The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 255 Insights and Inquiries

Chapter 255: Guidance and Inquiry (5.6K) (1/2)

The battle wizards immediately understood, bowed silently, and quietly and quickly left the living room to go to the next room.

As the door closed gently, the room fell into an almost frozen silence, with only the restless crackling of the fireplace flames and the heavy, almost palpable silence that permeated the space between the two.

Lynch did not rush toward Reggie, who was slumped in his seat, enveloped in pain and fear.

He could see that Reggie was being consumed by fears stemming from his past. He needed to address his friend's psychological issues first.

Lynch slowly walked over to the fireplace.

His deep gaze fell into the depths of the flickering flames, as if the orange-red light could not only illuminate the dim living room, but also reflect the scorching and clear images buried deep in the years.

His voice was deeper than before, carrying a timeless quality: "Have I ever told you the story of what happened when I first went berserk with my magic?"

Reggie paused slightly, the struggle and fear in his eyes replaced by a hint of unexpected doubt.

He looked at Lin Qi's tall figure, which at this moment inexplicably exuded a sense of loneliness and desolation, and couldn't understand why Lin Qi would suddenly bring up such a distant and seemingly unrelated past at this time.

His throat was dry, and he responded hoarsely, his voice filled with confusion: "—No."

Lynch's gaze remained fixed on the depths of the flames, his voice as steady as if he were narrating a story unrelated to himself: "It was December 25, 1976, Christmas Day, my first year at Hogwarts."

"Shortly before that, I received a letter from my father. He said he was going out of town for a few days to deliver some fine shoes to a wealthy family. He might not be able to come home for the holidays and told me to enjoy Christmas at Hogwarts."

"I remember he said in his letter that the pay for this job was very generous, enough to buy a new workbench for the workshop, and maybe even enough to buy me a gift that I would like."

His tone was flat and straightforward, without deliberately emphasizing sadness, but the vivid details in his words made that memory come alive, as if history was replaying before his eyes.

"But at the Christmas dinner that very night, when the laughter and merriment were at their peak, Professor Dumbledore called me out. He told me that my father had died at home—in an attack by Death Eaters."

"At that moment," Lynch's voice remained eerily calm, but Reggie could keenly sense that beneath that calm lay a deep, bone-deep wound that still ached faintly, "I instinctively refused to believe it all; my emotions were screaming madly. My father, a shoemaker who dealt only with leather and shoe lasts, a man who lived a life of quiet contentment, what had he done wrong? How could he—?"

"But my reason, at that moment, was as cold as the stone deepest within Hogwarts Castle, seeping with chill. It told me clearly and cruelly that Dumbledore would never joke about such a thing. That was an indisputable fact."

"Emotion and reason clashed and tore violently within me, like two forces trying to tear me apart completely—" Lynch paused slightly, as if the impact of that moment, even after so many years, still made him feel suffocated. "Then, I experienced the first and only true magical outburst of my life."

He slowly turned around and looked at Reggie.

Standing on either side of the fireplace, Reggie could clearly see that Lynch's usually deep and unfathomable eyes were now reflecting the flickering firelight, like two clusters of flames stubbornly burning in the cold night.

"I made every single item in Hogwarts Castle that wasn't magically secured—whether it was the gold and silver cutlery in the Great Hall, the armor that had stood in the corridors for centuries, or the thousands upon thousands of books on the library shelves, each carrying countless wisdom—lose its weight and float uncontrollably in mid-air, hovering there for a long time. Dumbledore later told me that it was one of the most astonishing and violent magical outbursts he had ever witnessed in his long life."

"But that's meaningless." Lynch's tone changed; it was no longer merely calm, but a clarity born from the experience of a cataclysmic event, a profound understanding of the world's cruel rules, gained at a tremendous cost. "No matter how long they floated, how long they resisted gravity, in the end, everything, without exception, fell heavily back to the ground. A scene of utter devastation. And my father, too, is dead. The fact is the fact, Reggie. No matter how unwilling I was to accept it, how painful it was, what storm raged within me, even triggering that 'miracle,' or rather, 'disaster' of magical rampage—I couldn't change that cold, hard, established fact that had already happened. It's there, like a mountain, unshakeable."

His gaze was gentle yet penetrating, as if trying to see through Reggie's pupils to the deepest, most cowardly, and most struggling corners of his soul: "You are the same. You cannot change what you did in the past, you cannot take back the indifference and hatred that poured out over those years, just as I cannot turn back time, I cannot bring my father back to life. This is the weight of a fact we must bear together."

Then, his tone shifted, a heavy yet powerful force penetrating his deep voice, like a sturdy pillar being driven into ruins: "But Reggie, there's a fundamental difference between you and me back then. I faced death, a complete and irreversible end. But you—" He looked deeply into Reggie's eyes, "As long as you're alive, as long as your heart is still beating, it's not too late. You still have a chance to mend the rifts, to correct your mistakes, to confront the bloody truth, and then—to muster the courage to make a different choice than before."

Reggie remained silent for a long time.

He stood there, as if nailed to the spot by the power of Lynch's words.

