Chapter 288. It's Fine, I've Prepared an Antidote
"That was more than a thousand years ago. I had only just been woven into being. There were four very famous witches and wizards—their names have been passed down to this day....."
The Sorting Hat finished its song, and warm applause filled the Great Hall.
Adrian Wesson inclined his head slightly, then picked up a roll of parchment. "Next, when I call your name, come to the front and put on the Hat... Ah, yes, don't doubt it—it's exactly the one you see before you. It will announce your House; then please go to the corresponding long table and take your seat."
"Stewart Ackerley!"
"Ravenclaw!"
"Malcolm Baddock!"
"Slytherin!"
"Dennis Creevey! Oh... are you a relative of Colin Creevey, Mr Creevey?"
The scrawny boy in the mouse-fur coat nodded timidly—poor Dennis had accidentally fallen into the Black Lake, and Hagrid had lent him his clothes.
"Oh, all right, welcome."
Adrian set the Sorting Hat lightly on his head.
"Gryffindor!"
A cheer burst at once from the Gryffindor table; Colin Creevey leapt to his feet and waved excitedly at his younger brother.
When the last new student had been Sorted, Dumbledore rose, smiling as he spread his arms.
"Welcome! Welcome back to Hogwarts, all of you!" he said in a ringing voice. "Before we enjoy a delicious dinner, I have something to announce.
"We are very pleased to welcome a new teacher to our staff—Professor Alastor Moody will be this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher!"
Moody stood up; his false eye spun in a full circle and finally came to rest on Harry, staring at him for a few seconds before shifting away.
Harry instantly felt prickles along his back.
Polite applause sounded through the Hall; clearly, quite a few students were somewhat intimidated by his appearance.
Dumbledore went on: "Besides that, there are several important notices which I think are better announced after dinner. Now—"
He clapped his hands lightly, and abundant dishes instantly piled high on every table. "Tuck in!"
"This is what I've been waiting for!" Ron whooped, snatching up a roast chicken leg and stuffing it into his mouth.
Hermione gave him a look of disgust, then glanced around. "Aren't you curious what Dumbledore is going to announce?"
Hearing Hermione's question, Harry already had a fair guess.
It was probably about the Triwizard Tournament.
The Hogwarts feast was as lavish as ever.
But for some reason, in front of Adrian, potatoes alone occupied three-quarters of his plate.
Perhaps the House-Elves had decided potatoes were his favourite food?
Just like with Dumbledore—the House-Elves had placed a large jug of tooth-achingly sweet syrup before him.
Adrian could tell the House-Elves had taken great pains to keep the potato dishes from being repetitive—creamy potatoes, crisp-fried baby potatoes, rosemary roast potatoes.....
But, in any case, they were still potatoes.
Adrian, without a ripple in his expression, pushed one of the plates aside.
"No thanks, I'm not eating that," Moody growled; his magical eye was still eerily sweeping the surroundings. "This stuff could be poisoned."
"It's fine, I've prepared an antidote," Adrian arched an eyebrow and drew a small crystal vial from his sleeve.
Moody was silent for a moment.
Who in their right mind carried an antidote around while eating?
And yet..... Moody's train of thought was probably rather similar to Adrian's.
"You carry an antidote on you?" There was a note of approval in his voice. "You're cautious, lad."
"Oh, thank you."
Smiling, Adrian lifted the vial, gave it a shake, and downed it in one go.
"Actually, it tastes pretty good—apple flavour." He smacked his lips, adding, "I also put in a bit of honey, to improve the taste."
Just then, Snape—who was one seat away from them—suddenly let out a cold snort.
"Pointless ideas," he sneered. "Allow me to remind you: a true Potion needs none of these superfluous additions."
"Don't say that, Professor Snape," Adrian said unhurriedly, producing another vial. "Care for some? This is blueberry-flavoured antidote; I've added a few mint leaves."
Snape's mouth twitched; he turned his head away.
Who treated antidote like a soft drink?
Clearly, they were not of the same mind.
"Heh. Death Eater." Moody's eyes were fixed on the back of Snape's head; his wooden peg-leg thumped hard against the floor.
The atmosphere in the Hall froze in an instant.
Professor McGonagall's teacup hung in mid-air; Flitwick drew a sharp breath; even Dumbledore's movements paused for a beat—of course, they were all adults, and everyone understood this wasn't the time for an argument.
The tension lasted only a moment before everything returned to normal.
Snape's expression was ugly; who knew what he was thinking.
Moody, on the other hand, seemed to grow a shade more cordial towards Adrian.
"I've heard," he said quietly to Adrian, "Dumbledore thinks highly of you—considers you his successor."
At that, Adrian nearly sprayed his pumpkin juice.
Which blasted fellow had spread such an outrageous rumour?
Moody didn't notice Adrian's abortive attempt to speak and went on: "Tonks mentions you often, says you're a very powerful wizard."
"Tonks?" Adrian blinked. What did this have to do with her?
"She trained under me," Moody pre-empted his doubt. "She's graduated this year—officially become an Auror."
"Oh—offer her my congratulations," Adrian nodded.
Moody grunted, then grabbed the canteen he carried and took a long swig of water.
Seeing this, Adrian suddenly remembered something and communed with the Tree of Wisdom.
[Name: Alastor Moody]
[There are no traces of Polyjuice Potion usage, sir.]
Once he confirmed the result, Adrian let out a breath in secret.
In truth, he knew that in the original chain of events, Moody would be swapped out by Barty Crouch Junior this school year—but he wasn't certain exactly when.
By the look of it now, the time hadn't come yet, or perhaps his own appearance had altered the original storyline.
In any case, the man before him was indeed the genuine Alastor Moody.
At last, dinner ended.
When all the food and tableware vanished from the tables, everyone's eyes turned instinctively to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore rose and first announced a comparatively unimportant piece of news—Mr Filch had increased the number of items banned inside the castle; there were now four hundred and thirty-seven items on the list.
"Bad news!"
Fred glanced at his brother. "Looks like we'll need to make some adjustments to our plan."
"Ah, yes, I've got a brilliant idea." George slid a wicked glance towards Filch at the staff table.
It seemed our Mr Filch was destined not to have a peaceful term.
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