"Harry, how did you bypass Dumbledore's age line...?"
"I didn't, Professor, I didn't put my name in that cup!"
Harry couldn't remember how many times he had heard this question today. He kept his head down, only seeing Professor McGonagall's pale pink slippers—at this moment, the entire Gryffindor Common Room was just the two of them, but Harry still spoke in a very light voice, despite the heavy tone.
"..."
But to Harry's surprise, Professor McGonagall just nodded, "Very well, I believe you, Potter." Harry raised his head, meeting the pale green eyes of the witch through rectangular glasses. "However, I must remind you—" Professor McGonagall pursed her lips.
"Alastor—Mr. Moody—what he said isn't necessarily true; the Goblet of Fire choosing you might just be an accident—"
No, it wasn't an accident.
Harry just nodded, not voicing his thoughts.
Soon, Professor McGonagall continued to chatter, attempting to ease Harry's evident tension. But it was obviously ineffective; being a strict teacher, Professor McGonagall didn't have much experience with heart-to-heart discussions. So it wasn't until Harry expressed his sleepiness for the third time that she finally allowed him to go for a rest.
"Cheer up, at least you don't have to take exams for the next year—"
As Harry stood up, Professor McGonagall also stood, speaking reassuringly with a light tone.
"...And homework?"
Harry asked cautiously.
"You still have to do it."
Professor McGonagall regains her stern expression.
...
After saying goodbye to Professor McGonagall, Harry went upstairs back to the dormitory. But as he climbed the stairs, he saw the crouched figure by the door.
It was Ron.
Harry looked at Ron as he stood up, finally recalling that during the earlier "celebration," the latter had seemingly been absent—
"Where did you go just now?" So Harry asked.
"Oh, hello."
Ron's tone was awkward. He looked at Harry for a long time before finally continuing, "Well, congratulations."
"What do you mean, congratulations?"
Harry looked at Ron, realizing that his friend's smile seemed off—like he was making a grimace, the twisted expression. Harry blinked, sensing a scent from Ron—that was... jealousy?
"Nothing... no one else crossed the age line."
Ron paused and continued, "Even Fred and George didn't, so what did you use—invisibility cloak?"
"The invisibility cloak couldn't let me cross that line."
Harry removed the robe he wore, speaking slowly.
"Oh, right."
Ron didn't seem to hear Harry's reply, continuing to speak awkwardly, "If it was the invisibility cloak, I think you would've told me... because the cloak could cover both of us, right? But you found another way—"
"Listen, Ron."
Harry frowned, wrapping his fists in the robe, "I didn't put my name in that goblet, someone else did."
Ron raised his eyebrows, "Then why would they do that?"
"To kill me."
"Ha—never mind, you know, you could just tell me the truth."
Ron's sarcastic tone was infuriating, his eyebrows raised so high they seemed to disappear into his hair, "Three thousand Galleons prize money, and I just heard Professor McGonagall say you don't have to take exams this year, right? Even Neville believes you, but now you refuse to speak—"
"You were sleeping in the bunk above me that night." Harry suddenly interrupted Ron quietly.
"...What did you say?" The latter furrowed his brows, puzzled.
"I'm going to punch you, Ron."
"?"
"Boom—"
Harry, with his wizard robe wrapped around his right fist, stepped forward and punched Ron in the face with a straight blow, deliberately avoiding critical areas like his eyes. Despite growing up with nutritional deficiencies making Harry only as tall as Ron's shoulder now, he had trained last semester with Neville—
Running five kilometers around the Black Lake every day proved somewhat effective.
This punch stunned Ron, until Harry straddled him and landed two more punches before Ron, filled with shame and anger, tried to retaliate—after ten minutes, the two finally let go and lay on the floor, panting heavily.
"Voldemort wants to kill me, it's not the first time, the little elf that night—"
"...Sorry, Harry, I forgot."
The misunderstanding was resolved as quickly as it appeared.
...
But the "misunderstanding" on the other side wasn't so easily cleared up.
Having destroyed twenty-three magic restrictions, bypassed thirty-seven cursed items, and removed fifteen tiles that would trigger loud alarms, William finally crossed into Classroom No. 9 and entered the office at the back—
Wearing a white morning coat, the man leaned on a cane, sitting by the bed. As William reached to open the door, deep red electric lights formed a thin line in the air, but the spell that seemed destined to succeed was lightly dispelled by William into nothingness.
"Your awareness is fine, just your methods are a bit crude."
Seeing Moody sitting on the bed, William flexed his slightly numb fingers, as if they'd been massaged, and commented.
