After class, students left the classroom in twos and threes, still discussing the lesson content in hushed tones.
Moody remained seated behind the podium, his magical eye occasionally rotating a few times, monitoring every student who left.
He unscrewed his flask, took a swig, and his Adam's apple bobbed.
Only after the last student had exited the classroom did he stand up and limp over to the window.
It was completely dark outside, and the lights of the Castle were turning on one after another.
Moody stared out the window for a moment, and after confirming there was no movement in the corridor, he turned and left the classroom.
He walked slowly, his wooden prosthetic leg making dull thudding sounds on the stone floor.
His magical eye spun wildly, scanning every corner to ensure no one was following him.
When he arrived at the Great Hall, dinner had already begun.
Moody hobbled into the Great Hall, walked toward the staff table, grabbed a large plate, and began piling on food.
Roast chicken legs, potatoes, bread, and sausages—he loaded up a huge plate.
Professor Flitwick asked curiously from nearby.
"Alastor, aren't you eating here?"
"I'm used to eating alone." Moody didn't lift his head and continued to stack food onto his plate.
Professor Flitwick nodded, paying it no mind.
Just then, the doors of the Great Hall were violently pushed open.
Professor McGonagall stormed in furiously, her robes swaying wildly, her face pale with rage. She strode directly toward Moody, her voice sharp.
"Alastor!"
Moody paused for a second, his magical eye turning toward Professor McGonagall.
"You actually taught the students the Three Unforgivable Curses! And you taught one of them how to perform one!" Professor McGonagall's voice rose eight octaves.
"He's only in fourth year! Fourth year!"
The students in the Great Hall all looked up.
Moody ignored Professor McGonagall's words and hobbled out of the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall stood rooted to the spot, her chest heaving violently; she was clearly furious.
She spun around abruptly, her gaze fixed on the center of the staff table.
"Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore was focused on cutting his steak, and upon hearing the sound, his hands paused momentarily.
He looked up, a gentle smile on his face.
"Minerva, dinner is quite good. Would you like..."
"He should never have been allowed to teach!" Professor McGonagall interrupted Dumbledore and quickly walked to the front of the staff table.
"Explaining it to the students is one thing; after all, they will encounter it sooner or later. But Charlie is only in fourth year, he shouldn't be learning Dark Arts this early."
"If Charlie develops psychological problems because of this, we will regret it for the rest of our lives!"
Dumbledore put down his knife and fork and sighed.
"Minerva, trust Charlie. He won't."
"On this point, I absolutely cannot trust you, Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore looked at Professor McGonagall's furious expression and gave a wry smile.
Help me... Moody returned to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class classroom with his packaged food, entered the office inside, and closed the door behind him.
The office was messy. The bookshelves were piled high with various Dark magic Detectors, and the desk was covered with many used Potion bottles.
Moody sat down at the desk and started eating heartily.
He ate quickly, barely chewing, as if completing a task rather than enjoying a meal.
A few minutes later, half the food on the tray was gone.
Moody stopped, took the remaining food, and walked to the corner of the office.
There was a huge old trunk sitting there, its surface covered in scratches and dents.
The trunk had seven locks, each shimmering with a faint magical glow.
Moody put down the tray and pulled a set of keys from his robes. He opened the locks one by one.
When the last lock clicked open, the trunk made a slight snap.
Moody lifted the lid.
The inside of the trunk was extraordinary, resembling a bottomless shaft, easily four or five meters deep.
The walls of the shaft were smooth, emitting a faint, spectral blue light.
At the bottom of the shaft, a person was tied up.
The person looked exactly like Moody.
The same scars, the same prosthetic leg, and even the eye socket for the magical eye was identical—except it was empty, lacking an eyeball.
The person inside the trunk saw the lid open and struggled desperately.
His hands and feet were tightly bound with thick hemp rope, and his mouth seemed to be under a Spell, only allowing muffled whimpering sounds.
His eyes were wide and bloodshot, filled with anger and despair.
The Moody on the outside watched him emotionlessly and dumped the remaining food straight down.
The roast beef and mashed potatoes landed on the person inside the trunk, who twisted his body furiously, a low growl escaping his throat.
"Don't waste your strength," the Moody on the outside said coldly.
"You should be grateful I still remember to feed you."
The person inside the trunk stopped struggling, and the anger in his eyes turned into deeper hatred.
The Moody on the outside stared at him for a few seconds, then slammed the trunk lid shut with a bang.
The latches automatically fastened, and the seven locks simultaneously clicked shut.
The office fell silent once more.
Moody—or rather, the person impersonating Moody—picked up the flask on the desk and took a large gulp.
"This damned Polyjuice Potion tastes awful."
He was certainly not Moody.
That night, when he infiltrated Moody's residence, he originally intended to complete the substitution silently. But even in his old age, Moody's vigilance was no less than it had been in his youth.
That old lunatic reacted the moment he cast the Spell.
If he hadn't prepared the Stupefy for a sneak attack, and if Moody hadn't taken off his magical eye, he might not have been able to handle the old Auror.
Even so, Moody's counterattack before he was hit by the Spell caused quite a commotion.
The explosion startled the surrounding Muggles, and the Ministry of Magic consequently sent Arthur Weasley to Moody's house to check on the situation.
However, he had been prepared.
Before the Ministry of Magic personnel arrived, he had already stuffed Moody into the specially made trunk, pulled out one of Moody's hairs, and dropped it into the prepared Polyjuice Potion.
The Potion tasted terrible, like drinking rotten broth.
But once he had transformed into Moody, it was all worth it. He deceived Weasley, the Ministry of Magic, and even Dumbledore.
No one suspected him.
After all, who would suspect that the real Mad-Eye Moody was locked inside a trunk in his own office?
As for why he targeted Moody? Because Moody had accepted Dumbledore's invitation to serve as a Professor at Hogwarts.
By impersonating Moody, he could openly enter Hogwarts, carry out his Master's plan, and bring Harry Potter before his Master.
Before that, absolutely nothing could happen to Harry Potter.
In today's Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, he originally wanted to see if there were any promising students he could recruit into the Death Eaters.
If someone showed an unusual interest in the Dark Arts, they would be an excellent target for recruitment. It turned out there was one exceptionally talented student.
Charlie learned the Three Unforgivable Curses just by watching. This terrifying Dark Arts talent made him practically a born follower of the Master.
Unfortunately, this boy was not from a Pure-blood Family and was already on the Master's kill list.
So, no matter how talented Charlie was, it was useless; he was destined to die.
The fake Moody shook his head regretfully.
The true identity of the fake Moody was none other than Barty Crouch Jr., the one who originally conjured the dark mark.
Barty extended his tongue like a lizard, licked his lips, and quickly drew it back in.
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