Moody's office was a fortress built from paranoia.
Seven magical locks, each with a different function, sealed the black oak door tight.
The walls were covered with detectors of every kind, silver, crystal, and brass.
Like a swarm of silent, watchful beetles, they monitored every slightest stir in the corridor outside.
Moody stood facing a cracked mirror.
He unscrewed the flask he carried with him and poured that familiar, nauseating liquid down his throat.
The taste had never been so strong.
Like boiled-to-rags socks mixed with rotting leaves from a sewer.
He could feel his real skin.
Beneath the scarred false skin belonging to Alastor Moody, it writhed uneasily, like a swarm of moths about to break out of their cocoons.
In the mirror, the wildly spinning Magical Eye reflected his inner agitation and venom.
Everything should have been going according to plan.
According to his master's instructions, the night of the Yule Ball would be the best opportunity.
Dumbledore would be occupied with foreign guests, and those two troublesome heads of the Academic Affairs Office would be absent.
While everyone was celebrating, he could slip up to the Seventh Floor, find the mysterious room his master had mentioned, and retrieve the object hidden there for years.
Without anyone knowing.
And without affecting the operations that followed.
The plan was flawless.
Until that damned Holmes said those words.
"...throughout Hogwarts, there will be no one...who interferes with your teaching."
Those words were like a drop of poison falling into the soup he had so painstakingly prepared.
An invitation?
Or a trap?
Had that eccentric Muggle-born fellow seen through something?
Were his words merely stupid arrogance, or a carefully laid trap to lure him into exposing himself?
"Entrapment"...
That strange term from Holmes's mouth echoed over and over in his mind.