He was a powerful wizard.
But that's about it.
"Hmph, who the hell are you?"
Moody snorted coldly, jabbing his cane hard into the ground. Blinding sparks burst on the wall behind William — no delay between chit-chat and getting physical.
"I thought Professor Dumbledore's introduction was quite detailed?"
William sidestepped the attack, then tapped his magic wand lightly, immobilizing the man who had just half risen, leaving him in a rather awkward posture.
"A seventh-year little wizard? Do you believe that yourself?"
William hadn't sealed Moody's mouth, so even though he couldn't move now, he could still talk.
"No, I don't."
William nodded with a smile, Moody opened his mouth, but the rebuttal he had prepared was stuck on his lips.
Wait, comrades.
Is this how the script is supposed to go?
"Alright, since that's the case, perhaps we should all be a bit more honest — who are you? Why do you want me in this tournament?"
William chuckled, not waiting for the other to react, but leisurely pulled over a chair and sat opposite Moody.
"...What nonsense are you talking?"
Moody looked somewhat confused, his mouth agape. He stared at the boy in front of him and widened his blue magic eye, "I don't even know you, why would I want you in the tournament?"
"You don't know me?"
William paused and raised an eyebrow.
"...Yeah."
Moody blinked, feeling like he had run into a lunatic tonight — here he was, crazy as he was, meeting someone even crazier... truly nothing too bizarre under the heavens.
"I don't believe it."
"?"
"If you won't tell me, I'll just see for myself."
William shook his head, wasted no more time, but extended his magic wand and pointed it directly at the other's forehead. The blue magic eye started spinning wildly until with a soft click, it turned to the back, no longer watching the outside world —
After a long while, William finally opened his eyes, a frown on his brow.
This guy really didn't know him.
Or rather, before Dumbledore introduced him last night, the opponent's mind and memory held absolutely no impression of him.
And he had no memories of slipping little notes to the Goblet of Fire in the middle of the night either.
But this guy was chattering away just earlier — William could be certain of that, his words at the meeting were full of loopholes, repeatedly trying to get him and Harry to join the Eight-Team Tournament, only to be barely thwarted by the collective resistance of the headmasters — this guy definitely had issues, but now...
He's not an impostor, searching the memory reveals nothing amiss.
So, where's the problem?
Looking at the man who had fallen into a deep slumber with his eyes closed, William shook his head. This Moody wasn't the key, there's a line behind the hook — he was a bit anxious, shouldn't have acted so quickly… but it was his preconceived notion, thinking this might also be something Voldemort cooked up —
But thinking again, Voldemort probably wouldn't dare mess with him now, sneaking off to mess with Harry was likely the boldest plan he could muster.
Thus —
William looked at the man's breathing gradually become even, raised his magic wand, and extracted a strand of gray thread, which was the memory of the other being startled awake by him tonight. With the big fish still in the water, he noted this for close observation, ensuring not to alert the adversary—
William stored away the strand of memory, fished out a Magic Eavesdropper·Grindelwald's product from his sleeve, then peeled off the sticker on the man's trunk and stuck it on the inside of the sticker. After restoring everything, he left the room — come morning, Moody would just feel like he had a good night's sleep —
Of course, everything hinges on William restoring all the traps outside the door to their original state.
"…Isn't this guy's paranoia going a bit too far?"
Looking at the densely layered restrictions in the room, William couldn't help but feel his scalp prickling.
Can he really restore this many things before morning?
…
"Creak—"
The light brown door creaked open from the outside, covered in mottled marks. An elderly man dragging his somewhat frail body walked into the room, placed what he held on the table, and slowly walked toward the kitchen. He took out a cup, drank some water, and then let out a long sigh.
"Where did you come from?"
Without turning around, he asked, holding his cup.
But as he finished speaking, on the sofa behind him, where there was nothing, the light slightly warped and a figure in a black robe appeared. With a hoarse voice laced with laughter, it said, "Not bad, I thought I'd have to wait until you sat on me to discover me—"
"Who are you?"
The elderly man ignored the other's teasing, turned his head, and continued to ask expressionlessly. In his deeply set eye sockets, red flames flickered slightly.
"That's not important—"
The figure shook its head, sat up slightly, and placed its hands lightly beneath its chin, striking a pose like the "Riddler" in various films.
"Avada—"
"Wait! Wait! Damn! You lunatic, no wonder your soul splintered so many times, even the Netherworld doesn't want you— Damn, were you kicked out by Anubis?"
Seeing the green glow light up in front of him, the "Riddler" was startled, quickly raised a hand, and cursed under his breath.