He had never heard Lynch mention this past. This man, who always seemed unfathomable and as if he had everything under control, had actually had such vulnerable and out-of-control moments, and had been defeated by the cold reality.

Lynch's words were like a crystal-clear mirror, reflecting his own fear and struggle at that moment, and also making him understand the profound meaning in Lynch's words—the past cannot be changed, but the future can still be written.

The heavy, almost overwhelming fear that threatened to crush him seemed to be supported at this moment by something called hope.

He raised his eyes, his gaze complex as he looked at Lynch, his hoarse voice filled with sincere gratitude: "—Thank you for telling me all this, Lynch." He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, "I—I'm so sorry, about your father."

Lin Qi shook his head slightly: "There's no need for that."

Reggie took a deep breath and straightened his back. Although a heavy burden still lingered between his brows, the fear that had almost swallowed him up had receded, replaced by a do-or-die determination.

He is ready to face the truth.

Reggie looked at the stairs leading to the second floor and said in a hoarse but clear voice, "I understand. I'll go call him down."

Reggie immediately suppressed all his outward emotions and reverted to being the efficient and calm executor he always was.

He turned and silently and quickly walked to the living room door, making a simple gesture to the two battle wizards guarding the door.

One of them immediately nodded in understanding and followed Reggie. The two of them stepped onto the stairs leading to the second floor, their footsteps echoing clearly and rhythmically on the wooden steps.

Lin Qi was the only one left in the living room for the time being.

He sat down on the sofa in front of the fireplace, his gaze returning to the leaping flames, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the armrest, awaiting the decisive conversation to come.

The faint sound of a door opening and a few low voices could be heard from upstairs.

Footsteps sounded again, approaching from afar, descending the stairs.

Reggie was the first to appear at the living room doorway.

He stepped aside, and then Sirius Black entered, accompanied by the battle wizard.

Compared to his emaciated, muddy, and mentally broken state in the cave last time, he was in much better shape now.

After treatment by the therapist, although he was still thin and had prominent cheekbones, his cheeks had regained some color, and his messy black hair had been roughly combed, revealing his complete face.

He changed into a clean, slightly oversized plain-colored robe, which could not hide his long-term malnutrition, but at least restored his basic human form.

Although those gray eyes were still deep-set, carrying an inescapable weariness and vigilance, they were no longer a scattered and frantic chaos, but had regained focus, rekindling a certain will belonging to "humanity"—although that will was currently mainly composed of vigilance and scrutiny.

His gaze quickly swept across the living room.

After Sirius entered the living room, Reggie silently moved, no longer standing in the doorway, but instead standing to the right rear of the sofa where Lynch was sitting. Half of his figure was hidden in the shadow cast by the fireplace, like a silent shadow. His gaze was lowered, fixed on a point in the distance, deliberately avoiding any eye contact with Sirius in the center of the room.

The other two battle wizards stood guard by the door like statues.

Sirius's gaze finally settled on the only person sitting in front of the fireplace.

The flickering firelight from the fireplace cast interplay of light and shadow on Lynch's profile, making his serene face appear even more profound.

On the other side of the fireplace, in a different position, there was a rather comfortable-looking single sofa, clearly reserved for him.

Sirius stood in the center of the living room, not immediately going over. His gaze, filled with obvious confusion, swept across Lynch's face, his brow furrowed. He spoke hoarsely, his voice hesitant and uncertain: "—I thought I would see—'The Hangman' again today."

The scene he imagined should be that terrifying being wearing a bird-beak mask and exuding an aura of death, not the seemingly calm young man in front of him.

He was clearly wary, his gray eyes still fixed on Lin Qi, as he slowly walked towards the sofa prepared for him. He paused in front of the sofa before sitting down with an air of defiance, his body still tense.

After sitting down, he looked up again, his confusion deepening, and asked directly, "Who are you?"

Lynch met his probing gaze, a subtle, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. He leaned forward slightly, allowing the fireplace firelight to illuminate his face more clearly. His voice was calm, yet carried a strange, penetrating power: "Look closely, Blake. Don't you recognize me?"

Sirius frowned. Did this mean... he had seen this young man before?

He began to stare intently at Lin Qi.

Lynch calmly looked back at him, letting him scrutinize her.

Sirius frowned, struggling to make out the details.

That silhouette, those eyes—a blurry, not entirely familiar image from the depths of memory gradually overlapped with the face before me—

A Ravenclaw who was always around Lily, with a gentle yet aloof expression—Lily had introduced him with a smile several times as her good friend from the Muggle world—

A name, tinged with uncertainty, tentatively escaped Sirius's dry throat, breaking the silence: "—Jim Lynch?" His voice was still hoarse, but much clearer than before, filled with deep doubt and scrutiny. "You also work for—The Hangman?" He couldn't reconcile the quiet, intelligent young wizard in his memory, who discussed Muggle books with Lily, with that terrifying legend that exuded an aura of death.

Lin Qi met his probing gaze, and a faint, yet chillingly sharp, smile seemed to appear on his lips.

He didn't raise his voice, but every word was like heavy hailstones, clearly striking the silent air, carrying an undeniable power that could overturn all perceptions: "No."

