The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 354 Moody and His Magic Eye (6K) (1/2)

Hogwarts Great Hall remained as magnificent and splendid as I remembered, with thousands of candles suspended beneath the starry ceiling, illuminating the long tables of the four houses, and the air filled with the rich aroma of roast beef, roast chicken legs, and Yorkshire pudding.

After the Sorting Hat finished singing an exceptionally long new song, the feast began.

Harry temporarily put aside his doubts about the train journey and enjoyed a hearty meal with Ron, Hermione, and his Gryffindor classmates.

However, as the food on the golden platter disappeared and the last crumbs of dessert were cleaned up, an unusual sense of anticipation filled the Great Hall. The teachers were seated in the staff section, but there was clearly an empty seat, and Professor Dumbledore didn't seem to be about to dismiss them immediately. He stood up, the candlelight flickering on his half-moon spectacles, making his long, silvery-white beard stand out.

"Alright!" said Dumbledore, smiling at the students. "Now that we've all eaten and drunk our fill, I must ask you all to be quiet for a moment while I talk about some important things to know for the new semester."

Students were forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest, and Mr. Filch added a new list of prohibited items, this year specifically mentioning certain screaming yo-yos, spiked saucers, and combo darts—these routine notices passed quickly.

"Finally, I regret to inform you all," Dumbledore's voice carried a perfectly timed hint of regret, slightly diminishing the sense of satisfaction that filled the Great Hall with the aroma of the sumptuous dinner, "that due to a very important, upcoming international event requiring a significant investment of time, space, and effort, after careful consideration, we have decided that the House Quidditch Cup will not be held this year."

"What?!"

"No-!"

"This can't be done!"

The Great Hall erupted in chaos, especially around the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, where protests and wails filled the air.

Ron's mouth dropped open, as if he'd heard the cruelest news in the world. He was all set to join the Quidditch team this year, only to be told the games were canceled. Fred and George stared in disbelief, as if someone were playing a cruel joke on them. Even Hermione, who wasn't particularly interested in Quidditch, looked astonished. The other houses were equally in turmoil, and the Quidditch players were devastated.

Dumbledore raised his hands, trying to quell the commotion: "Quiet, please be quiet! I know this is very disappointing, and believe me, I love Quidditch just as much as you do. But I can assure you that the upcoming event, with its excitement, thrill, and glory, will make up for, and even surpass, the joy of Quidditch itself! In fact, this is the second thing I want to announce."

Just then, a loud crash was heard, and the auditorium doors were smashed open.

A figure strode in with stiff yet aggressive steps.

Each time the wooden prosthetic leg struck the stone floor, it produced a loud and rhythmic "thump, thump," instantly silencing all the noise in the auditorium.

A very scary-looking person walked in.

All eyes were drawn to it.

His hair was streaked with gray, as tangled as withered grass; his face was covered with deep and shallow scars, as if repeatedly plowed by various evil curses; a large chunk of his nose was missing. One eye was small and black, with a sharp gaze; the other was a demonic eye that darted around constantly, flashing with an eerie blue light, scanning the entire auditorium without restraint, sending chills down the spines of every student it "saw." He wore a weathered travel cloak, and clutched a silver, curved flask tightly in his hand, as if it were another weapon.

In the deathly silence, he walked thumping to the faculty seating area, sat down in the empty seat reserved for him, and slammed the wine jug heavily on the wooden table with a dull thud.

Dumbledore seemed unperturbed by the interruption. His smile returned, and he spoke in an even louder, clearer voice, "Please allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—Professor Moody!"

Sparse applause broke out, but more often than not, students whispered with a mixture of awe and scrutiny.

Moody showed no reaction; the demonic eye continued to turn, sweeping across the young faces.

When the loud "thump, thump" of wood striking the stone slab forcefully tore through the noise of the auditorium, Lin Qi, like everyone else, looked up.

But unlike the surprise, curiosity, or fear that filled the eyes of others, his gaze calmed down the moment it met the figure, like a falcon locking onto a movement in the air.

Alastor-Moody, or rather, the person who walked in with Moody's appearance.

Lynch made no attempt to conceal his scrutiny.

He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, but deep within his eyes lay a focused, unfathomable depth. He wasn't looking at the "Mad-Eye's" terrifying appearance or that darting, erratic eye—those were for the children in the audience.

He was looking at something much more subtle.

