The man's entrance was impossible to miss, immediately drawing every student's gaze.
But the stranger paid no attention to the stares. Leaning on his cane, he slowly made his way forward, one step at a time.
Harley clearly heard the uneven rhythm—
The stranger's left leg was wooden. It had to bear his weight, so its knocks against the floor were much louder than those of his right leg or his cane.
The stranger covered the distance in a few quick strides and went straight to Professor Dumbledore.
He held out his free hand. Like his face, it was scarred and etched with stories.
Professor Dumbledore shook it and asked quietly,
"Was your journey to Hogwarts all right, Alastor?"
"Not at all, Albus." Moody sounded as if he had no idea what politeness was. He answered gruffly,
"I hate rainy weather, especially when the thunder is this loud and the rain this heavy."
"It keeps me from smelling the stench of those vermin hiding in the shadows, and from hearing the vile sounds of the cockroaches in the cesspit casting spells."
"And the downpour isn't doing my leg any favors, either. I'm pretty sure this thing isn't very slip-proof."
As he spoke, he tapped his wooden left leg lightly with his cane, entirely unbothered by his disability.
Professor Dumbledore seemed not to mind Moody's rudeness at all. He nodded and said with a smile,
"That's unfortunate. But relax—you're at Hogwarts now."
"Come sit down, my dear old friend. I've had our Hogwarts chefs set aside some delicious dishes for you."
"Thank those lovely House-elves. Their cooking is far better than that old man's at the Slug-roof restaurant. At least they put enough honey in their after-dinner treats."
Moody nodded firmly and dropped into an empty seat to Professor Dumbledore's right.