Chapter 308: Dumbledore's Request

Four renowned wizards, their names echoing through history:

The brave Gryffindor, from the desolate marshes,

The beautiful Ravenclaw, from the serene riverside,

The kind Hufflepuff, from the open valleys,

The cunning Slytherin, from the murky swamps.

From a distant castle, faint singing could be heard.

The Sorting Ceremony had begun, leaving Hoffa with limited choices. For the sake of the resurrection spell, he was willing to step into hell itself—let alone Hogwarts.

However, in his current state, little Barty was in no shape to attend the feast.

With no other options, Hoffa pulled out the suitcase Barty had been pushing. He set it upright like a door and opened it. Inside was a sixty-square-meter room.

Within the room, Alastor Moody, stripped down to his undergarments, was tied to a pillar. His mouth was sealed with chains, rendering him mute.

Upon seeing the bald young man enter, Moody's single eye widened in rage. He thrashed violently, shaking the chains and producing a metallic clatter.

Hoffa paid no attention to Moody. He tossed the unconscious and groaning Barty into the suitcase, then yanked a hair from Moody's head. Moving to the corner of the room, he retrieved a vial of Polyjuice Potion prepared by Nicolas Flamel and added the hair to it.

Sizzle!The potion emitted a puff of green smoke, transforming from a paste into a clear liquid.

Stripping off his clothes, Hoffa tilted his head back and downed the potion in one gulp.

Outside the suitcase, the rain poured harder and harder.

Inside, Hoffa clutched his head as his body began to rapidly transform under the potion's effects.

His back hunched, countless wrinkles appeared on his skin, one of his eyes sank inward until it vanished, and even his right calf shrank to half its size.

"Mmmph...hhnng..."

Moody, watching this scene, was utterly furious. His single eye bulged as he violently struggled against the chains.

"Old man, you've really let yourself go!"

Now fully transformed into Moody, Hoffa stood before the real Moody, his tone indifferent.

"Mmrrgh...scum...villain...!"

The real Moody roared hoarsely, his muffled voice echoing with helpless fury.

"Apologies, old timer, but fate seems to have dealt you a rough hand."

Hoffa gave a sympathetic smile before hopping over on his single leg. He tightened the lock on Moody's mouth, ensuring he couldn't make another sound.

Next, he approached little Barty and dismantled Moody's prosthetic leg and magical eye, attaching them to himself.

The blue magical eye settled into his sunken eye socket, spinning automatically to provide 360-degree vision.

He picked up Moody's wand. As expected, it felt like an ordinary stick in his hand, with no connection to him whatsoever.

The transformation was complete.

Taking a deep breath, Hoffa stepped out toward the familiar yet alien castle.

The rain continued to pound against the tall, dark windows. Another clap of thunder echoed, shaking the glass panes.

The first creature to greet him in the entryway was a cat perched on the helmet of a suit of armor, licking its paw.

The cat cast a quick glance at Hoffa with its red eyes before jumping down and disappearing with its tail held high.

Where Mrs. Norris appeared, could Filch be far behind?

The booming voice of a familiar man reached Hoffa from the Great Hall, making him feel as if years had passed since he last heard it.

"Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to inform you all that the list of banned items has been updated once again this year. New additions include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-bashing Boomerangs. The full list now comprises approximately four hundred and thirty-seven items and can be found in Mr. Filch's office. Feel free to check it out if you're curious..."

Outside the Great Hall, a thin, balding old man pressed his ear tightly against the door, resembling a jealous husband spying on his wife's lover.

When Dumbledore's words reached his ears, Filch let out a series of excited, raspy breaths, unconsciously rubbing his chest with his bony hands.

"Hey."

Hoffa greeted him coldly from behind.

"Ahh!"

Startled, Filch jumped in fright. Turning around, he came face-to-face with a ghastly visage. Instantly, he raised his hands in surrender, trembling as he stammered, "Y-you... who are you?"

"Take my luggage to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office."

Hoffa handed him the suitcase containing Moody and Barty, speaking calmly.

Realizing who he was, Filch wiped the sweat from his brow and forced a smile. "Ah, Professor! Right away, sir. Right away!"

He took the suitcase with a mix of respect and fear, hurrying upstairs. Yet as he turned a corner, Hoffa overheard him muttering under his breath:

"Professor arriving so late... disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful. Tardy and terrifying—what was Dumbledore thinking? Hmph, Hogwarts professors are just getting worse every year..."