His gait—undoubtedly stiff, with the awkwardness characteristic of prosthetics—was incredibly steady, each step exuding a reckless ferocity, perfectly befitting the image of a battle-hardened, scarred veteran. His erratic, swirling demonic eye seemed to truly see through everything, now scrutinizing the students' reactions with suspicion. The scars on his face, the flask clutched tightly in his hand, and the dusty travel cloak he wore, as if he had just emerged from some dark corner or a fierce conflict and hadn't even had time to change—every detail meticulously pieced together the image of "Mad-Eye Moody."

Even the pervasive aura of heightened vigilance, almost stinging the skin, and the unapproachable presence of strangers, is undeniably powerful. This is not something that can be easily faked; it requires years of walking on the edge of real danger, witnessing too much darkness and betrayal, and having suspicion etched into one's very being.

Lin Qi looked very carefully, trying to find even the slightest discordant tremor beneath this incredibly "real" appearance.

But the result was—no.

There was none of the subtle, contrived "acting" that one might expect beneath such a sophisticated facade. There was no inexplicable disconnect between body language and the core traits rumored to exist. The person before me, from the inside out, exuded the unique aura of "Alastor-Moody"—obsessive, suspicious, scarred, dangerous, and harboring a deep-seated scrutiny and vigilance towards everything around him.

It's impossible to tell the difference between real and fake...

But don't worry, there's plenty of time.

Thinking of this, Lin Qi prepared to look away.

But perhaps it was because his scrutiny lasted a little longer than pure "curiosity," or perhaps it was because his calmness and inquisitiveness in the light were somewhat different from others—Moody, who was sitting at one side of the teachers' table, suddenly stopped his magical eye, which had been scanning the auditorium.

A gaze that seemed to see through everything was fixed on Lin Qi as if it were a physical object.

At that moment, Lynch had an extremely strange feeling, as if he was no longer just being "seen," but being "watched" by something more essential.

The gaze of the demonic eye carried weight, and carried an undisguised question: "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Feeling the gaze of the demonic eye, Lin Qi instantly changed his mind. He reached out and picked up his own wine glass—filled with water—from the long table in front of him, as if it were just to moisten his throat.

He moved slowly, raising the cup to his lips, but did not drink immediately. Instead, he slightly turned his wrist, turning the rim of the cup towards Moody's general direction, pausing for an extremely brief, almost imperceptible moment.

At that very moment—

Moody's body suddenly stiffened!

Just moments before, Lin Qi was still clearly present in his magical perception—a unique magical rhythm, a steady life force field,

Even a certain calm and profound temperament is like a distinct outline.

The next moment, that spot was empty.

It's not invisibility, because invisible objects often appear distorted or have residual magic under the magic eye. Nor is it shielding or concealing, as such spells create an unnatural sense of obstruction. Rather, it's a clean and utter "non-existence." It's like erasing a mark from a sand table with your finger, leaving no trace, only that everything around the original mark is perfectly normal, except for the empty space in the center.

Moody's body stiffened abruptly, and his heart sank heavily.

This eerie feeling was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

Almost instinctively, he turned his head sharply—this time actually turning his neck and upper body—so that his normal black eye was directly facing the direction where Lynch was.

But clearly visible to the naked eye, Lin Qi sat there perfectly fine, his dark suit impeccably tailored, his profile sharply defined. He had just put down his water glass, his fingertips still lightly tapping the glass, his expression as calm as if nothing had happened. He could even see the subtle shimmer of candlelight on Lin Qi's hair.

The stark contrast made the hairs on the back of Moody's neck stand on end. The conflict between the feedback from his naked eye and the magic eye was so acute that it almost gave him a dizzying feeling of cognitive dissonance.

He immediately forced himself to focus his attention, urging his magic eye to focus more "forcefully" and clearly on the point where Lynch was.

The result was still chilling.

In his magical vision, the location where Lynch stood was still a pure "emptiness".

He could clearly see the warm, vibrant magical aura surrounding Professor Sprout, which carried the fresh vitality of earth and plants, and he could even "see" the fine magical pollen clinging to her robes; the flickering candlelight projection on the wall behind him, the dust floating in the air, and the emotional ripples emanating from a student at a Gryffindor table in the distance—everything was perceived normally.

But the individual "Lin Qi" is the only one who seems to have been precisely erased from this picture of perception by an invisible hand, leaving behind an empty space that is seamlessly connected to the surrounding environment but lacks a subject.

