Chapter 627: The Disappearance of Moody
"Professor McGonagall!"
The shopkeeper hurried out from behind the counter of Twilfitt and Tattings. She
was dressed in shimmering lavender robes with a silver measuring tape draped
around her neck like a scarf. Her face was a map of beaming smiles.
"What a supreme honor—and this must be Mr. Green! Come in, come in. We're old
friends by now, dear boy, no need for bashfulness."
"He requires a set of dress robes," Minerva said. "Fourth year. You are well
aware of the Hogwarts dress code: nothing garish, no unnecessary frills. A
clean, classic fit is paramount."
"Fourth year!" the witch's eyes sparkled. "The most defining age. Not quite a
boy anymore, but not yet a man, eh? Step up here, young sir."
Sean was ushered onto a small circular dais. The platform rose half a foot with
a soft mechanical whir, making him feel taller than his thirteen years usually
allowed. In the floor-to-ceiling mirror opposite him, he saw his reflection: a
silver cloak spotted with rain, dark hair slightly damp and unruly, and a face
that looked somewhat pale under the shop's violet-tinted magical lanterns.
"Time truly does fly," Minerva whispered.
As she spoke, two magical measuring tapes zoomed toward Sean. One began snapping
across his shoulders while the other wound itself around his arm. They moved
with a businesslike efficiency, though Sean noticed they adjusted their grip
with a certain gentleness, as if afraid to bruise him.
Sean stared at himself in the glass, listening to the shopkeeper's running
commentary behind him. "Shoulders are a quarter-inch broader than the standard
last year... excellent bone structure... arms are long enough for the standard
sleeve length... waist is a bit lean, we'll need to taper the line there..."
"Color?" the shopkeeper asked, turning to McGonagall. "Deep emerald and midnight
blue are the trends this season. But for our dear Sean... black is too somber. I
think a forest green would be perfect. It would catch the light in his eyes.
Or—we just received a bolt of deep burgundy. Very understated, but it has a
magnificent warm glow under candlelight. Perfect for the Yule Ball—"
"Forest green," Minerva stated. Her tone was final.
After the words left her mouth, she spared a glance at Sean. It was a brief,
light look, but it held a hidden question.
"Forest green is fine," Sean agreed.
The corner of McGonagall's mouth twitched. It was barely a smile, but her brow
smoothed out, the tension leaving her face.
The rain continued to patter against the windows, a rhythmic, hypnotic sound.
Minerva watched as the measuring tapes performed their dance. The shopkeeper was
busy fussing over the finer points of the silk lining, and for a moment, the
ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to slow down.
The witch vanished into the back room, returning moments later with several
rolls of fabric. She unfurled them before Sean. The forest-green silk was
exquisite—a deep, dark hue reminiscent of ancient pines. It was heavy enough to
hang with dignity but felt incredibly soft to the touch.
"This one," Minerva decided, looking at Sean.
"This one," Sean confirmed.
While waiting for the final adjustments, Sean stood by the window, looking out
at Diagon Alley. The rain hadn't let up; if anything, it had grown heavier since
they arrived. Across the street, Flourish and Blotts had shuttered its doors
early. The awnings of Florean Fortescue's were rattling under the downpour,
water cascading off the edges like miniature waterfalls.
The street was deserted, save for a single hooded figure sprinting through the
puddles.
Sean's gaze drifted to a stone wall near the entrance to Gringotts. The
Quidditch World Cup posters had been stripped away, replaced by a new, stark
announcement. It was printed on the heavy, yellowish parchment used by the
Ministry, embossed with the seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
The bold text read:
EMERGENCY SECURITY ADVISORY
- Outdoor Apparition is prohibited after dusk.
- Should you encounter any individual exhibiting symptoms of 'Soul-Loss' or
unresponsiveness, report immediately to the nearest Auror Office.
- DO NOT attempt to provide assistance yourself.
- DO NOT approach. REITERATION: DO NOT APPROACH.
The poster remained dry despite the torrential rain, shielded by a permanent
Impervius Charm.
"You'll have a heavy workload this year," Minerva noted, coming to stand beside
him.
"Pardon, Professor?" Sean asked.
"Albus... he forgot to tell you. Typical." Minerva frowned, looking toward the
ceiling.
"My dear Mr. Green, your robes are ready!" the shopkeeper chirped, returning to
the parlor.
Magic was a wonderful tool for a tailor. Within minutes, the fabric had been
cut, sewn, and charmed into its final form. She held up a set of deep
forest-green dress robes, neatly folded and wrapped in lavender tissue paper,
secured with a silver ribbon.
"Try them on, dear."
Sean took the parcel and stepped into the fitting room. As the curtain slid
shut, he overheard the conversation outside.
"Oh, the Ball! The Yule Ball! Who do you think he'll ask, Minerva? My, our dear
Mr. Green... I can't wait to see the gossip..."
"I've had similar thoughts," Minerva admitted.
"Oho! That doesn't sound like you, Minerva! Tell me, who is it? You must take
photos! I've watched that boy grow for three years now. Every formal stitch he's
worn has come from my needle..."
"I will take photos. Many of them."
"You see? I told you it was a good idea. Back then, I told you—being alone is a
hollow thing. Raising a child... especially a boy like him..."
"You're talking too much today."
"Am I? Well, I'll sew my own mouth shut then. I am a seamstress, after all..."
