Master of Playing Dumb

For the rest of the class, the students were busy taking notes, recording the three Unforgivable Curses.

The classroom was quiet, and no one spoke until the bell rang and the students walked out of the classroom. Suddenly, all sorts of discussions poured out like a flood bursting its banks.

"Did you see the spider twitching?"

"He killed the spider in one swift motion, easier than drinking water!"

"..."

The stained glass windows on the corridor walls cast soft light of various colors as Loren, Hermione, Harry, and Ron descended the spiral staircase, discussing the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of their fourth year that had just ended.

"This Protestantism is amazing!" Ron said excitedly. "Although he's always a bit crazy and it's terrifying to be in the same room with him, he's really been through it all, you know, he's faced evil head-on."

Harry's expression was somewhat stiff, and the way they talked about the lesson was as if he were watching a hilarious farce, which he didn't find particularly interesting—especially the Killing Curse.

"There's a reason these spells are called the Unforgivable Curses!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly, her fur standing on end like a little lion's. "To demonstrate them in the classroom, it's simply... Did you see Neville's expression?"

"Shh..." Loren pressed his finger to Hermione's lips, gesturing for them to look down the corridor ahead. "Neville is over there."

Neville stood alone in the middle of the corridor, staring blankly at the pattern on the stained glass window. It depicted a Witch holding a skull staff, draped in silk, with a sorrowful expression as if she might shed tears at any moment.

"Neville?" Hermione called softly.

Before Neville could answer, a series of strange footsteps suddenly came from behind them, Moody limped toward them.

"Are you alright, son?" His voice was still hoarse, but much lower and gentler than in the classroom. "Come, come to my office, we can have a cup of tea together... Come on, Lomberton, I have a few books that you might be interested in."

Neville was somewhat flustered, but he couldn't bring himself to refuse, so he let Moody place a rough hand on his shoulder and lead him away.

"What does this mean?" Harry wondered.

"I don't know." Hermione kept watching them turn the corner, then looked at Loren with concern.

Loren grasped her slightly cold hand, shook his head, and said softly:

"Don't worry, we're at school, it'll be fine."

"Lomberton, Neville Lomberton ... Don't be nervous, sit down."

In the dimly Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor's office, Moody limped slowly, lit a candle with some difficulty, gestured for Neville to sit down at the desk, and poured him a glass of cold tea.

"Frank and Alice are your parents, right?"

Neville paused for a moment, then, remembering that the man in front of him was a famous former Aurors, he felt a little more at ease and nodded cautiously.

Moody gave a complicated snort, "When the Dark Lord fell, everything was in chaos. Albus and I were busy dealing with those guys and didn't pay attention to your parents. By the time we received Augusta's message, it was too late. When we arrived, your parents had already been tortured beyond recognition..."

"Even though they all say I'm getting senile, I still remember that scene: Frank and Alice were covered in blood and couldn't say a single complete word... Even so, they were still holding hands."

A strange light shone in Moody's eyes, and a strange smile suddenly appeared on his face, "What a touching love story. Their minds were already messed up back then, they didn't even recognize each other anymore."

Neville, pale-faced, stared intently at Moody, his eyes unblinking, and firmly corrected him. "They will never forget each other!"

For some reason, Professor Moody's words made him very uncomfortable. They sounded like normal words, even somewhat comforting, but they just felt jarring, as if the speaker harbored some kind of malice.

"Oh, perhaps, I'm sorry I haven't experienced that kind of feeling..." Moody laughed gruffly. "But that's all in the past now. The good news of their recovery and return to the department almost caused some of the old Aurors guys to burst out of Old Tom's bar, even though the Leaky Cauldron is already quite run-down."

Neville's unease dissipated, and he nodded slightly.

"Just consider it an old man's last bit of curiosity..." Moody looked at Neville with his normal eye, his blue magic eye darting around. "I want to ask how your parents were cured. Those mediocre guys at St Mungo's's didn't have that ability."

"Yes--"

Just as Neville was about to answer, a thought struck him, and he dragged out his words, pretending to be hesitant and incoherent.

