The final notes of the song faded into silence.
Ethan Vincent caught the sound of hurried footsteps climbing toward the third floor. He released Luna Lovegood's hand with a flourish, offering her an elegant bow. Luna, in response, lifted the hem of her white gauze dress and dipped into a playful curtsy, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders like silken tassels, catching the moonlight in a soft, ethereal glow.
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, a shared spark of understanding passing between them.
Wands drawn in unison, they pointed them at each other, the air crackling with anticipation. Ethan's lips curled into a mischievous smile as he gazed into Luna's clear, lake-blue eyes. "May our pursuit of knowledge be endless," he said, his voice laced with a theatrical charm that was equal parts menacing and absurd.
In the next heartbeat, twin cries rang out: "Stupefy!"
Two bolts of light flashed, and two figures crumpled to the floor.
Moments later, three figures burst into the room, their footsteps echoing in the sudden stillness. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Professor Minerva McGonagall, and Professor Severus Snape froze at the sight before them, their eyes widening in shock.
"Oh!" Professor McGonagall gasped, rushing forward in a single, determined stride. She knelt beside the fallen students, gently brushing their hair aside to reveal their faces. "It's Ethan and Luna… How could this happen?" Her voice trembled with a mix of sorrow and indignation as she looked at her unconscious students.
Dumbledore's voice was low and grave. "I recall Miss Lovegood wasn't unconscious here earlier…"
"She must have woken up, frightened, and sought out Ethan, only to be attacked again," McGonagall surmised, her heart aching at the thought. The memory of a piercing scream still lingered in the air, casting a grim shadow over the trio.
"Poor children," Dumbledore sighed, his wand flicking gently to envelop Ethan and Luna in a soft, shimmering aura of magic. His mind churned with questions. This semester, he hadn't anticipated an attack from Lord Voldemort. So what was happening? Could another Dark Lord have emerged within Hogwarts' walls? The very idea seemed absurd—could a Dark Lord truly fragment themselves so brazenly?
Suppressing the tangle of dark thoughts, Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, please take these two to the Hospital Wing. Severus and I will check on the Slytherin students."
McGonagall nodded, her expression resolute yet tender. With a careful wave of her wand, she levitated Ethan and Luna, guiding them to float beside her. As they drifted, their pale faces and limp forms gave the unsettling impression of bodies laid out on a bier, ready for a funeral. McGonagall's heart clenched. Their faces are far too pale, she thought. What horrors must they have witnessed before they fainted?
"For their bravery and fearlessness, Ravenclaw will be awarded thirty points," she declared softly, her voice thick with emotion.
At her words, Snape's mouth twitched, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. But in such a dire moment, he held his tongue. With Ethan Vincent, that insufferable showman, Ravenclaw's bound to take the House Cup anyway, he thought bitterly, his eyes narrowing as he watched the two students float past him, their forms eerily still, like corpses under the moonlight.
Then, in a fleeting instant, Snape's breath caught. He could have sworn he saw Ethan's lips curve into a faint, wicked smile. A chill raced down his spine, his hair standing on end as a wave of unease surged through him. He whipped his head back to stare at the boy.
But when he looked again, Ethan's face was ashen, his expression one of delicate suffering. His lips, pale as parchment, pressed together in a faint grimace, and his brows were slightly furrowed, as if pained even in unconsciousness. His long eyelashes quivered with each subtle movement, glistening as though tears might spill at any moment. His usually impeccable black curls—often the target of Snape's derision for the time Ethan spent grooming them—now hung in disarray across his forehead, dull and lifeless.
Merlin's beard, Snape thought, incredulous. He looks even more fragile than Luna. Ethan's beauty, like that of a porcelain doll, seemed designed to tug at the heartstrings of anyone with a maternal instinct. Even the stern Professor McGonagall had transformed into a fretting mother hen, her usual severity softened by concern.
In those few seconds, Snape's emotions churned from shock to suspicion, then to barely suppressed outrage. He gritted his teeth, his mind racing. That boy…
"Severus? Is something wrong?" Dumbledore's voice broke through, tinged with curiosity.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Nothing," he said curtly. "Let's hurry to those foolhardy Slytherins." His tone dripped with mockery. "Whoever dares to launch an attack in Hogwarts… I can only commend their audacity. They've outdone what even Lord Voldemort couldn't manage for years."
Unbeknownst to them, a far more chilling scene awaited at the end of the corridor—one that would reveal an entirely unexpected figure.
Let's rewind the clock a bit, to before the Slytherin students made their reckless sacrifice.
At that moment, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley were in the dungeon classroom, attending Nearly Headless Nick's five-hundredth Deathday Party.
"It's dreadful," Ron muttered, scowling at a moldy, decaying cake. When a maggot wriggled out from its surface, he let out a groan of disgust. "I'd rather face Ethan's courage challenge than spend another second here."
"Shh!" Hermione hissed, jabbing him in the side to quiet him.
Though Harry said nothing, his ashen face betrayed his agreement. If only Ethan were here, he thought, trying to tune out the grating wail of ghostly music. The flickering black candles and the milky-white specters floating in grotesque, deathly poses seemed tailor-made for Ethan's peculiar tastes.
In fact, Nearly Headless Nick had once asked Harry to invite Ethan to the party. But Ethan, with his usual flair, had declined, claiming he had "important matters" to attend to. "However," he'd added with a confident grin, "I'll give you a big surprise. I guarantee you'll have fun too."
Harry's mind flashed back to last Halloween and the "big surprise" Ethan had orchestrated. He shuddered. No, thank you, he thought dryly. Politely declined.
"It's freezing in here!" Ron complained, shivering. With an exaggerated flourish, he raised his wand, twirling it unnecessarily before casting a Warming Charm on himself.
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard they nearly vanished into her head. Harry couldn't help but think Ron was starting to channel Professor Gilderoy Lockhart's theatrics.
Then, without warning, a hoarse, guttural voice slithered into Harry's mind, chilling and sinister: [Lamb… lamb… hungry…]
Harry stumbled, clutching the wall as a mix of fear and adrenaline surged through him. He held his breath, straining to hear more. [Steamed lamb, steamed bear paw, steamed deer tail, roasted duck, roasted young chicken…]
Harry blinked. What kind of starving ghost is this?
"Come on, this way!" he shouted, bolting out of the dungeon classroom. He followed the eerie voice, his heart pounding, as he raced up to the third floor. Ron and Hermione trailed behind, bewildered but quick to follow.
When Harry reached the end of the third-floor corridor, he stopped dead. The Slytherin students knelt before the wall, statue-like, their heads bowed in reverent submission. It was as if an icy bucket of water had been dumped over him, freezing his heart and leaving his mind blank.
Then came a scream—shrill, inhuman, and bone-chilling. Footsteps thundered behind him.
"Harry? What are you doing here?" a low, astonished voice called out.
Harry turned to see Dumbledore and Snape, both staring at him with a mix of surprise and suspicion. Snape's cold, serpentine gaze swept past Harry to the wall, where his lips moved as he read aloud in a slow, deliberate tone: "[The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, enemies of the heir, beware]."
Bathed in moonlight, the words gleamed in crimson, scrawled in an ornate, almost Shakespearean script. The sight sent a shiver through Harry, not just from fear but from an odd sense of familiarity.
The Chamber of Secrets? Harry thought, his mind racing. What is that? Is Hogwarts doomed?
"Well, well, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled, his voice oily and grating. "I'm afraid I must ask—what are you and your little friends doing here?"
Harry's jaw tightened. "I don't know!" he snapped. "I followed that voice—it was reciting a menu! Who would've thought the main course was two-legged lamb?"
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