He could "sense" the texture of the tablecloth in front of Lynch, and the cold texture of the glass in his hand—because those were real objects. But once the hand holding the glass, the body connected to the arm, the chair supporting the body—all the parts belonging to Lynch were completely hidden in the dimension of the magic eye, and could not be identified or locked individually.

This is so weird!

This completely violates the fundamental principles of his understanding of the Demon Eye!

Moody's normal black eye suddenly flashed with a terrifying sharpness, every scar on his face seemed to tighten, and the knuckles of his fingers gripping the flask made a slight cracking sound from the force.

Shock, disbelief, and a furious rage at having one's core abilities directly challenged by an unknown and extremely dangerous means surged over one's head like a torrent of ice and fire.

He saw that Lynch seemed completely oblivious to his violent reaction—the sudden turn of his head and the staring intently—and simply, as he put down the cup, casually touched the cup wall with his fingertip, as if brushing away a speck of dust that wasn't there.

The next second, the stubborn, unsettling "void" in Moody's vision disappeared.

Lynch's figure reappeared in his magical perception.

The magical aura was calm and deep, the outlines of life were clear and stable, everything was as usual, as if the "cognitive erasure" that lasted for several seconds and was enough to make any magic-dependent perceiver tremble with fear was just a brief and absurd nightmare.

But Moody knew it wasn't a dream.

His normal eye clearly caught the almost invisible, extremely faint smile that swept across the corner of Lin Qi's mouth after he lightly touched the glass with his fingertip.

It wasn't a smile; it was more like the knowing look after completing a trivial little experiment, or a slight mockery of his current alarmed reaction.

Lynch didn't look at him again, as if none of the turmoil had happened. His gaze calmly returned to Dumbledore, who was announcing the details of the Triwizard Tournament. His perfect profile blended peacefully into the light and shadow of the faculty seating area, as if he had always been a part of that scenery.

Moody's breathing became heavy, and his chest rose and fell slightly.

He stared intently at Lin Qi, his magic eyes operating at full power, trying to find any clues on the other person—a disordered magic?

Spell residue? Magic item fluctuations? But there was nothing.

Everything was eerily stable, eerily normal.

If he hadn't personally experienced the terrifying "failure" of the Demon Eye, he would have definitely thought that what he just saw was a severe hallucination caused by his long-term mental tension.

This Lynch—is more than just "problematic".

He possesses an unprecedented method that allows him to directly and temporarily "conceal" his own existence from the magical perception dimension of the Mystic Eyes!

This terrified Moody more than any powerful, offensive dark magic or profound magical power. His Evil Eye was his most trusted extended sense, his most reliable "eye" in the darkness for countless years. And now, someone could so easily "blind" it, so precisely, so cleanly, so without leaving a trace.

The threat assessment instantly surged past all scales, reaching an unprecedented peak.

The alarm bells in Moody's mind were no longer just screeching or howling, but a continuous, highest-level buzzing. He moved Lynch from "a subject to be observed with caution" directly into the ultimate category of "extremely dangerous, of unknown origin, whose background must be investigated at all costs and placed under the most stringent surveillance."

He tilted his head back and almost fiercely gulped down a large mouthful of liquid from the flask. The burning sensation traveled from his throat all the way to the bottom of his stomach, but it did nothing to dispel the icy chill that surged in his heart and the extreme hostility and vigilance that rose to the top.

The Demon Eye stopped its meaningless rotation and, like the most stubborn ghost, clung tightly to Lin Qi, trying to dig out the unfathomable truth hidden beneath his calm and placid exterior, a truth that could explain the terrifying scene just now.

Lynch was well aware of Moody's relentless attention, which felt like it was burning two holes in him.

But he did not respond at all, nor did he show even the slightest displeasure at being disturbed.

His attention, after completing that brief, almost prank-like "verification," had already slipped away and landed elsewhere.

Dumbledore was recounting the history and glory of the Triwizard Tournament, and the students' excitement surged like a tide in the Great Hall.

Lynch's gaze calmly swept over the young faces, past his colleagues with their varied expressions on the teachers' table, and finally landed on the swaying shadows cast by the castle's stone walls in the distance. Deep in his mind, his assessment of Moody had not stopped; on the contrary, the interaction just now had stirred up a rare doubt.

The reaction—it's so real.

Lynch was almost certain that this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be an imposter, someone who had taken Polyjuice Potion...

The Death Eater puppet who was waiting for an opportunity to put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire.

This is based on his understanding of the "original story" trajectory, and it is also a variable that he had already considered in a series of plans.