Sean pulled on the robes. The material was comfortable, and the fit was precise.
He looked at his reflection in the small mirror. The forest-green hue lent him
an air of steady, clean authority. The collar was sharp, and the shoulder line
was perfectly straight.
The boy in the mirror no longer looked like the sickly, sallow orphan of his
memories. He looked healthy, vibrant, and focused.
Hogwarts food really is the best magic of all, he thought.
He didn't have to reach for the curtain; it slid open by itself. Professor
McGonagall and the shopkeeper turned to look. The conversation died instantly.
Minerva's lips moved, but she seemed unable to find her voice.
She stared at him for a long time—long enough for the shopkeeper to start
awkwardly clearing her throat, long enough for a passing carriage to splash
water against the display window.
"My... what a handsome young gentleman!" the witch gushed, looking thoroughly
satisfied.
Minerva stepped forward. She reached out and adjusted the line of his collar
with a slow, careful movement.
"Good," she said, her voice a register lower than usual. "It fits well."
"Let's move," she added, her tone returning to its professional crispness. "The
rain has slowed. We need to send a message to Severus regarding the
start-of-term logistics."
She paid the bill and offered a polite farewell to the lingering shopkeeper. As
they stepped out, the bell chimed again, and the cold Highland wind whipped
against Minerva's hat.
"Come back soon!" the witch called out, watching the Professor take the young
wizard's hand. She wore a look of pure, aunt-like pride. She had been observing
the pair for three years; sometimes a tailor understands the threads between
people better than the people themselves.
"Thank you, ma'am," Sean said, pausing on the steps.
The shopkeeper was one of the few people in the world who treated him as "Sean"
rather than "The Master of Alchemy." He appreciated her lack of awe.
Platform 9¾.
The Hogwarts Express sat huffing clouds of thick white steam. Through the haze,
the students and parents on the platform looked like shadowy ghosts.
Hermione's owl, sensing the presence of other birds in the mist, began to
screech in response. It was September 1st—the start of term.
Hermione and Justin had grown used to seeing Professor McGonagall escorting
Sean, and they offered her a polite wave as they approached.
"The Auror Grandpa Marcus mentioned," Hermione said, using a Hovering Charm to
guide her trunk. "Has anyone heard from him?"
After Marcus had announced that Mad-Eye Moody would be training Sean over the
summer, the legendary Auror had seemingly vanished. Even Marcus hadn't been able
to establish contact, which had led the group to speculate. In an era where
Aurors were going missing weekly, "radio silence" was a terrifying omen.
"The Ministry is a shambles right now," Justin noted, scanning the platform for
a vacant seat. They quickly found a compartment and hauled their luggage inside.
Back on the platform, they spotted the Weasley family.
"I'll likely be seeing you all very soon," Charlie Weasley said, giving Ginny a
goodbye hug and a wink.
"Why?" Fred asked instantly.
"You'll find out," Charlie grinned. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it...
it's 'Top Secret Info,' apparently. Ministry doesn't want it out until they
think the timing is right."
"I wish I were heading back to school this year," Bill Weasley added, his hands
in his pockets as he watched the engine. He looked uncharacteristically pensive.
"Why?" George asked impatiently.
"It's going to be a very interesting year," Bill said, his eyes gleaming. "I
might even take some leave to come and watch part of it..."
"Part of what?!" Ron shouted.
But the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley began ushering them toward the doors.
"Thanks for having me, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, leaning out the window as the
train began to hiss.
"Oh, it was a pleasure, dear," she called back. "I'd invite you for Christmas,
too, but... I expect you'll all want to stay at Hogwarts this year. For... well,
reasons."
"Mum!" Ron groaned. "What is it? You three clearly know something we don't!"
"I expect you'll find out tonight," Mrs. Weasley smiled. "It'll be very
exciting—I'm just glad they finally changed the rules—"
"WHAT RULES?!" Harry, Ron, and the twins yelled in unison.
But the steam obscured her face as the train lurched forward. "Dumbledore will
tell you!" she shouted, waving as she and the older Weasley boys vanished in a
flurry of Apparition.
In the compartment, Hermione and Justin were looking at Sean with pleading eyes.
"What were they talking about?" Hermione asked. "Sean, you have to know."
Sean remembered the unfinished sentence from McGonagall on the day he bought his
robes. He decided that, technically, he "didn't know" the specifics yet.
"How could you not know?!" Justin and Hermione cried when Sean offered a slow
shake of his head.
"Why should I?" Sean asked, feigning confusion.
"Because you're... you know... a Professor!" Hermione hissed.
"Headmaster Dumbledore will announce it at the feast," Sean said, looking out
the window.
He watched the scenery blur, but his mind was on his status panel.
- Transfiguration: Inches away from the Legendary tier. He expected his next
trip to the Veil to pave the way within a week.
- Fiendfyre: Under Grindelwald's brutal tutelage, his mastery was nearing
completion. Two more months of "Applied Combat," and he would touch the
summit.
He thought of the look on Snape's face when he collected his winnings from Ludo
Bagman after the World Cup. "Ireland won. Pay up. Three thousand Galleons."
Snape hadn't even given Bagman the chance to offer a trade in Goblin gold; he
wanted the liquid currency.
The train thundered on, the noise drowning out Hermione's gasp as she checked
her mirror.
"Headmaster Dumbledore?! He's back? He's finally come home?!"