"The assessment for champion candidates will take place next week, and tomorrow morning the Heads of House will tally the names of students from each house who are willing to participate. All right, it's getting late now, and it is very important that you enter your classrooms tomorrow morning bright-eyed and clear-headed. Off to bed with you now! Quickly!"
After finishing with the usual reminders about campus safety and the like, Dumbledore waved his hand, causing the tightly shut doors of the Great Hall to open once more. He then rose first and led the professors away from their seats, while the students also stood up one after another and, amid a flood of chattering discussion, swarmed toward the doors leading to their respective common rooms...
"I'd bet the champion candidates are definitely going to be chosen from among the people who took part in those experiments Dumbledore organized last year... Come to think of it, that means we actually have quite an advantage, don't we?"
After, as in previous years, leading the first-years to the entrance of the common room and teaching them how to open the door properly, the veteran Hufflepuffs sprawled comfortably around the fireplace on the warm yellow sofas of the common room, happily beginning to imagine the future. The prefect now responsible for explaining things to the new students had become Cedric, and this year's first-years were pretty good too—quite a few of them had already grasped the true uses of vinegar on their own. It seemed the recipe collection for Hufflepuff tea parties might be expanded again...
"Seems like it."
Someone responded to the earlier student.
"Of the seven people involved that time, two were from Hufflepuff—Ken and Rolf, who's already graduated—and among the rest, several were seventh-years who have graduated by now too... If you count it up, it looks like of those seven, only three are still in school. And the other two don't exactly look like they'd be able to compete with Ken."
"Don't underestimate the brand-new sixth-years, either."
One of the students who had just advanced to sixth year shook his head with a smile.
"I heard the method the Triwizard Tournament uses to select champions is extremely ancient and mysterious, with almost no fixed standards at all... Maybe someone might just get picked in a completely baffling way. I think Cedric's got a pretty good shot—have you ever seen him lose first place in the end-of-term exams?"
"And don't forget, no matter what, Ken was in a coma for over four months. He only just woke up a while ago, so he's definitely still weak. Forcing him to take part in something this intense and dangerous would be way too harsh... By the way, have any of you seen Ken?"
"Huh?"
Only then did the chatting crowd realize someone seemed to be missing.
"I saw him while we were lining up on the way back... where'd he go?"
"Forget it, hasn't he always been like this? Coming and going without a trace? He probably went to the Hospital Wing to get medicine."
"But it's been so long already. It's almost curfew now..."
...
"Fizzing Whizzbees?"
"Blood Pops?"
"Cockroach Clusters?"
"Chocolate Frogs?"
"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans?"
"Sour sherbet?"
...
"Go on, take your time guessing."
At the entrance to the Headmaster's office, the stone gargoyle—long since disgusted by this habit of blindly guessing passwords based on Dumbledore's tastes—looked at Avada's miserable expression and mocked him gleefully.
"After all, there aren't that many sweets in the world. Only a few tens of thousands. Sooner or later, you'll guess them all..."
"..."
Looking at the gargoyle's smug expression, Avada leaned against the wall and completely gave up struggling.
'Why couldn't Dumbledore have given in to his curiosity during my recovery and called me to his office to ask about the soul knowledge I gained?'
He brooded silently.
'If he had, then I could've gotten the password to the Headmaster's office too and gone in openly whenever I wanted, instead of standing here naming desserts to a damned gargoyle... Speaking of which, what even is the dessert this time?'
'Forget it. I'll ask Professor Flitwick when he gets back. Worst case, I'll just find a portrait to help notify the Headmaster's office for me, but that seems like it could risk exposing the secret. After all, this matter concerns a highly prestigious professor, and an old friend Dumbledore trusts quite a lot... Speaking of which, will this fake Moody be able to see my real name on the student list this time?'
"Hm? Ken?"
A familiar elderly voice suddenly sounded behind him, making his expression stiffen.
When he turned around, sure enough, it was Dumbledore, who had just come up from the stairway and was walking straight toward the Headmaster's office...
He had not come back to the office earlier.
"Ahem, I was just speaking with Professor Moody for a while."
Seeing Avada's despairing face, along with the gargoyle grinning in a thoroughly twisted manner, Dumbledore immediately guessed what had probably just happened. He stroked his beard helplessly.
"You were looking for me? Come in first, and we can talk... Toffee-flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean."
Rumble...
At Dumbledore's casual words, the wall behind the gargoyle immediately split apart with a deep rolling sound, revealing the spiral staircase leading upward. Avada could only stare in stunned silence.
Had Dumbledore's madness already progressed to the point where even the exact flavor had to be right now??
How was he supposed to guess the password freely in the future?
"If you came looking for me at this hour, then it must be something quite urgent and important."
After sitting back down in the chair behind the desk in the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, rested his arms on the desktop, and interlaced his fingers. He still remembered that the last time the student before him had come to him with information at a time like this, not long afterward he had been kicked out of the Headmaster's seat and ended up saddled with an Unbreakable Vow as well.
"Have you had another prophecy?"
He asked the question in a serious but as-gentle-as-possible tone, hoping not to place any extra pressure on the student before him.
"It's not a prophecy, Professor. It's something I observed myself."
Avada shook his head, and the worry in his eyes deepened further—he had already realized that Dumbledore had not the slightest suspicion or prior judgment about what he was about to say.
In other words, there was a very good chance that he truly did not know that the Alastor Moody who had entered the school this time was a fake...
"...You know,"
He carefully organized his wording before cautiously beginning,
"I was born with a special sensitivity to spiritual power. And two years ago, I discovered that through this sensitivity, I can see through certain kinds of disguises. For example, back at Christmas the year before last, when Harry disguised himself as me using Polyjuice Potion, I could clearly sense a mismatch between his body and his spirit. And that sort of mismatch seems to be something unique to physical disguises..."
"And just now, at the start-of-term feast, I felt that exact same kind of mismatch again from that new professor... Do you have any idea what's going on?"
He fell silent and watched Dumbledore's reaction nervously.
"Oh?"
Dumbledore first raised his brows in surprise, but then the seriousness on his face actually vanished all at once, replaced by a calm smile.
"I never expected you to be able to see even that—don't worry, I noticed it long ago."
"Then the real Moody—"
"Oh, I think for the moment, we can talk about something else."
Contrary to usual, he interrupted Avada's question.
"Since you've already discovered this much... then I think there are some things I was originally still hesitating over whether I should tell you, but now I can probably say them without concern."
(End of Chapter)