Inside the Great Hall, Dumbledore's booming voice continued:

"As always, I must remind you that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to students, and only third years and above may visit Hogsmeade.

I must also regretfully inform you that there will be no House Quidditch Cup this year.

This is because a major event will begin in October and last throughout the school year, requiring much of our staff's time and energy. However, I believe you will all find it highly enjoyable. I am pleased to announce that this year at Hogwarts—"

A deafening clap of thunder interrupted him as the doors to the Great Hall swung open with a resounding crash. Dumbledore's speech came to an abrupt halt.

Hoffa stood in the doorway, leaning on a long staff and wrapped in a black traveling cloak. He locked eyes with Dumbledore, who was over a hundred meters away.

Was he the one controlling Cedric to find me?

For a fleeting moment, Hoffa considered laying everything bare to Dumbledore, just to see how he would react.

But he quickly envisioned Dumbledore's response: a long-winded lecture on love, courage, and accepting one's fate.

The thought dissipated as quickly as it came. Dumbledore's oversight had nothing to do with him. He was tired of cleaning up other people's messes.

From his perch near the eagle-shaped podium, Dumbledore froze, his half-moon glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He seemed genuinely surprised by Moody's (Hoffa's) appearance.

Hoffa hobbled forward on his wooden leg, each step accompanied by the rhythmic tap of his staff.

The students in the Great Hall, cowed by Moody's ferocious appearance and Hoffa's overwhelming aura, fell silent. Someone even dropped their cake in shock.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The sound of the wooden leg striking the floor echoed as Hoffa approached Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore was no longer the man Hoffa had first met at the orphanage, with his fiery red beard and immaculate velvet robes.

Now, he resembled the late Armando Dippet, with long silver hair and a face lined with wrinkles. Yet, unlike Dippet, his presence remained vigorous and commanding.

"Was the journey pleasant?"

As Moody (Hoffa) reached the staff table, Dumbledore extended a hand and asked warmly.

"It was fine."

Hoffa reached out and shook his dry, slender hand.

"You didn't happen to patrol the area, did you?"

Dumbledore leaned in slightly, speaking in a low voice.

"Yes."

"Did you spot any signs of dark wizards?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he asked, almost teasingly.

"They're everywhere."

Hoffa replied coldly.

Dumbledore couldn't help but laugh. He patted Moody (Hoffa) on the shoulder and pointed to the seat to his right. "You've worked hard this year."

Moody sat down, and Severus Snape, sitting nearby with greasy hair, shifted his chair, seemingly not wanting to be too close.

Due to his late arrival, the feast had already ended. The food on the student's tables had been cleared away, but there were still some leftovers on the staff table. Moody suddenly realized he was quite hungry. He shook his head, grabbed a plate of sausages, held it to his incomplete nose and sniffed—it was still the familiar scent.

He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, which transformed into a small knife as he did so. He stabbed it into one end of a sausage and began eating, oblivious to his surroundings.

"Allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore cheerfully broke the silence, "Professor Moody."

A sparse applause echoed through the hall, with only Dumbledore and Hagrid clapping.

Moody didn't mind at all. He felt a bit of sympathy for Moody, the old man who had spent his whole life hunting dark wizards but still wasn't as popular as the fraud Gilderoy Lockhart. The reason? Probably because Lockhart had a more appealing appearance.

After taking a sip from his potion, he surveyed the staff table. Severus Snape was watching him cautiously, while the small Professor Flitwick was chatting happily with Pomona Sprout from Hufflepuff.

"Ahem."

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he smiled warmly at the students, "In the coming months, we will have the honor of hosting a most exciting event. It has not been held for over a century. I am pleased to announce that the Triwizard Tournament will be held here at Hogwarts this year."

"You're joking!" Fred Weasley called out loudly.

The tense atmosphere that had settled in the hall since Moody's (Hoffa's) arrival was instantly broken. Almost everyone laughed, and Dumbledore also chuckled in approval.

"I'm not joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore replied, "But since you brought up jokes, I did hear a very amusing one. It's about a troll, a hag, and a goblin who walk into the same tavern…"

Moody, feeling full enough, pushed his plate aside and focused his attention on Dumbledore. He looked just as he imagined, without any signs of the corruption he had expected, and he hadn't recognized Moody's true identity yet.

