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-Meanwhile, in the Hospital Wing-
[POV – Third Person]
"Wotcher, Professor!" was the first thing Dora said when she spotted Moody, waving cheerfully at him.
The young witch had just received permission from Madam Pomfrey to visit him, and the moment she entered the Hospital Wing, she immediately saw the man who had trained her back when she was still at the Auror Academy.
At this moment, Moody was reclining against an ordinary bed covered in clean white sheets, identical to the dozens surrounding it.
On the right side stood a small table bearing a tray with several potion vials — some empty, others still full — a bowl of half-eaten porridge, and a pot of green jelly.
He was dressed in a simple light-blue hospital gown, with matching shorts underneath. His magical eye and wooden leg were nowhere to be seen, giving him a strangely incomplete appearance.
Moody tried to look strong and indifferent, but it was obvious to any keen observer that he had not fully recovered.
His face was slightly pale, and he looked more worn and dishevelled than usual. On closer inspection, it was also clear how much weight he had lost.
His weakened, sickly condition was no surprise.
After spending nearly a year imprisoned in a cold, dark trunk, deprived of sunlight, proper food, and water, it was only natural that he would suffer lingering effects.
Seeing the hyperactive and clumsy girl approaching him, the old wizard merely grunted in response to her greeting. A scowling expression marked his scarred face.
Moody's lack of enthusiasm did nothing to erase Dora's smile. The Metamorphmagus had long since grown accustomed to her former professor's rude and gruff personality.
Unfazed by the irritable aura surrounding him, she pulled a chair to the side of his bed and promptly sat down.
"Sooo… how's your health?" she asked casually, though a trace of concern was visible deep in her eyes.
"I've been worse," he replied, folding his arms. "This little incident wasn't enough to shake me."
"Yeah, yeah… Nothing can stop or frighten the fierce and relentless Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody!" Dora nodded firmly, raising a clenched fist.
Her teasing drew a small snort from Moody, though his expression visibly relaxed.
"Alright, girl. I don't need anyone puffing up my ego," he said, rolling his eyes… or rather, eye.
"Now tell me, what did you come here for?" he asked, turning to her with curiosity. "You didn't just come to check whether my old bones were still intact, did you?"
"What? A student can't simply want to see whether her professor's alright? There has to be some hidden motive behind it?" she shot back, clearly offended.
Puffing out her cheeks, she crossed her arms.
"You might not know this, but I spent all these days wondering if you were okay… I was really worried about you!"
"Worried? Hmph…" Moody muttered slowly, eyeing the troublemaker before him suspiciously.
Then, suddenly, his one good eye narrowed. An old memory surfaced.
He remembered the last time he had seen and spoken to Dora before being kidnapped by Barty Crouch Jr.
Back then, he had felt that something strange was happening around him. A deep unease — the instinct of his years as a veteran Auror — had warned him that someone was targeting him.
Driven by that suspicion, he had wasted no time in sharing his concerns with his student, wanting her help investigating.
But Dora, like everyone else he had confided in, had dismissed his fears as just another bout of paranoia.
In the end, bitterly and frustratingly, his instincts proved correct. Someone truly had been after him.
And now, hearing his student claim she had been "worried" about him stirred a surge of resentment and displeasure within him.
"Oh, you were very worried about me, were you?" he repeated, staring at her intensely.
"Hmm… yes…" she nodded hesitantly, shifting in her chair.
For some reason, she felt there was something wrong with that question.
Ignoring the young witch's discomfort, Moody continued.
"Well then, in that case, since you're such a good and filial student…"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU REALISE THAT BLOODY IMPOSTOR WASN'T ME?!" he thundered, teeth grinding.
Caught completely off guard by the sudden outburst, Dora jumped in her chair.
"W-well… I-it's just…" she stammered, at a loss for words.
And knowing she was in the wrong, she didn't even dare look at her mentor.
Then, realising Moody's temper was worsening with every second she delayed, she concluded it was time to employ the most effective and powerful technique known to humankind:
Strategic retreat.
"Y-you know… I-I think I heard my mum calling me…" she laughed nervously, rising quickly from her seat. "So, s-since I can't keep her waiting, I think I'll just b-be off—"
"Nymphadora Tonks," Moody called slowly.
