The clouds part, the moon shines bright, and all the dust settles.
In the office, Amortensia and Dumbledore sat on the sofa, looking at each other. Their expressions were both more calm than the other expected; there was no shock or desperation, no anger or embarrassment, no excitement or confusion. What there was, just a touch of relief after the final answer was revealed.
The bright fire in the fireplace died down, leaving the charred wood to smolder quietly. The light from the entrance wall painting was the only source of light in the office. Amortensia leaned against the soft sofa, gazing at the rising wisps of smoke in her cup, unconsciously massaging her chin.
"Is there Polyjuice Potion in the decanter?"
"I share your view, Amortensia," Dumbledore said calmly.
"This at least explains one thing, Alastor. I mean, he should really still be alive, he should be hidden by Fake-Moody so that Fake-Moody can take his hair whenever he needs it. Hmm, I think Alastor should be in Fake-Moody's office, what do you think, Amortensia?"
"A reasonable inference..."
Amortensia nodded in agreement, indicating that he agreed. His gaze lingered on Dumbledore's somewhat obscure elderly face, and a sense of admiration naturally arose in his heart.
Alastor Moody was Dumbledore's old friend, but after learning that his friend was in trouble, Dumbledore showed remarkable calmness, as if he did not worry about his friend at all. When he needed to show decisiveness and coldness, Albus Dumbledore did not hesitate to use his reason, which is what makes him the most awe-inspiring wizard of the current times.
"I don't understand..."
Pausing for a moment to contemplate, Amortensia shook her head and then looked directly into Dumbledore's deep blue eyes through her half-moon glasses.
"I remember you once told me that it was, when the Dementor that captured Sirius Black last year ran into the campus, my Patronus... there was an anomaly, and at that time, you told me that in some way, I could see a person's soul state, Headmaster Dumbledore, then you shouldn't have been blinded by Polyjuice Potion, especially since Professor Moody is your old friend?"
"I do not wish to make excuses for my mistake, Amortensia, but it truly was a terrible oversight..."
A hint of bitterness crept into Dumbledore's lips, something that made sense to the common person.
"I trusted Alastor Moody, he was once a formidable aide and a steadfast supporter, and that trust led me to be complacent, to overlook some unusual behavior of the Fake Moody after he entered Hogwarts. And as for observing a person's soul state..."
Dumbledore's tone hesitated for a moment, and his eyes shone brightly in the dim light.
"I do indeed possess this ability, but such an unusual ability is not as easily achieved as conjuring up something to eat from the kitchen. It comes at a cost. I want to remain healthy before I clearly see Tom's fate. If Tom discovers that I am so decrepit that I need assistance walking, he would be delighted. As a professor, I wish to maintain the basic dignity in front of my former students--"
Amortensia looked deeply at Dumbledore, whose eyes were serene, uncertain whether his explanation was a cover-up or the truth.
Throughout, the outside world has been speculating about how much of his old skills does Albus Dumbledore still possess.
Since his epic battle with Grindelwald, the outside world had heard little of Dumbledore engaging in physical combat with anyone else. They believed that, now in his hundredth year, Dumbledore's abilities were greatly diminished. They respected him because of his stature and influence within the wizarding community.
Even among those close to Dumbledore, many regarded him more as a spiritual leader and a pillar rather than someone they trusted for his magical prowess. In their hearts, they trusted Dumbledore's wisdom over his magic.
Perhaps Amortensia is the one who best understands Dumbledore's true abilities.
The faint sense of threat that constantly emanated from Dumbledore's aging frame reminded him that this legendary wizard, at 100 years old, was not as frail as others imagined. Amortensia even suspects that Dumbledore has a trump card hidden up his sleeve, keeping it close to his chest to intimidate both Voldemort and himself.
"Do you think--"
Amortensia shifted her gaze and asked softly,
"Headmaster Dumbledore, do you think it's necessary for us to figure out the identity of Fake Moody?"
"Oh, of course that's a given..."
Dumbledore stood up from the sofa, "Although we have already reached a consensus on helping Tom regain his magic, at the very least, we must clarify who we are paying for this. Come on, Amortensia, let's sort this out..."
The cold night was lonely, and Hogwarts, seated atop the hill, had fallen into a deep sleep. The entire castle seemed to be the only one that had not rested, with the headmaster and the head of student safety at Hogwarts awake. Of course, those diligent house elves should also be busy with survival in the kitchen.
Dumbledore and Amortensia crossed the bridge that spanned a thousand feet above the ground, navigated through the labyrinthine corridors, and arrived at the tower where Dumbledore's office was located.
Inside the headmaster's office, Fawkes perched on the golden branch above the fireplace, and the portraits of previous headmasters hanging on the walls were also fast asleep. The office was filled with the silly noises made by various strange magical tools.
"Please, have a seat, Amortensia, we need to use a bit of props to help..."
Amortensia sat down in his usual place, while Dumbledore, with a sprightly step, went to the bookshelf and fetched a delicate silver instrument from a lower compartment. He carried it over to his desk. For some reason, Amortensia felt a hint of excitement in Dumbledore's steps, as if Hermione had seen an exam question that suited her taste.
"Let's take a look then--"
Dumbledore took out his wand and gently tapped the instrument, a sense of elusive fluctuation sweeping through, spreading in all directions almost immediately. It quickly broke through the confines of the headmaster's office.
Time paused for several seconds, and then, without any warning, the instrument began to operate, emitting a rhythmic clinking sound. The top silver tube released a wisp of pale green smoke, which gathered and swirled in the air. Amortensia naturally stood up, along with Dumbledore, who both watched intently as the smoke thickened and took on a stable form, waiting for it to fully solidify.
Bang!
Just as the answer was about to surface, a brighter green light suddenly flashed within the mist. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed instantly, and he swept his wand down forcefully. The stable smoke dispersed abruptly under his interference, and the bright green light vanished from their view as well.
"Ah, that's fascinating..."
"Well, that's interesting indeed," said Dumbledore, his excitement showing.
"Extremely cautious and careful, I believe he prepared in every possible way, including the soul--"
Dumbledore looked up at Amortensia and smiled as he said,
"The method this anonymous individual used to disguise the soul is truly remarkable. I almost got caught in it, but to me, it does not seem to be a witch's work."
If Amortensia still didn't understand Dumbledore's hint, he was indeed stupid enough. In fact, this was a conclusion that didn't require much thinking.
A moment of silence passed, and then Amortensia sighed, shaking his head.
"Victoria Krynn, she seems to have made up her mind to spend the rest of her life in Azkaban,"
(End of Chapter)
