"That was over a thousand years ago, when I had just been woven into being by the four founders themselves," the Sorting Hat's voice resounded through the Great Hall. "There were four renowned wizards whose names live on to this day..."
As the final notes of the song faded into silence, thunderous applause erupted throughout the Great Hall.
Adrian nodded slightly, then picked up a scroll of parchment. "Now then, when I call your name, please step forward and place the Sorting Hat upon your head... ah yes, don't doubt it—the very one before your eyes. It will announce which House you belong to, then please proceed to the corresponding table and take your seat."
The first-years shifted nervously, their young faces pale with anticipation and anxiety.
"Stuart Ackerly!"
A sandy-haired boy stepped forward on slightly trembling legs.
"Ravenclaw!"
The blue and bronze table erupted in welcoming cheers, and Stuart stumbled toward his new housemates with a relieved smile.
"Malcolm Baddock!"
This time, a stocky boy with dark hair and calculating eyes approached the stool. The hat barely touched his head before declaring with certainty: "Slytherin!"
The green and silver table showed their approval with more reserved but no less applause.
"Dennis Creevey!"
Adrian paused, his eyes taking in the small, messy figure before him.
The boy was practically swimming in an enormous moleskin overcoat that hung past his knees and draped over his hands like oversized sleeves. His hair was still damp despite the warming charms. "Oh... are you related to Colin Creevey?"
The thin boy nodded vigorously. Poor Dennis had indeed fallen into the Black Lake during the crossing, and Hagrid had lent him his coat.
"Ah, excellent," Adrian said with warmth in his voice, remembering Colin's infectious enthusiasm. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Dennis."
He gently placed the Sorting Hat on the boy's head. There was a longer pause this time.
"Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table immediately burst into cheers, with Colin Creevey jumping up excitedly and waving at his younger brother.
The sorting continued with each name called adding another student to the Hogwarts' newest class.
When the final first- When the last new student completed the Sorting, Dumbledore rose to his feet, smiling as he spread his arms wide.
"Welcome! Welcome everyone back to Hogwarts!" he said in his resonant voice. "Before we indulge in our traditionally magnificent feast, I have several announcements that require your attention."
A murmur of curiosity sounded through the students.
"We are delighted to welcome a new professor to our faculty," Dumbledore continued, gesturing toward the staff table. "Please join me in welcoming Professor Alastor Moody, who will serve as this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor!"
At this introduction, the scarred wizard rose from his seat. His magical eye immediately began its rotation, spinning through a complete 360-degree circuit as if cataloging every face in the hall for potential threats.
The blue orb finally settled with unsettling precision on Harry. The scrutiny lasted for several long, uncomfortable seconds before the eye moved on to scan other sections of the hall.
Harry immediately felt as though he had a target on his back.
The applause that followed Dumbledore's introduction was polite but conspicuously restrained.
While the students respected the earnestness of welcoming a new teacher, it was clear that Moody's intimidating appearance had left many of them uncertain about how to react. The clapping was accompanied by nervous glances and whispered speculation about what exactly had happened to result in such scarring.
"In addition," Dumbledore continued once the applause had faded, "there are several other important announcements that I believe will be better received after we've all had the opportunity to enjoy our evening meal."
He paused, allowing anticipation to build throughout the hall before clapping his hands together.
"Feast!"
The effect was instant and never failed to inspire wonder, even among students who had witnessed it countless times before.
Sumptuous food appeared on every table.
"This is exactly what I've been waiting for!" Ron said with shameless enthusiasm. He immediately lunged for the nearest roasted chicken, tearing off a leg with the efficiency of someone who had learned to compete with six siblings for access to the best portions.
His first bite was accompanied by a sound of pure contentment.
Hermione shot him a disgusted look, then glanced around.
"Really, Ron, you'd think you hadn't eaten in weeks." She then glanced around the table. "Aren't any of you curious about what Dumbledore's planning to announce? Those 'important announcements' he mentioned?"
Upon hearing Hermione's question, Harry felt the familiar stirring of suspicions that had been building in his mind since the summer.
It was almost certainly about the Triwizard Tournament.
The Hogwarts feast was as lavish as ever.
But for some unknown reason, Adrian's plate was three-quarters filled with potatoes alone.
Perhaps the house-elves had decided potatoes were his favorite food?
Just like Dumbledore, the house-elves had placed a large pitcher of sickeningly sweet syrup at his place.
Adrian could see that the house-elves had put great effort into preparing the potatoes in different ways, creamy potatoes, pan-fried baby potatoes, rosemary roasted potatoes...
But no matter what, they were still potatoes.
Adrian quietly pushed one of the dishes aside.
"No thank you, I don't eat during feasts like these," Moody said gruffly, his magical eye still eerily surveying the surroundings. "Any of this food could be poisoned."
"No problem, I've prepared an antidote." Adrian raised an eyebrow, producing a small crystal vial from his sleeve.
Moody fell silent for a moment.
What kind of person, he wondered, casually carried antidotes to dinner as if they were after-dinner mints? However, the more he considered it, the more Moody realized that Adrian's thought processes might actually align quite closely with his own philosophy of constant vigilance.
