Harry Potter with Technology System

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As Harry returned to his half eaten toast, the sound of hundreds of owls swooping into the hall shifted the room's focus. Letters and packages rained down onto the tables, and conversation shifted to excited chatter about the latest supplies and care packages from home. Harry glanced up as a dark brown owl dropped a neatly folded copy of the Daily Prophet onto his plate. He unfolded it and scanned the front page.

"Anything interesting?" Blaise asked, noticing Harry's eyes narrowing slightly.

"Same old nonsense," Harry replied, setting the paper aside. The headline was another one of Skeeter's inflammatory articles, this time taking aim at Hogwarts' decision to host the Triwizard Tournament. Harry didn't need to read further to know it would be full of exaggerations and baseless criticisms.

"You would think she would run out of things to complain about," Tracey said, craning her neck to glance at the paper.

"She's probably saving the best for later," Harry said, finishing his toast. "Come on, we got Herbology first."

The next few days passed without any trouble. Each night, Harry oversaw the students running through the mental defense training he devised. The simulated Imperius Curse exercises were going well—no real spells involved yet, just controlled, safe simulations. It wasn't perfect, but it gave everyone a chance to practice without the pressure of an actual curse bearing down on them. The progress was promising, though the real test would come when Moody started using the actual Imperius Curse during class.

Despite the constant talk of curses and dark magic, things at Hogwarts settled into a relatively normal rhythm. Morning classes ran as usual, with nothing more exciting than Hagrid showing off his Blast-Ended Skrewts in Care of Magical Creatures. Most students weren't thrilled about the creatures, but Hagrid's enthusiasm couldn't be dimmed, even by the occasional outburst of flames from the skittish hybrids.

"Think one of those Skrewts could take out a troll?" Tracey muttered as the group filed out of the paddock after class, keeping a wary eye on the smoldering pen behind them.

"Depends," Daphne replied. "Would the troll die of laughter before or after it gets burned alive?"

"Guess we'll never know," Harry said, smirking as he dusted soot off his robes. "Unless Hagrid decides to unleash them on the school grounds."

The group chuckled, except for Hermione, who looked vaguely concerned at the idea of loose Skrewts running around. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," she muttered.

The next day, the tension was palpable as Defense Against the Dark Arts approached. Whispers filled the corridors as students speculated about what the lesson would be like. Most were nervous or excited, though a few looked downright grim.

By the time Harry entered the classroom with Daphne and Tracey, nearly every seat was filled. Moody was already at the front, leaning heavily on his staff as his magical eye swiveled around the room.

"Settle down," he barked, his gruff voice cutting through the chatter. The room fell silent almost immediately. "Today, we're starting practicals on resisting the Imperius Curse. You've heard me say it before—constant vigilance. This curse doesn't give you time to think. It hits fast, and if you're not ready, you're done."

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching as Moody scanned the room. His magical eye paused briefly on him before moving on.

"Now," Moody continued, tapping his staff against the floor. "When I hit you with the curse, your job is simple: fight it. Push back with everything you got. Most of you won't manage it on the first try, and that's fine. This is about learning."

He pointed toward the back row. "Potter, you're up first. It's your chance to show your friends if your techniques work."

The eyes of every student locked onto Harry, the air thick with anticipation. Without a word, Harry stood and made his way to the front. His steps were casual, like he was walking down to breakfast rather than volunteering to be cursed in front of a room full of people. He stopped a few feet in front of Moody, hands slipping into his pockets.

Moody grunted, his magical eye whirling for a second before locking onto Harry's face. "Alright then, Potter. Ready?"

Harry gave a faint nod. "Go ahead."

"Confident, aren't you?" Moody growled, though there was a hint of amusement behind his words. He raised his wand, pointing it directly at Harry. "Let's see if that confidence holds."

"Imperio!"

The moment the word left Moody's mouth, it hit like a wave. Harry felt an odd lightness, a strange sense of calm washing over him. All thoughts of resistance faded, replaced by a simple, soothing voice urging him to relax, to let go.

But Harry had been expecting this. He didn't fight the feeling head-on. Instead, he latched onto the anchor in his mind—a simple, sharp image: a burning candle flickering in the dark. The flame didn't waver, didn't bend. It just burned steadily, holding its place amidst the pressing void.

For a brief moment, Harry felt the pull of the curse intensify, as though it sensed his resistance and tried to smother it. The voice urged him to lift his arm. It didn't feel forceful—more like a gentle suggestion, harmless, even logical. Why not lift his arm? It would be so easy.

But Harry focused harder on that anchor. The calm façade of the curse cracked slightly, just enough for him to recognize it as foreign. He didn't need to force it out entirely—just break its rhythm. A chaotic thought surfaced—something nonsensical and abrupt: What if the floor was made of marshmallows? The curse wavered, confused by the sudden noise in his mind.

Harry didn't lift his arm.

"Not bad," Moody muttered, his wand still raised. "But we're not done yet."

The pressure intensified again, the voice pushing harder this time. Lift your arm. Do it. There was no threat, no pain, just that same calm insistence. But the spell faltered entirely. 

Good," Moody said gruffly, lowering his wand. "Very good. But I know you already created an Occlumency shield."

Harry chuckled lightly, brushing a hand through his hair. "To test my own technique, I lowered all my guards, Professor. I assure you, if I hadn't, the result would've been different."

Moody's lips twitched into a strange grin. "Why don't you show me, then?"

Harry tilted his head, considering for a moment. "Are you sure?"

Moody snorted, waving off the hesitation like it was a pesky fly. "Imperio!"

The spell shot toward Harry, but the moment it hit, Moody stumbled back with a sharp cry, clutching his head. He staggered a step, his wooden leg scraping noisily against the stone floor. Blood trickled from his nose as his magical eye whirled violently before stopping altogether.

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