Before leaving school, Professor Lupin presented a belated thank-you gift.
It was a handmade amulet—a beautifully carved wolf's head made from white ore. Its eyes were a deep blue, radiating a bright light under the sun. Fine magical patterns etched across its surface gave off an aura of protection and stability.
"It's made from atomized moonstone," Professor Lupin said with a smile that betrayed a hint of nervousness. "I've inscribed a spell on it that can trigger a protective barrier in times of crisis. Well, it might not be as exquisite as those sold on the market, but the effect of the spell will definitely not be inferior..."
Professor Lupin nervously wrung his hands, afraid that this "humble" gift might displease Ethan.
However, he had clearly overthought it.
Ethan caressed the wolf-head pendant, feeling the care in every carved stroke. He could sense the unique protective magic woven into it.
The wizarding world was full of wonders. While many things could be bought with money, just like Harry's mother's "magic of love," sincerity could always unleash greater power.
"I really like this gift, Professor Lupin," Ethan said, holding the pendant as he looked up and curved his lips into a smile. Warmth spread through his body as the sunlight shone down on him. "Handmade is better than something bought with money. I accept your respect."
Upon hearing this, Professor Lupin let out a long sigh of relief, his mind finally at ease.
Then, he chuckled to himself. What respect... he's just a precocious child. And yet, when facing this ten-year-old boy, he actually felt genuinely nervous... His future is immeasurable.
Ethan patted Professor Lupin's shoulder and said profoundly, "I know you won't continue as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor next semester, because some parents and the board of governors still can't accept your 'former werewolf' status."
Professor Lupin's expression dimmed slightly. If he could, he would love to keep teaching and watch Harry grow up.
"This just shows that our revolution hasn't succeeded yet!" Ethan declared, clenching his fist as a fervent fire blazed in his eyes. "This decadent wizarding world needs a heavy punch to wake it up."
Professor Lupin's smile froze.
Then, he saw Ethan suddenly turn his head, looking at him with a gentle gaze that sent shivers down his spine.
"And you, my friend," Ethan continued, "will keep gathering werewolves and join our glorious Enlightenment Society. Your efforts won't be in vain. Our great cause will sweep the world, and your great name will be passed down through generations."
Professor Lupin fell silent.
He suddenly had the urge to use a fake name and disguise his identity. Your intentions are good, but let's not spread my name just yet.
He was afraid of implicating three generations.
As soon as summer vacation began, Ethan plunged into his studio. With all his passion, he painted non-stop. Reference books and discarded drafts gradually piled up around him like small mountains. Waves of magic rippled from the canvas, causing strange phenomena in the sky. The outline of a dark green octopus emerged in the clouds.
Although it wasn't the Dark Mark, it was even worse than the Dark Mark.
Time flew by, and soon it was the latter half of August.
"Phew, finally all the paintings are done," Ethan let out a long breath.
His hands, body, and face were all stained with paint, flowing down like colorful blood.
Ethan's fingers tenderly caressed the artwork, his fingertips tracing strands of black silk. In the air, a sharp howl like glass scraping could faintly be heard. Twisted and turning bones made a crackling sound.
Art doesn't pursue power, but beauty. To make all admirers smile from the bottom of their hearts—that's the true meaning of art.
Even for Lord Voldemort, Ethan would treat it seriously, giving him great importance.
"These few paintings are enough for now," Ethan said softly.
He raised his hand, and the canvases transformed into palm-sized rectangular cards, which he held in his hand.
He drank a mouthful of Ageing Potion, feeling his vision rise.
Through the window, Ethan gazed far away—toward Lord Voldemort's hometown, Little Hangleton.
"Let's go!"
Little Hangleton was a relatively backward village. Centered around the pub in town, the residents all knew each other, whispering about family matters.
And today, a "disturbing guest" suddenly arrived in the village.
He was tall and slender, with long legs. He wore a well-fitted and elegant black suit, a gray vest, and a dark blue tie. He held a gold-plated cane, its gleaming handle drawing the villagers' eyes.
His high nose bridge, cobalt-blue eyes full of tenderness, and handsome, fair face instantly made the girls decide on the appearance of their dream lover.
Yet, they hesitated, not daring to approach and speak to him.
From his shiny leather boots to his meticulously styled black curly hair, there was nothing about this man that matched this backward village.
Until the man, as if by magic, casually pulled out a ten-pound note.
The villagers' breath hitched. The wariness in their eyes was replaced by greed as they stared deeply at the pure and noble "Miss Nightingale" on the banknote.
"I want to know everything about the Riddle House. Who can tell me?"
And so, Ethan obtained secrets that even Riddle himself probably didn't know.
