Chapter 276: Ethan: Then Let Me Ask You, Professor "Moody" – Are You Good or Evil?
After the Quidditch World Cup, that band of shifting colour still lingered in the sky, standing out starkly against the night. It became a famous photo spot for both wizards and Muggles.
Muggle experts classified it as a "once-in-a-millennium nebula formation" and proclaimed it a "symbol of good fortune."
The campsite's Muggle caretaker had his hands full dealing with the steady stream of visitors. He earned several times his usual income and bought his wife and daughter new winter clothes.
His greatest headache came from the odd visitors who would press coin-sized pieces of gold into his hands.
"Hey, sir, I really can't take this! Are you people part of some secret society—"
"Obliviate."
"—sir, I really can't take—"
Amid all the fuss, time slipped by.
Soon, it was September.
Hogwarts return day.
Rain sheeted down. Fat drops rattled against the carriage windows while the wind rocked the compartment so hard it felt like the whole thing might shake apart.
The "self-driving" carriage rolled through the gates flanked by winged boar statues.
Ethan peered through the wet glass. A bolt of white lightning split the sky, illuminating the stone castle like a slumbering giant.
He thought of the detailed castle schematics he had obtained from the Goblin War and began planning how to use goblin craft to upgrade this centuries-old school.
He had a feeling that, despite all the changes his presence had brought, the final battle would still take place at Hogwarts.
Under the gaze of the four founders, everything would end, and a new era would begin.
"Looking forward to it," Ethan murmured.
He licked a canine tooth. In his calm, ocean-deep cobalt eyes, a glint of ambition flashed.
Finish the Triwizard Tournament and spread his fame beyond Britain, increasing the Lamp's brightness.
Repair the shattered Wayward Mirror and paint a Third Tier Purple Epic.
Use Voldemort to complete the Soul Crucible Ritual and solve his magic shortage once and for all.
Renovate the castle. Deal with Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes.
"So much to do," Ethan said lightly.
And yet he was brimming with energy.
For the record, he had already asked the Ministry to help him find extraordinary materials with restorative powers.
If there was wool to be sheared, one did not leave the sheep alone.
The carriage jolted, swayed twice, and stopped.
They had arrived at Hogwarts.
While other students sprinted through the rain, Ethan calmly raised his black umbrella—his unfinished creation, reclaimed from Ron—and walked up the tall stone steps with Luna at his side.
He cast Warming Charms on the shivering first-years bold enough to scurry over.
"Th-thank you, Mr Vincent!" one stammered.
For some reason, he was soaked through, as if he had fallen into the lake.
"My name's Dennis. I'm a first-year! I ran all the way just to see you! Could you give me your autograph?"
The tiny boy fumbled a folded clipping from his robes and looked up at Ethan with shining, adoring eyes.
Ethan glanced down.
It was the photograph of him speaking to the crowd at the Quidditch World Cup.
"Of course."
His tone was gentle as his pen danced over the paper.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr Vincent!!!"
Dennis grabbed it, wild with joy. Then he looked down, and his expression went blank.
He stood rooted to the spot.
Like someone under the Imperius Curse, his eyes slowly filled with golden light.
Another reserve member for the Morning Star Club.
Ethan nodded, satisfied.
Professor McGonagall came pelting over with a sharp squawk, fussing over him. "What on earth happened to you? Why are you so wet?"
"I fell in the Black Lake!" Dennis said proudly.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Fell into the lake and got brought back up by the Giant Squid…" he mused. "So young, and already so in tune with nature. You'll make an excellent druid one day."
Professor McGonagall was speechless.
She lifted her nose and muttered under her breath, "Gryffindor."
Not that Hogwarts was free from its own little hierarchies.
Slytherin looked down on Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Gryffindor looked down on Slytherin. Ravenclaw, meanwhile, looked down equally on all the other idiots.
They passed through the corridor where Peeves was wreaking havoc.
"Would you like to come and play with my silver warhammer?" Ethan asked pleasantly.
Peeves shrieked, flung every water balloon he had like a fireworks display, and vanished with an audible pop.
Professor McGonagall's face eased considerably.
As it turned out, at certain times, an iron fist was more effective than righteousness.
The Start-of-Term Feast began soon after.
The Sorting Hat belted out a new song. Dennis, the lake-drenched boy, was promptly Sorted into Gryffindor, just as expected.
"Before the feast begins, I have two announcements," Dumbledore said.
"First, we have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year. Although it appears he is running late."
Ethan straightened slightly, sharpening his attention.
At the World Cup, Barty had still managed to escape. Disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, he would soon be their Defence professor, planning to kill both Ethan and Harry.
Which suited Ethan perfectly.
The final Soul Crucible Ritual required Voldemort and his followers. Turning on them at the last moment would surely earn him more soul attunement.
An obvious enemy and a hidden self would also make school life much more interesting.
He smiled.
This year promised to be fun.
"The second thing is that, unfortunately, there will be no Quidditch this year."
A roar of protest rose at once.
"This is because a major event will begin in October and continue throughout the school year," Dumbledore went on calmly. "Believe me, it will be no less exciting than Quidditch, and you will all gain—"
He broke off.
His gaze flicked briefly to Ethan. There was a pause.
"—a great deal of enjoyment," he finished.
Students looked at each other in bafflement.
Ethan puffed his chest out, proud.
The Triwizard Tournament was almost ready.
Using the newly acquired Deathcurse Stone, he had upgraded the difficulty of the First Task.
The champions would be thrilled.
At that moment, the Great Hall doors crashed open.
Crack.
A forked bolt of lightning lit up the figure in the doorway.
"I'm late, Dumbledore. Damned weather."
In the sudden silence, heavy footsteps rang between the House tables, echoing through the vast hall.
Every student stared.
All eyes fixed on the terrifying face that looked cobbled together from chunks of scar tissue, on the spinning blue magical eye.
"Holy bloody hell," Ron whispered, eyes bulging.
"Did Dumbledore hire an actual troll to teach us?"
"He looks terrifying."
As Ron said, when Dumbledore introduced the newcomer as their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Alastor Moody, not a single person clapped apart from Dumbledore and Hagrid.
Everyone else was too stunned.
Ethan lounged in his seat, watching the revolving eye, lips curling.
Mad-Eye's real magical eye was already in his possession.
What he had given Barty was his Eye Within the Door.
Now he could watch Barty's every move in real time.
Genius, truly.
Then he saw the "magical eye" suddenly lock onto him.
In that instant, a wave of raw malice and hatred surged toward him.
So this was how Professor Snape felt looking at Harry.
A heartbeat later, the gaze shifted away.
Hmph. Marking your target?
No need to skulk. You could at least stare openly.
The next second, a Portal bloomed open.
Gasps filled the hall as Ethan's figure appeared on the dais.
He landed right in front of "Moody."
Moody's pupils snapped tight.
His wand was in his hand before he could think, reflexively poised to strike—perfectly in character for a former Auror.
Ethan spoke first.
"Unworthy as I am," he said mildly, "I have killed one and driven one mad of your predecessors as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. But they were not good people."
"Good is rewarded, evil is repaid."
He narrowed his eyes, cobalt gaze reflecting "Moody's" taut face.
With a twist of his wrist, two cards appeared in his hand.
One showed a feral, snarling werewolf. The other, a simple, honest villager.
"So then," Ethan said, each word falling like a stone, "are you good… or evil, Professor?"
Barty felt a bead of sweat slide down his temple.
In that moment, he understood.
The hardest part of this infiltration was not the disguise.
It was this eerie, unfathomable boy standing before him.
Ethan Vincent.