Not many people knew that Loren helped treat his parents, but Headmaster Dumbledore was involved throughout the process. Professor Moody, as Headmaster Dumbledore's friend, was unaware of this, which means that the Headmaster kept it a secret from Professor Moody... and he should have kept it a secret too.

Neville changed the subject. "It was... it was Headmaster Dumbledore who had someone heal him."

"Of course I know it was Deng... Albus cured him." Moody waved his hand irritably, wanting to ask more questions but stopping himself in time. He paused for a moment before laughing, "Looks like you don't know either, right? That's right, I can ask Albus."

Neville nodded, feigning ignorance.

"Hey, perk up, show some Lomberton- like spirit!" Moody suddenly roared, his blue demonic eye turning back to stare at Neville: "Minerva and Filius praised your transformation, saying you're a good lad, even better than your father."

Neville unconsciously broadened his shoulders and straightened his back.

Have you ever thought about avenging your parents?

"..."

Moody waved his hand, seemingly annoyed by his coy manner. "Do you know who your enemies are?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Neville said softly.

"That's right!" Moody grinned, a slightly neurotic grin. "That crazy woman is one, but there's another person who was involved in tormenting your parents the whole time: Barty Jr. Crouch Jr. Remember his name!"

Neville had certainly heard of the name, and asked in a low voice with some doubt, "Wasn't he already on trial and imprisoned in Azkaban? My father said he died in Azkaban."

"Just remember him..."

Moody's demonic eye turned back to Neville: "I know my lesson didn't meet the standards. The little guy was terrified, wasn't he?"

He opened the drawer and pulled out a thick book. "Just for Alice's sake, you'll like this."

By the dim candlelight, Neville could make out the words on the book's cover and read them aloud softly, "The magical aquatic plants of the Mediterranean and their characteristics?"

"Pomona said you did well in your Herbology Class and really enjoy tending to plants." Moody's grin widened.

Whether it was the dim lighting or just his imagination, Neville thought his mouth looked slightly crooked.

"Alright, let's go back..." Moody said abruptly, leaning back into the shadows, his voice rough and unclear. "My classes will be even more outrageous from now on, so pull yourself together, Lomberton!"

A subtle sense of panic suddenly rose in Neville's heart. He hugged his book tightly, nodded, and quickly ran out of the office.

The fourth-year wizard was already showing signs of becoming quite robust. As he ran, his robes stirred a slight breeze, extinguishing the flickering candles, and the large office once again fell into silent darkness.

The wooden door knocked weakly against the old doorframe, and the lock clicked shut.

The professor, who had been leaning back in his chair, slowly stood up and walked briskly to the wooden box by the wall. His large robes seemed a little loose, as if his thin figure couldn't support them.

The room was dark, but that didn't stop the man from skillfully unlocking the boxes one by one. He took out an unopened bottle of potion from the fifth box and finally opened the hidden dungeon in the dark.

Looking at the tired old man below, the figure paused, wondering if it was just his imagination, but he felt that the old man seemed a little more energetic.

However, he has plenty of time; his energy won't last much longer.

Shaking the potion bottle in his hand, the figure revealed a twisted smile before gracefully flipping and leaping into the wooden crate dungeon.

The Gryffindor Common Room, at the entrance.

Neville chatted with the Fat Lady for a while before giving the command, then watched as Crookshanks, returning from his outing, darted into the lounge, moving so fast he could leave a blur.

As a wisp of grayish-white Cat Hair slowly drifted down, Neville fell into deep thought.

Given that Crookshanks is ginger-yellow and Mrs. Norris is yellow, black, and white, the question is: why does Mr. Filch, the caretaker, seem to be particularly targeting Gryffindor students?

Neville stepped into the lounge in a daze and saw Crookshanks heading to a seat by the window where its owner was sitting. After thinking for a moment, Neville quietly found a spot to read.

Never mind, I'll talk to Loren about it tonight.

The thick book lay open on the table. "Unfogging the Future" seemed to be nothing but fog. Harry and Ron faced the parchment covered with numbers and symbols, their expressions blank and their eyes vacant. Their minds seemed to be filled with the smoke drifting from Professor Trelawney's fireplace.

