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HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 263
🕑 Added 2025-11-21 18:32:47 +0000 UTCChapter 263: The Adventures of "Ratty"~ First Painting of the Term: Catch Mad-Eye!
After Harry's explanation, Sirius finally understood what had happened.
"You're saying you dreamed that Voldemort and this Mr. Lamp person are working together, planning to kill Ethan next term?"
Sirius tensed when he spoke Voldemort's name aloud, a flicker of hatred crossing his face.
Harry nodded frantically, beside himself with worry.
"Got it. I'll tell Dumbledore. Don't worry," Sirius said, patting Harry's shoulder reassuringly.
Then, confused, he added, "But you're the Boy Who Lived. Why would Voldemort go after Ethan instead?"
Harry fell silent. A series of scenes flashed through his mind—explosions, chaos, terror.
"Probably… has something to do with Ethan using mental attacks," Harry said dryly.
Sirius looked even more puzzled.
"And who is this Mr. Lamp? I've never heard of him!"
It was as if the world had slapped Harry and Voldemort aside while he was in prison and appointed a new son—no, wait, a new Savior and Dark Lord. Why had everything become so unfamiliar?
"Oh, Mr. Lamp opened the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts last year and blew up the castle," Harry said. "Minister Fudge at the time worked hard to suppress the news, so it was never announced publicly."
Sirius: "??"
"It's, it's fine! Don't worry!" Sirius said with forced confidence, flashing a wide grin. "This year, we absolutely won't let Mr. Lamp sneak into the school and cause trouble! Because this year, we have the strongest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor!"
Two days later.
Deep in the night.
On a hill overlooking Mad-Eye Moody's residence.
"You're saying that capturing Mad-Eye doesn't require your help at all? That you only need to send your subordinates?" Barty Crouch Jr. arched his brows high, eyes fixed on Mr. Lamp beside him, hissing as he licked his lips.
"Such arrogance! Mad-Eye is naturally suspicious. His house is surrounded by layers of traps inside and out!" Even with the power the Dark Lord had granted him, Barty did not feel fully confident of success.
"Traps in the house… that's simple enough," Ethan said, casually inspecting his fingernails. "If breaking in is difficult, we just need to make Mad-Eye come out on his own. All it takes is… a little rat."
As he spoke, Ethan flicked his wrist, and a rectangular card appeared between his fingers. A faint smell of rust clung to it. The evil magic radiating from it drew even Barty's attention.
"Mad-Eye stays inside because he thinks the house is safe," Ethan explained. "To make him come out voluntarily… we just need to make him feel that the house is no longer safe."
Barty snorted. "Easy to say."
Ever since this so-called Mr. Lamp had invited himself along, all his plans with the Dark Lord had been thrown into disarray. Originally, Voldemort had planned to move against Mad-Eye after the Quidditch World Cup. But Mr. Lamp had said, "Strike before the World Cup. Even if something goes wrong, the Ministry will want to smooth things over before the event. It's actually the best time to act."
This novel perspective had left Voldemort speechless. You seem suspiciously practiced at this.
And so, here they were.
Barty stared at Ethan with malice. He knew this capture was also his master's way of testing Mr. Lamp. If Mr. Lamp failed, it would give them a legitimate reason to exclude him from the plan, which would be even safer. At worst, they could simply relocate their base.
"By the way, you shouldn't come either. My subordinate doesn't distinguish friend from foe very well—"
"Ha! Afraid I'll steal your glory?" Barty interrupted with a laugh, raising his wand to cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. His form gradually vanished. His sneering face was the last thing to disappear. "Either way, I'll capture Mad-Eye! And prove you're useless to us."
Then he was gone entirely.
"My subordinate doesn't distinguish friend from foe," Ethan finished his sentence.
Watching the footprints quickly fade into the night, he sighed. "What an impatient one. So eager to appreciate my art?"
He gazed at the newly painted card in his hand and murmured, "Go, then… The Rats in the Walls. Use our beautiful art to shatter this dull, ordinary night."
Whoosh.
The card became a streak of light, flying toward the small house in the distance.
Of course, don't worry. Their esteemed former Auror Mad-Eye won't be harmed. After all, I am a kind and warm-hearted person, forced to endure humiliation and disguise myself to infiltrate the enemy camp.
Ethan's lips curved in pleasure. Suddenly, this summer seemed much more entertaining.
Inside Mad-Eye's house.
In the bedroom, on the bed.
Whirr.
Moody's magical eye suddenly swiveled. The blue pupil acted like a 360-degree detector with no blind spots, rolling around in its socket as it scanned the surroundings.
Others found it disgusting and terrifying. But only Moody knew how many times this old companion had saved his life.
This time was no exception.
"A little rat has gotten in."
The second his magical eye turned, Moody drew the wand from under his pillow and rolled out of bed in one motion. He stood alert, surveying the room.
Scratch, scratch, scratch…
The sound of something gnawing and scurrying came from inside the wall. But his magical eye detected no life signs. It was as if the thing were an inanimate object.
Beep. Beep.
The Sneakoscope on his bedside table blinked red, casting scarlet light on the wall where the scratching sounds continued.
"Hmph. Cheap tricks," Moody muttered contemptuously, his face like old, rotting wood twitching. A large chunk of flesh was missing from his nose—all marks of countless battles, and proof of his formidable strength.
He raised his wand, magical eye rotating wildly as he followed the running sounds. His claw-like wooden leg scraped across the floor as he limped out of the bedroom.
Scratch, scratch, scratch…
For safety, Moody always chose homes far from other people. In the deep silence of the night, the sound from within the walls was jarringly out of place.
"Reducto!"
Moody whipped out a curse. The wall exploded with a boom, bricks and cement scattering in a cloud of dust. Inside: nothing.
The scratching stopped for a moment, then resumed on another wall.
"Persistent little thing," Moody growled, a vein bulging at his temple. "Hmph! I've been an Auror for years. What haven't I seen? You think you can scare me? Hardly a threat."
He followed the sound to the washroom.
There, he saw something that should not have been there: an unfamiliar mirror.
It sat on the sink, reflecting his image. A lady's vanity mirror, ornate and antique, carved with intricate patterns on the frame and handle. But the glass was shattered, revealing jagged patches of black. It seemed to fragment whatever it reflected into broken pieces.
Moody narrowed his eyes. The strange mirror gave him a powerful sense of unease. Clearly, a Dark Magical Artefact. At a time like this, he should not touch it out of curiosity—
Click.
Moody picked up the mirror.
The moment his gaze met the glass, his eye socket flared with pain, as if lava had been poured into it. The pain jolted him back to his senses.
Not good! It's a trap!
His remaining real eye shrank, and cold sweat broke out across his back.
Before he could throw the mirror down, he saw something in the reflection. Behind him, on the grey washroom wall, countless arms were tearing through the barrier of space and reaching out!
