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Bang—!!!
The main door was kicked open with tremendous force, the door panel slamming hard against the wall and making the window panes buzz and rattle.
Dumbledore was wearing a dressing gown and padding along in slippers, his hair scattered messily over his shoulders. His breathing was more hurried than usual, and a rare hint of anxiety flickered in his eyes.
But when he clearly saw the scene in the ward, he instantly breathed a sigh of relief.
On the hospital bed, a figure covered in bandages and riddled with scars was staring intently at Lynn by the bedside.
Moody's eyes were bloodshot, locking onto Lynn's every movement without blinking. That expression, that gaze, that tension in his body—he was guarding himself as if against a thief.
Meanwhile, Lynn was sitting on a chair by the bed, staring right back at Moody.
He didn't know how long they had maintained this posture; he only knew that from the moment he carried the man into the Hospital Wing, through Madam Pomfrey's emergency treatment, until Moody woke up, the old man hadn't given him a single friendly look.
Lynn: (⊙_☉)
Moody: ●﹏☉
The two continued their staring contest.
Standing at the doorway and witnessing this scene, the stone hanging in Dumbledore's heart finally dropped to the ground.
It's good he's not dead. It's good he's not dead!
The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was known in the wizarding world as a "high-risk occupation."
Since Tom was rejected by him until now, how many people had held the post?
Setting aside those from earlier years, just looking at the recent years with Quirrell, Lockhart, and Lupin—the first two were either dead or ruined; Lupin managed to leave unscathed, but that was because he resigned on his own.
If something else happened to Moody, where would he find the next person willing to take on this hot potato?
Dumbledore silently gave Madam Pomfrey a thumbs-up in his heart.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Ahem!"
The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough to interrupt the "affectionate gaze" that had lasted for who knew how long.
Lynn turned his head.
He saw Dumbledore standing at the door in his dressing gown and slippers with messy hair, and he froze for a moment.
"...Principal, your look is quite unique."
Dumbledore didn't take the bait. He walked into the ward, his gaze lingering on Moody for a moment before looking at Lynn.
"Child, what you discovered tonight is more important than you think."
Lynn nodded; of course he knew.
From the moment he saw Moody inside that trunk, he knew something was wrong.
That faint scent of potion in the office—he hadn't paid it any mind at first, thinking it was just the smell of Moody's jars and bottles. But thinking back now, that smell was far too familiar.
Polyjuice Potion.
He had brewed countless cauldrons of it in his alchemy workshop; how could he mistake it?
And the Moody on the bed before him, tortured beyond recognition, should be the real one.
As for the evidence—
Lynn's gaze involuntarily drifted toward the top of Moody's head.
That hair, which was already sparse to begin with, was now even thinner. There were bald patches here and there on his scalp, clearly looking as though something had been plucked out.
He remembered that the production of Polyjuice Potion required adding a body part of the person being copied—usually hair.
Looking again at those wretched bald patches on Moody's head.
Lynn fell silent.
Whoever did this was truly ruthless; plucking that much, were they making Polyjuice Potion or weaving a wig?
Moody seemed to feel Lynn's gaze landing on the top of his head. His eyes suddenly glared over, filled with a menacing light.
Lynn immediately looked away, considering himself quite considerate of the elderly.
Dumbledore walked to the bedside, looked down at Moody, and spoke gently.
"Alastor."
Moody turned his head with difficulty to look at Dumbledore.
And then—his expression didn't change. It was still that guarded, scrutinizing look, as if saying, "You'd better prove you're not an impostor."
Dumbledore smiled.
"Don't look at me like that, Alastor." His tone was very relaxed. "I am real."
Moody didn't speak. He just stared at Dumbledore, silent for a full three seconds.
Then he spoke.
"Evidence."
Dumbledore blinked.
Then he said something Lynn would never forget for the rest of his life:
"You have a dark mark on your butt."
Lynn: (O∆O)
The ward was silent for a full ten seconds, and then Moody closed his eyes.
The vigilance, suspicion, and scrutiny on his face collapsed in an instant. He leaned back against the pillow and let out a long breath, as if finally unloading a heavy burden.
"You're real," he said.
Lynn: !!!
What did he just hear? A dark mark? On Professor Moody's butt?
His brain went into overdrive at that moment, running through every possible explanation—
Moody was an Auror; was he branded while catching Dark Wizards? Was Moody once an undercover Death Eater?
And most importantly, Dumbledore is actually—
"Oh, child, don't misunderstand."
Dumbledore's voice rang out at the right time.
"This is a secret code between Professor Moody and me."
Lynn: "..."
He looked at Dumbledore's face, which looked as though nothing had happened. Then he looked at Moody's face on the bed, which had regained its calm.
He fell silent.
A secret code?!
Your secret code is 'the dark mark on the butt'?!
Fine.
You old men of the wizarding world really know how to have fun.
He didn't press further, because he felt that the answer to any further questioning might be even more ridiculous.
Dumbledore didn't give Lynn any more time to think. He sat down by the bed, his expression becoming serious.
"Alastor, what exactly happened?" he asked. "Why were you locked in a trunk?"
Moody opened his eyes and said a name to Dumbledore:
"Barty Crouch Jr."
Dumbledore's expression froze.
"He's not dead," Moody added, his lips curling into a mocking arc. "He's not dead, Dumbledore. He disguised himself as me and stayed at Hogwarts for nearly two months."
Dumbledore didn't speak.
On the bed, Moody continued to describe how he was ambushed, how he was locked in the trunk, and how he spent day after day in the darkness...
Dumbledore listened quietly without interrupting.
Lynn also listened quietly.
After a long time, Dumbledore finally spoke.
"I understand, Alastor. Get some rest first. I'll handle the rest."
He stood up and glanced at Lynn.
"Child," Dumbledore said, "you saved Professor Moody's life tonight. But... it's better to keep tonight's events a secret for now."
Just as Lynn was about to start bargaining, Dumbledore's voice rang out again.
"I still have a notebook of Grindelwald's back at my place."
"Professor, I will keep it a secret."
Dumbledore nodded with satisfaction and left.
He left quite decisively; it looked like he planned to go on a long trip. After all, he had even called Fawkes out...
Lynn strolled back to the dormitory, updating his Suspect List along the way.
[Suspect List · Revised Edition]
Moody —— Wronged him, sorry.
Barty Crouch Jr. —— New on the list, currently ranked first.
Katya —— Still registered, but the possibility has decreased.
Himself —— Still not prioritized for activation.
Lynn stared at this list and sighed.
This was never-ending.