But this Moody in front of me—

The shock and rage that erupted the moment the Mystic Eyes "failed"—a shock and rage that could never be acted out; the instinctive vigilance and sudden surge of hostility like that of a wounded beast; and the continuous, obsessive, and deeply fearful lock-on—these reactions, layer upon layer, are a seamless whole. They are a true reflection of a "real Moody" who considers the Mystic Eyes as part of himself and is extremely confident in his abilities, when faced with an unprecedented provocation.

Even if Voldemort chose a skilled actor, it would be far too difficult, far too "beyond the scope," for an imposter to portray such a complex psychological upheaval after the core ability was thwarted with such precision and nuance.

Could it really be him?

This thought caused an extremely subtle ripple in Lin Qi's calm mind.

He quickly reviewed everything he had done since his transmigration, his overt and covert interventions, his deviations from the original timeline—helping Sirius Black overturn his verdict, guiding Burns's promotion, establishing the "First Order"—each of these actions was like a pebble thrown into the river of history, creating ripples.

Was it something I did that triggered an unexpected chain reaction, causing Alastor-Moody to escape being ambushed and imprisoned, and instead arrive at Hogwarts in his true form?

The possibility exists.

The butterfly effect is particularly pronounced in nonlinear histories.

Perhaps the aftermath of the Sirius Black incident diverted some people's attention, thus sabotaging a crucial attack?

Or perhaps, this time Moody's has defeated the invading enemy?

Lynch couldn't be sure.

There is insufficient information, and too many possibilities.

But if Moody's is indeed the real person, this sudden "accident" will undoubtedly bring new variables.

The biggest variable is that if the person in front of you is the real deal, then the cunning and treacherous imposter who should have appeared is likely hiding in the deeper darkness, lurking like a venomous snake, waiting for an unknown opportunity to carry out unknown schemes.

With the enemy in the dark and us in the light, the situation may actually be more troublesome than a "fake Moody's" that is out in the open.

This means he needs to devote more energy and resources to weaving a tighter protective net, to be wary of the truly dangerous enemy who might emerge from any shadow, and to protect those who must be protected—Harry is of paramount importance, but it is by no means limited to him.

Of course, Lynch calmly added in his mind that although the Moody in front of him was behaving so "real" that the possibility of him being the real person seemed to have increased significantly, as long as there was even a slight uncertainty, the possibility that he was the most skillful imposter could not be completely ruled out.

The effects of the compound decoction are absolute, while acting skills and the talent for imitation can sometimes indeed transcend common sense. Perhaps the imposter's understanding of Moody runs deep, or perhaps that obsessive madness itself can simulate a similar paranoid aura?

Or perhaps, the reaction of the magic eye malfunctioning just now was part of a carefully designed performance, to make him believe that it was real?

We should not jump to conclusions.

Therefore, observation must be continuous, and even more covert and in-depth.

We cannot lower our guard just because the opponent appears to be genuine, nor can we panic because of the potential risk of the enemy being in the dark while we are in the light. Truth and falsehood, light and darkness, are all part of the chessboard that needs to be considered. The only difference lies in the resources invested and the corresponding strategies that need to be adjusted accordingly.

His gaze once again swept casually across the faculty seating area, past Moody's still fixed on him with his eerie, flickering eyes, before calmly looking away, as if it were merely an unpleasant background decoration.

Now, more important are the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, the Goblet of Fire—and, in October, the wand that will soon return across the Channel.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls of the auditorium, heading south, towards the magic school hidden deep within the European continent.

Dumbledore's speech was nearing its end, and the atmosphere in the Great Hall was completely ignited by the anticipation of the Triwizard Tournament.

Lin Qi, along with the others, wore a perfectly measured expression of anticipation, as if he too was drawn to the news of the Three Kingdoms Tournament, yet maintained the composure befitting a professor.

When Dumbledore finally adjourned the meeting and the prefects began leading the students out of the Great Hall, he calmly rose, nodded briefly to a few nearby colleagues, and then walked steadily toward the faculty corridor with the flow of people. His dark figure quickly disappeared into the shadows of the stone corridor.

On the other side, Alastor-Moody did not move immediately.

He remained seated, his terrifying demonic eye stubbornly following the direction in which Lin Qi had disappeared, until even the corner of his clothes was no longer visible.

Large, scarred fingers unconsciously rubbed the cold surface of the silver flask over and over again.

The initial shock, rage, and chilling feeling from the setback in core capabilities slowly subsided like the receding tide, leaving behind not chaos, but an unusual, icy clarity.

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