The young witch froze mid-sentence.
"Sit. Down. Now," he ordered, his deep voice dangerously serious.
Dora heard the command — but her mind fixated entirely on the fact that he had used the Forbidden Name.
Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, irritation exploded instantly.
With fists clenched, she turned to protest.
"Don't call me—"
But the moment she saw Moody's dark, implacable expression, any complaint or trace of ferocity evaporated in an instant...
So did her desire to flee.
"D-don't call me Nymphadora…" she muttered softly, sitting back down obediently.
"Hmph." Moody snorted, ignoring the protest.
After spending so many years with this clumsy witch, Moody could say with certainty that he knew her very well. And he knew exactly how much she hated her own name.
But at that moment, he simply didn't care.
In fact, he had used her full name on purpose — just to annoy her.
Someone might say the ex-Auror was being petty and childish. But only he knew how furious he truly was.
His frustration and indignation toward his friends were already great; toward Dora, they were greater still. And mixed with them was disappointment.
Moody had taught few people in his life. Among them all, Dora could be considered his only true student.
And he would never admit it aloud, but she was also the one he felt the most affection and pride for.
He saw her as a granddaughter… a very clumsy, messy, hyperactive one.
And it was precisely because of that that he felt so disappointed and angry with her.
It felt as though all his training and teachings had amounted to nothing. She had still been fooled by a despicable impostor.
In truth, being fooled was the least of it. Unlike Headmaster Dumbledore, Dora had never even interacted with Barty Crouch Jr. while he impersonated the old wizard.
What truly bothered Moody was something else: for practically the entire school year, Dora had not sought him out. Nor even sent a letter.
If she had done so, perhaps she might have noticed that something was wrong with the "Moody" wandering the corridors of Hogwarts.
So in short, what the paranoid and terrifying Mad-Eye Moody felt in that moment was a sense of abandonment… and sadness.
He felt like a retired grandfather who had stopped receiving calls from his beloved granddaughter after she moved away with her dull, insufferable husband.
'That girl needs to relearn a few old lessons,' he thought, lips tightening beneath his scars.
What followed, to Dora's despair, was a long, drawn-out, and extremely irritated lecture.
Knowing their time to talk was short, Moody tried to cram into his undisciplined student's head every lesson on vigilance and caution he knew.
Dora only escaped the torment thanks to Madam Pomfrey's arrival, appearing like a goddess descending from the heavens to announce that visiting hours were over.
For the first time in her life, Nymphadora Tonks felt grateful to be expelled from the Hospital Wing.
The only person unhappy about it was Moody, who grew even more irritated at being interrupted mid-lecture.
And now, with the Metamorphmagus gone, he had nowhere left to vent his frustrations.
He couldn't complain to Madam Pomfrey — or rather, he wouldn't dare.
So he was left sitting on his bed, teeth grinding as he muttered under his breath.
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-Some Time Later-
'Hmm… I wonder whether Alastor has recovered yet…' the Headmaster pondered, walking along the castle corridors toward the Hospital Wing.
Reaching the great doors of the Hospital Wing, he wasted no time and entered without hesitation.
'Good thing I checked beforehand that Poppy wouldn't be here,' he thought as he looked around, relieved not to see the Healer.
He soon spotted his old friend sitting on a bed, muttering to himself.
"Hello, my old friend. How are you?" the Headmaster greeted with a serene smile, approaching.
But before he could come within three metres of the bed, Moody snapped toward him with a growl, narrowing his one functional eye.
Then, catching the Headmaster completely off guard, the old wizard launched into a torrent of curses and insults.
"You son of a @&{#! Goat fu&%^~! You %@#& old &^% who dresses like a #*&/%!"
Hearing the words spilling from that mouth — severely censurable by any age rating — the Headmaster's steps froze.
The smile on his face stiffened at once. His expression shifted from calm and gentle to confused and perplexed.
If not for his exceptional control over his facial expressions, he would certainly have been left gaping.
'What in Merlin's name has gotten into him?!' the Headmaster wondered, blinking in utter shock.
End.
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