Who could be behind all this? Could it be Grindelwald?

No, that didn't make sense—Grindelwald had seen him with his bald head.

As he was thinking, he felt someone staring at him.

Turning around, he saw Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor House, staring at the small knife in his hand, her mouth slightly open.

Minutes later, Dumbledore finished outlining all the rules of the Triwizard Tournament.

The feast ended on a cheerful note.

As everyone filed out of the hall, Dumbledore suddenly called out to Moody.

"Moody, wait a moment."

Moody froze, like Zhao Gongming hearing a friend say, "Please, stay, fellow cultivator." He slowly turned his head and locked eyes with Dumbledore, his blue magical eye fixed on him.

He had come this far, and now he was ready to do something dark. The former teacher in front of him was a hurdle he had to cross. He tensed up, preparing for this one-on-one conversation with the top wizard.

After everyone left the hall, Dumbledore stood before him, his smile fading, replaced by a concerned expression. "Did you go to see Fudge? What did he say?"

Moody paused, immediately realizing something was wrong.

Moody was a member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore had apparently asked him to speak with the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, about something. That's why he was kept behind for this conversation.

But whether Moody had actually spoken with Fudge, or what Fudge had said, Moody had no idea. After all, he had only been pretending to be Moody tonight.

Silence.

Dumbledore continued to gaze at him.

The worried expression turned into confusion.

Under Dumbledore's anxious gaze, a cold sweat ran down Moody's forehead. He realized he had to say something. If he stayed silent, it would immediately raise suspicion.

"Well," Moody said nonchalantly, "You know how Fudge is, don't you?"

He passed the ball back to Dumbledore.

"Hmm."

Dumbledore turned his back and paced.

"So, he didn't care at all about your findings?"

"No, not at all," Moody replied.

Dumbledore, frustrated, ran his fingers through his silvery hair, looking very troubled. "Fudge… Fudge, how can he be so obsessed with power and not care when one of his own goes missing?"

Moody remained expressionless, but inside, he was almost bursting with self-praise for his cleverness.

He speculated that Moody had probably reported the mysterious disappearances at the Quidditch World Cup to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore had then sent him to seek Fudge's help.

So, Dumbledore must have realized Grindelwald's presence, right? A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"No, we can't let Riddle continue causing chaos," Dumbledore said firmly. "After the classes, take some time. We'll deploy more people to focus on finding Peter Pettigrew."

Moody's smile disappeared.

Did Dumbledore think that all the disappearances were the work of Tom Riddle?

"I think… there may be more than just Voldemort at play," Moody said slowly.

"What did you say?" Dumbledore furrowed his brow.

"I said that Voldemort and Wormtail are just two people. They can't possibly be responsible for all these disappearances. There might be other dark wizards involved," Moody said cautiously.

"Moody, what are you getting at? You've never been this subtle before," Dumbledore said, his brow furrowed.

Moody realized that "Mad-Eye" Moody was known for his bluntness, unlike himself, and the more he hesitated, the more suspicious Dumbledore would become.

"Grindelwald!" he blurted out.

"I suspect Grindelwald is behind this," Moody said, standing up and dramatically flinging his cloak behind him.

Dumbledore's eyes sharpened. "What did you say?"

"I'm just speculating," Moody replied quickly.

"Voldemort has lost his servant and is now hiding somewhere, trying to survive. I think he's alone now, and there's no way he could make so many people disappear without help. Someone else is definitely involved."

Dumbledore stared at him, his sharp gaze gradually dimming. Finally, he sighed. "It's impossible. You're too suspicious, Alastor. Gellert Grindelwald is no longer a threat. Don't worry."

"Why?"

Moody widened his eyes in confusion.

"His fate has been sealed," Dumbledore said, waving his hand. "There's no need to worry."

"Fate sealed? What does that mean?"

"Never mind," Dumbledore said with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. But the sadness quickly disappeared. "You don't need to worry about that. I do have one small request, though, regarding this year's courses."

"What is it?"

"Every time the Triwizard Tournament has been held in history, it's been a catalyst for turmoil. When wizards gather, it's impossible to just sit down for tea."

"I believe our students need to learn self-defense, so I'd like you to demonstrate the three Unforgivable Curses to them."

Moody looked somewhat stunned.

After a pause, Dumbledore continued, "Also, if possible, I'd like you to keep an eye on Harry Potter."

(End of Chapter)

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