairs Office calls discipline?"

Almost at that same instant, another figure stood up.

Minerva McGonagall.

Her lips pressed into a stern, straight line.

Hers was a purer anger at the brazen destruction of order.

She was furious that the students had dared to fight openly in the Great Hall.

She was even more furious that Moody, the new Discipline Office Director, had handled this appalling breach of discipline with an almost indulgent attempt to smooth things over!

Her gaze did not turn toward Moody. Instead, like two sharp paper knives, it shot