Starry skies and Gardenias

Chapter 67

"Jefferson!"

Isabella, who was still thinking about the book she had just read, flinched slightly when McGonagall called her name as she arrived at the Entrance Hall.

"Follow me," Professor McGonagall said sharply and Isabella complied without hesitation. She could feel a few glances on her, wondering what she had done to get herself in trouble this early into the year.

Professor McGonagall took her all the way to her office and closed the door behind them, before rushing to her desk and fumbling at the chest of drawers. 

"I have to go, start the Sorting," McGonagall said as she pulled out a familiar little box and straightened. 

"Jefferson, I trust you know what to do," McGonagall said as she thrust the box into Isabella's hands. 

"And you know the rules,"

"Yes, professor," Isabella said. "Thank you,"

"Come along now," McGonagall said. She wrenched the door open after Isabella hid the time-turned under her robes and marched out.

"Head straight to the Great Hall," McGonagall said sharply and then she took long strides and left Isabella at her own pace.

Isabella knew better than to run and try to catch up with McGonagall. All that was going to happen was she would have to crawl into the Great Hall, wheezing and gasping for breath like a dying fish. 
Yes, no thanks. She was going to walk like a sensible person.

When Isabella took her seat at the Gryffindor table, the Sorting was just beginning. 

Isabella stared at the Sorting Hat for a few minutes, before dropping her gaze to the empty golden plate before her, thinking. 

All the books must be about Harry Potter. And there were seven books, so she could likely find out how Harry would defeat Voldemort. . .The summaries at the back of the book might give her clues as to what the title could possibly be. . .

. . .Why was she doing this again? 

That's right. She had no clue. But here she was, doing it. Oh, well. . .might be of help for someone. 

When Dumbledore dismissed the school after the feast, Isabella hesitated for a second. Should she go to Dumbledore right then, or should she go tomorrow morning, with the book?

She finally decided she would visit his office in the morning, because she was too tired at the moment and would like to sleep. 

As she took the numerous stairs up the tower to the Gryffindor common room, thinking about the next book and what the title could possibly be. 

When Isabella went to bed, and pulled down the curtains, she could hear her dormmates, Amelia and Clarissa giggling at something. Ignoring them, she plumped up her pillow and pulled the blankets to her face before lying down and going to sleep.

There was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any they had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.