Harry and Ron were only brought back to reality when Crookshanks nimbly leaped onto the table, crouched down with his front paws tucked in, and spread out his liquid-like fat, obscuring a long row of calculation formulas.

"What does this thing even mean? I have absolutely no idea!" Harry's voice was filled with despair.

Ron scratched Crookshanks's chin and muttered in a deep voice, "Tell me, tell me, on my birthday, will Uranus be in the south or the north?"

"And my birthday too," Harry chimed in, his interest piqued.

Crookshanks opened his narrowed eyes a crack and silently gave them a look.

Harry and Ron's eyes widened. Merlin above them, they saw contempt on a cat's face—clear, unmistakable contempt, exactly the same expression Hermione had when she found out they were making up their Divination Class.

Loren, sitting opposite Hermione, couldn't help but laugh. He poked Hermione's cheek and muttered in a deep voice, "Tell me, my magical cat, am I in danger of getting burned next month, or am I in danger of falling?"

"You risk getting hurt by me," Hermione said in a low voice.

"Loren, you've already written down next month's horoscope!?"

Harry exclaimed in surprise, looking up at Loren, "How did you calculate the celestial alignment at the time of your birth? We haven't even figured out the formulas yet!"

"I didn't calculate it..." Loren blinked. "I borrowed the Star Chart for that year from the Library and just checked it against my birthday."

Why didn't you tell me sooner that you had such a good idea!

Harry and Ron immediately started shouting, their voices filled with grief, indignation, and grievance.

"You didn't ask either." Loren's expression was innocent and pure, but his voice was full of feigned surprise. "You all came back and focused on arranging the formulas. I thought you were planning to figure it out on your own."

It was intentional, absolutely intentional. He was just waiting to see the joke.

Harry and Ron clenched their fists, staring at the guy opposite them with dangerous eyes.

"Your birthdays are all in 1980, right?" Loren cleared his throat and said slowly, "There are only three copies of the 1980 Star Chart. Oh dear, I heard from Madam Pince that the other two have already been borrowed."

The affected tone and slang gave the little Witch goosebumps, but Hermione didn't mind at all. Her eyes sparkled as she silently watched the show.

After thinking for a moment about the completely incomprehensible formulas and symbols, Harry swallowed his grief and forced a sincere smile, "Loren, you know, we've always been Chamber of Secrets, that starbook..."

Ron quickly forced out the same smile.

Loren shrugged and held back a laugh as he handed over the thick astrology book, "March 1st and July 31st, right? I've already folded up the page with your birthdays, just copy it down."

"Loren, we love you!"

The two cheered, shaking off their previous grief and anger, and happily took the astrology book to read it.

Loren picked Crookshanks up from the table and chuckled as he kneaded the soft flesh on the back of the kitten's neck, teasing the little guy—it was quite amusing.

"Tsk, what a terrible personality," Hermione muttered.

Loren retorted, "You're enjoying this so much, you're despicable too."

"..."

Hermione didn't continue speaking. Continuing like this would only lead to endless vicious accusations, mainly because she would usually lose and be labeled with even worse tags.

Loren, somewhat disgruntled at not achieving a complete victory, tossed Crookshanks aside and leaned over to look at the little Witch's notebook. "What are you writing? Oh? You're writing a letter—"

"They didn't even call me when they wrote home!" Loren muttered to himself. "Well, that despicable Granger, they'll definitely complain that they only received your letters. He even tried to sow discord between me and Wendell while we were fishing..."

Hermione's head was throbbing from listening, and she couldn't help but pinch his smacking lips. "It's a letter to Mr. Weasley."

Loren blinked.

Hermione showed no sign of letting go of him, and continued to explain, "Winky was taken back to the Ministry of Magic by Mr. Diggory for questioning, but everyone knows it wasn't it that released the Dark Mark, so it should be released soon... But Mr. Crouch banished Winky. She's a homeless House-elf, and I'm a little worried about her."

Loren pressed his lips together and continued blinking.

Okay, now let go of me.

Whether Hermione didn't see his look or was pretending not to understand, she continued muttering, "I've heard that many House-elf commit suicide after being banished. They feel they've let their masters down and are filled with remorse—"

"Ah! Don't bite..."