The three Riddles living on the hillside had been brutally murdered in the summer over fifty years ago. There wasn't a drop of blood, no trace of poisoning—they looked like healthy living people, only without breath.
They were wearing leopard-print briefs when they died, the length was—ahem, stop, stop.
"The biggest suspect is their gardener from back then! Frank Bryce, the only one with a key!"
"Yes, he was a retired veteran—he must have some tricks!"
"Oh my, he's so fierce, I don't even dare to look him in the eye. Sir, you'd best stay far away from him too."
The villagers chattered away.
In reality, Ethan knew the real murderer wasn't the Muggle gardener, but Tom Riddle. Little Tom, discovering his father wasn't a noble wizard, had killed him in anger and coincidentally created a Horcrux.
Having received enough information, Ethan nodded slightly. He casually handed the Muggle banknote to the villager closest to him, then turned and walked toward the Riddle House, ignoring the arguing behind him.
Arriving in front of the huge, dilapidated mansion, Ethan saw the old gardener still limping and weeding.
Hearing the movement, the gardener angrily looked up, thinking it was those children again who believed him to be a murderer and had come to cause trouble.
However, he saw a gentleman.
For some reason—perhaps an instinct from having fought on the battlefield—Frank's body tensed up instantly, and he gripped the hoe tightly.
This man was very dangerous.
"What do you want to do?! This is private property!"
However, before he finished speaking, a voice seemingly full of magic rang out from the man's mouth: "Go home, and no matter what you hear from now on, do not come to the Riddle House again—"
Clatter.
The hoe fell to the ground. Frank's eyes went blank. He walked stiffly, heading home without looking back.
Ethan watched the old man's retreating back and murmured, "Phew, everything is ready now. Just waiting for Lord Voldemort to arrive."
Ethan raised his hand and pressed a pure white mask onto his face.
Late at night, all was silent.
A loud bang suddenly echoed in front of the Riddle House.
Barty Crouch Jr., dressed in black, was hidden in the night. His pupils darted around, and he excitedly hissed.
From within his embrace, a hoarse voice rang out: "Ah, back to this place again—how nostalgic."
The cloak fluttered, revealing the terrifying, shriveled infant-like body within!
"I once cut off everything here, and now, my cause will begin anew from here!"
Barty Crouch Jr. trembled with excitement, nodding madly, his eyes openly filled with fervent worship.
The Dark Lord needed a stable place to rest, so he quickly carried Lord Voldemort into the abandoned mansion.
A huge snake slowly glided past him.
Following the instructions, he entered the study on the second floor.
A rotten, moldy smell assailed him. The room was dim, and faint moonlight streamed in through the window, falling onto the desk.
"Put me on the sofa and light the fireplace. Get Nagini's venom—my good boy..." Lord Voldemort rasped.
"Yes, Dark Lord!"
Barty Crouch Jr.'s excitement was almost beyond measure. He was the first to seek out the Dark Lord! He was the Dark Lord's most loyal servant! And in this secret location that no one knew about, the Dark Lord could once again begin his great cause.
Whoosh!
The fireplace flared up. It illuminated his face, Lord Voldemort's gaunt and emaciated body, and reflected specks of light on Nagini's scales.
It also illuminated the third person in the room.
"Good evening, Little Tom. You're a bit late."
In the instantly silent room, behind the desk bathed in moonlight, the chair slowly rotated, revealing the tall, slender figure.
He wore a suit and a strange pure white mask on his face. As if he were the owner of the house, he leisurely crossed one leg. In his hand, he idly stroked a small cat that was rolling around and purring.
—When did he get there?!
It was like a bucket of ice water being poured over his head. Barty Crouch Jr.'s blood almost froze instantly!
He stared blankly at the figure, his body rigid. He had walked past that person earlier, yet had noticed nothing!
Time seemed to stop, until the fireplace let out a "snap" sound.
Lord Voldemort shrieked sharply: "Kill him—!!!"
Barty Crouch Jr. suddenly snapped back to reality, abruptly raised his wand, and shouted hoarsely: "A-Avada Kedavra!!!"
Green light shot out!
However, only a flash of silver light was seen. The Unforgivable Curse, which absolutely could not be blocked, shattered with a "clang" as if it had hit something hard!
How, how is this possible?!!!
Barty Crouch Jr.'s eyes instantly widened, looking incredulously at the unharmed man.
He didn't even cast a spell.
"Your hospitality is truly passionate. I'm flattered."
Behind the mask, Ethan slowly curved his lips into a smile. Watching the two shocked and horrified individuals, he said word by word:
"Let me introduce myself, my name is [Lamp], you can call me—"
"Mr. Lamp."
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