Chapter 269: Dark Wizards Attack! Mr Lamp Takes the Stage
"Don't sleep too deeply."
What was that supposed to mean? Ron thought it sounded suspiciously like "wait for me after class." He stared at the black umbrella in his hand, dark enough to swallow all the light around it, scratched his head, and finally shoved the whole thing to the back of his mind.
After all, that was hardly the first strange thing Ethan had ever said.
When the World Cup ended, everyone returned to their tents, still buzzing with excitement. Irish fans tossed glittering shamrocks into the air as they walked, turning everything around them bright green. Bulgarian supporters moved in thick groups, chanting "Krum" at the top of their lungs. Nearby, children argued loudly over whose Krum figurine was stronger.
Then Ethan appeared among them like a vampire bat materialising out of the night, leaning down with a pale smile. "I could make you all life-sized wooden Krum puppets, you know. Realistic enough to fool the real thing. Oh, wait. If we have those, does the real Krum even need to exist?"
The children stared up at him, stunned.
Two seconds later, they burst into tears and fled.
The Weasley twins howled with laughter. "You really ought to visit Harry's aunt and uncle," Fred said, waggling his eyebrows. "You have no idea how much they deserve it."
Ethan straightened, smoothing the wrinkles in his robes. "And what makes you think I haven't?"
The twins stopped short, then grew even more excited, bombarding him with questions about that particular "clash."
In the end, Harry cut in. "It was on my second-year birthday… I still don't know what Ethan was trying to give me. It chewed its way out of the cardboard box and escaped. But ever since then, the bathroom at my aunt and uncle's has made strange noises at night. Dudley's too scared to use it after dark. He has to sleep with the lights on. Serves him right."
Watching Harry's open, innocent grin, the twins silently took half a step back.
Ethan! Look what you've done to the pure, wholesome Boy Who Lived!
By midnight, the camp had finally settled.
After the revelry came peace. People slept deeply and soundly.
In that perfect stillness, a pair of cobalt blue eyes snapped open.
"Time to move," Ethan thought.
A pitch-black door opened beneath him and swallowed his body, leaving only a neat, square card on the bed.
At the same time, out beyond the camp in a dim swamp, black cloaks fluttered and flickered in the darkness. Every figure radiated malice and cruelty as they stared at the silent tents.
"Oi. We were all called here, and now we're just standing around waiting? What are we, decorations?" someone muttered in a low, irritable growl.
"Easy. Look what I caught," another voice replied.
Alec stepped forward, one of the gathered dark wizards. Long ago, he had been a fervent admirer of Lord Voldemort. When he heard the mastermind behind tonight might have the Dark Lord's shadow behind him, he rushed to join the "feast." He was determined to make a brilliant impression and catch the Dark Lord's eye.
He raised his wand to the sky. The campsite caretaker's Muggle family floated in the air, thrashing helplessly. The little girl's head lolled one way, then the other.
"Mmph! Mmph!"
The muffled cries of the Muggles made the circle of dark wizards grin, rubbing their hands as they drew closer.
Then cold hands reached out of the darkness behind them, spiderlike fingers settling slowly on their shoulders.
The stench of rot and blood hit them, stirring a visceral wave of revulsion and fear, like being plunged into a frozen wasteland. Smiles froze on every face. No one could move.
"You were ordered to hold your positions," a mild voice said from the darkness.
The first thing they saw was a pure white mask, featureless save for two black eyeholes.
Crunch. Crackle.
Dead leaves crumbled under approaching footsteps.
Sweat trickled down foreheads that had faced Dementors and duels without flinching.
Ethan stopped in front of them. "Was that too complicated to understand?" he asked, head tilted.
His words had barely fallen when the hands on their shoulders tightened around their throats. The thin arms had shocking strength.
Crack.
Alec's neck snapped. His corpse was tossed aside, eyes still staring in disbelief, making the others' blood run cold. Threads of almost invisible blood drifted into Ethan's chest.
In the choking silence that followed, Ethan waved his hand. The caretaker's family floated down to the ground. He looked down at the man, who was shielding his wife and child with shaking arms, and raised his wand.
"Forget," Ethan said softly. "Sometimes forgetting is the greatest mercy. Obliviate."
White threads of memory seeped out. The Muggles sagged to the ground, their faces smoothing into calm.
Only then did Ethan turn to the dark wizards still foaming at the mouth with the Rat King's claws at their throats. "Do not do that again," he said gently.
He flicked his wrist, dismissing The Rats in the Walls.
Coughing fits broke out as choking grips vanished. The dark wizards collapsed, hacking and gasping. When they finally dragged in air, fear and a reluctant respect filled their eyes.
Among dark wizards, strength ruled. This masked man had earned it.
Ethan looked toward the sleeping camp and raised his hand. "Go. Create chaos. Our dear little Barty is still waiting to be rescued. Let fire touch every corner of the tents."
Though first you will have to break through layers of Auror wards.
"Yes, sir!"
The dark wizards lit up with excitement. Their "commander" was far more straightforward than expected.
"Kill!"
"Burn them all! Let the flames roar!"
Spellfire burst into the sky, tearing the quiet night apart. In moments, they clashed with the watchful Aurors.
"Wait!" one of the dark wizards called, turning back. "What should we call you?"
His eyes shone with naked eagerness to flatter.
Ethan glanced at him. "You may call me Mr Lamp."
"You… you are the famous Mr Lamp?" the man stammered, eyes wide. "Then we cannot lose!"
He gave Ethan one last fervent look, then charged into the fight. To think he was working under the legendary Mr Lamp. He was truly blessed.
Ethan watched him go and calmly looked away. He reached into his robes and drew out a book: the Necronomicon.
The fresh blood from the dark wizard he had killed seeped into its sealed pages, but not enough to open a new chapter.
"Still not enough," Ethan murmured. "As expected, blood alone won't satisfy this book. It craves fear and despair, slaughter steeped in artistry. Otherwise, a stroll through a slaughterhouse would have it fully unlocked."
He snapped the book shut and looked toward the dark wizards battling the Aurors, licking his lips.
"Let's hope this hundred or so dark wizards can satisfy the Necronomicon's appetite."
Thank you, Voldemort, he thought.
For scraping together so many volunteers to make a generous contribution to his own great work.