He leaned forward slightly, and the firelight from the fireplace seemed to instantly ignite two sharp, cold glints in his eyes.

"I do not work for hangmen."

The brief pause made the weight of those words press down on Sirius's eardrums.

"I am the hangman!"

These words struck Sirius like a thunderbolt, exploding in his mind.

His gray eyes widened instantly, his pupils contracting in utter shock, and he leaned back against the sofa as if struck head-on by the terrifying power contained in that brief declaration.

Just as Sirius was reeling from the shock of this massive amount of information and was almost unable to think, Lynch's voice rang out again. Compared to its previous coldness, it seemed to carry a hint of sincerity: "To show my sincerity, Black, I've chosen to show my true self in this meeting. I hope you understand that I'm seeking an open and honest conversation."

Sirius stared intently at the familiar yet unfamiliar face before him, unable to reconcile the Jim Lynch of his memory with the "Mist Hanger" who struck fear into the hearts of dark wizards. However, the other man's calm yet resolute tone, and the unfathomable chill emanating from him—completely different from his memory—cruelly confirmed this unbelievable fact.

But then, intense doubt replaced the initial shock.

He shook his head violently, as if trying to shake off the absurd idea, his voice hoarse with urgency: "It can't be! The Hangman—that name first appeared before I graduated! Back then, you, you should have just been a lower-year student at Hogwarts! A child—how could—"

He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning couldn't be clearer—how could a junior student possibly become the ghostly executioner that even adult dark wizards fear?

Lin Qi listened quietly to his question, his face showing no sign of offense, but rather as if he had expected this question.

His deep eyes seemed to hold a darkness and weight far beyond his actual age.

"The timeline is clear, Black." Lynch's voice remained steady, yet carried a chilling indifference. "But you, the Ministry of Magic, and all the fools who died at my hands, made a common mistake—why did you assume that 'the hangman' must be an experienced adult? And why did you assume that revenge—must wait until after graduation?"

His gaze was sharp as a knife, as if it could pierce through time and look directly at that past shrouded in blood and mist.

"Hatred is the best teacher; it can make people grow rapidly."

Before Sirius could process these mind-blowing words, Lin Qi abruptly changed the subject.

"But I'm not here today to discuss my past." The last trace of emotion in his voice vanished, leaving only pure calm. "Today, we're here to discuss your past, Blake. To discuss what exactly happened that night, October 31, 1981."

Lynch's questions were like unsheathed daggers, piercing precisely and coldly into the deepest, most painful wound: "You, as the Potters' personally appointed confidant, why failed to protect them? Why weren't you by their side when Lily and James were attacked? What exactly did you do that night? Did you betray them or not?!"

Lynch's question touched on the deaths of James and Lily, and touched on his role as the "Secretary," a role he regretted for the rest of his life and considered a great disgrace. This caused Sirius's emotions to explode like a powder keg that had been lit.

"Shut up!" He sprang up from the sofa, his body trembling violently from extreme anger and pain. His gray eyes were bloodshot, and his previous wariness and suspicion were replaced by a near-mad defensive rage.

He pointed at Lin Qi, his fingers trembling, and roared in a hoarse yet shrill voice, "You have no right to ask these questions! You have no right to mention them! What do you know?! You know absolutely nothing!!"

This seemed to be the deepest wound and regret of his life. Any inquiry from outsiders, even just a mention, was seen by him as a desecration, a betrayal of the vows he made with James and Lily, and the cruelest reminder of his own incompetence and failure. The immense guilt almost tore him apart again.

Lin Qi remained completely unfazed by Sirius's hysterical roar.

He merely raised his right hand very slightly—it was just a thought.

An invisible yet mountain-like pressure suddenly descended, precisely enveloping Sirius.

He felt as if he were being held down by an invisible giant hand, his body, which had just sprang up, was forcefully pressed back onto the sofa by an irresistible force, making a dull thud as it hit the sofa base.

He struggled fiercely, veins bulging on his forehead, trying to prop himself up with his arms, but his strength remained unmoved, as if all his resistance was futile. This was no ordinary binding spell; the cold, absolute suppressive power it contained far exceeded the scope of most wizarding magic he knew.

At this moment, all previous doubts about age and identity crumbled in the face of such an absolute power disparity.

A chilling shiver replaced his boiling rage, creeping up his spine.

This absolute power, which he could not resist with a single gesture, created a fatal rift between him and the image of his quiet and intelligent Ravenclaw junior in his memory.

He suddenly looked up and stared again at the still calm and composed figure, his gray eyes filled with disbelief and horror.

"————You————" he uttered hoarsely, his struggle unconsciously weakening.

Now, he was beginning to truly believe that Jim Lynch might indeed be the legendary "Mist Hangman."

Lin Qi noticed the change in his expression and withdrew the invisible pressure.

His voice rang out again, still steady, yet carrying a heavy air of authority: "Anger and avoidance change nothing, Black. I'll ask one last time—what exactly happened that night? You mentioned Peter in the cave earlier, were you referring to Peter Pettigrew? And what role did he play in it?"

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