"You carry antidotes with you as a matter of course?" His gravelly voice had a tone of approval. "Sufficiently cautious approach, young man. I respect that level of preparation."
"Oh, thank you for the compliment," Adrian replied with a genuine smile, raising the crystal vial in a mock toast before shaking it gently to mix its contents and he drained the entire vial in one smooth gulp.
"Actually," he said, smacking his lips thoughtfully as if he were sampling fine wine, "it tastes quite pleasant. Apple-flavored with just a hint of tartness. I also added some honey to enhance the overall palatability."
At this moment, Snape, who had been maintaining a stoic silence from his position one seat away from their conversation, suddenly emitted a sound that could only be described as a deeply disapproving snort.
"A thoroughly frivolous notion," He said, his voice dripping with the condescension that had terrorized countless students over the years. "Allow me to remind you that properly brewed potions should derive their effectiveness from precise ingredient combinations and flawless technique, not from unnecessary flavor enhancements that serve no purpose other than appealing to childish enjoyments."
"Now, don't be so dismissive, Professor Snape," Adrian replied calmly. As he spoke, he produced yet another crystal vial from within his robes.
"Would you care to try some? This batch is blueberry-flavored, and I've added some mint leaves to provide a refreshing aftertaste that aids in digestion."
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched, and he turned his head away.
Who in their right mind drinks antidotes like beverages for no reason?
Different paths, different purposes.
"Hah, Death Eater." Moody's eye fixed on the back of Snape's head, his wooden leg striking the floor forcefully.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall instantly froze.
Professor McGonagall's teacup froze in mid-air, suspended by magic or shock halfway to her lips. Professor Flitwick drew in such a sharp breath that it was audible even from several seats away. Even Dumbledore paused for a fraction of a second in his conversation with Professor Sprout.
Of course, being adults who had lived through the complexities of war and its aftermath, everyone present understood instinctively that this was neither the time nor the place for such confrontations.
The frozen moment stretched for a few minutes before everyone collectively decided to pretend that nothing had happened.
Snape's expression was unpleasant, and he seemed lost in unknown thoughts.
Moody, on the other hand, seemed to warm up to Adrian somewhat.
"I've heard certain things," He said quietly, leaning closer to Adrian, "that Dumbledore thinks quite highly of you. Word is, he considers you something of a protégé, possibly even his eventual successor."
Upon hearing this outrageous suggestion, Adrian nearly performed an instinctive spit-take with the pumpkin juice he had just sipped, barely managing to control his reflexes in time to avoid spraying the contents of his mouth across the staff table.
Which person had spread this ridiculous rumor?
Moody, apparently oblivious to Adrian's speechless expression, continued his line of conversation without pause. "Tonks mentions you to me quite frequently, you know. Says you're an exceptionally powerful wizard."
"Tonks?" Adrian was slightly taken aback. What did this have to do with her?
"She trained under my supervision before receiving her full certification," Moody explained, answering Adrian's unspoken question. "Just graduated this past summer and officially became a full Auror. Bright girl, that one. Unconventional methods, but effective results."
"Oh, well, please give her my congratulations when you next see her," Adrian said, genuinely pleased to hear about Tonks' success while still hoping to avoid any further discussion.
Moody grunted his acknowledgment of the message he'd been asked to pass along, then reached for the battered hip flask. He unscrewed the cap with and took a long gulp of whatever mysterious liquid he kept within it.
Seeing this scene, Adrian suddenly remembered something and communicated with the Tree of Wisdom.
[Name: Alastor Moody]
[No traces of Polyjuice Potion usage detected, sir,]
After receiving this confirmation, Adrian secretly breathed a sigh of relief. In the original timeline that he remembered, the real Alastor Moody was supposed to be replaced by Barty Crouch Jr. at some point during this school year.
However, he had never been certain of the exact timing of this substitution. The events could have already occurred over the summer, or they might be planned for some point later in the term. It was even possible that his own presence at Hogwarts had somehow altered the original sequence of events, creating ripple effects that changed what was supposed to happen.
In any case, the analysis had definitively confirmed that the person sitting beside him was indeed the genuine Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.
Finally, after what felt like hours of feasting and conversation, the evening meal began to wind down toward its conclusion.
When the last of the food and tableware vanished from the tables, the attention of everyone in the Great Hall unconsciously shifted toward the staff table. The students turned expectant faces toward their headmaster, knowing from experience that Dumbledore's post-feast announcements were often the most memorable part of the entire evening.
Dumbledore rose and first announced a relatively unimportant message.
"First," He said, his voice sounding clearly through the expectant silence, "I must inform you that Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has requested that I announce several additions to the list of items prohibited within the castle walls. The comprehensive list now includes exactly four hundred and thirty-seven individual items, objects, and substances that students are forbidden to possess or use within Hogwarts grounds."
At the Gryffindor table, Fred turned to his twin brother. "Blast! This is going to require some serious modifications to our current plans."
George responded with a mischievous grin.
"Actually, I think I have an excellent idea about how to handle this situation," He replied, casting a meaningful glance toward the staff table where Filch sat. "Our dear caretaker might find this upcoming term to be considerably more... eventful than he's anticipating."
It seemed their Mr. Filch was destined for an unpeaceful term.
________________
You can read more chapters on:
/IamLuis