Rainstorms, Giants, and the Uninvited Evil Sect.
Ethan might make a normal entrance.
But expecting Ethan to make a normal entrance is highly unlikely.
In the silent dining room, the only sound was the clinking of silverware.
Warm yellow candlelight cast the shadows of everyone present onto the peeling, dilapidated walls. At the edges of the room, the shadows would occasionally twist in bizarre, unnatural ways.
Skree, skree.
Harry sat stiffly, watching Ethan cut into the lamb chop under his hand with a rather elegant posture.
Even though the lamb was thoroughly cooked, at this moment, under that sharp dinner knife, it looked as though fresh blood were trickling out of it.
This was the first time Harry had realized just how shabby and gloomy this old house was. Beneath every patch of peeling wallpaper, it felt as though prying eyeballs were ready to snap open at any second.
"Mmm~ Delicious."
Ethan didn't skimp on the praise, flashing a bright smile at Mrs. Weasley, whose face was tight with tension.
Then, he held that smile—unchanging and fixed.
His exquisite, pale face gave off the impression of a porcelain doll sitting in a shop window. He tilted his head slightly and asked gently:
"Why aren't you all eating?"
"..."
The dinner table was deadly silent.
It didn't feel like they were attending Harry's birthday dinner. It felt more like they were visiting Harry's grave.
And Ethan? He was the entity from the underworld who had crawled out to frantically steal the "offerings."
"It really is a new era; even demons can sit at the table and eat now..." Ron muttered under his breath, staring at a roasted, fragrant chicken leg and drooling despite his fear.
Harry felt Ron was right. But maybe he should stop talking for now.
It was supposed to be his birthday party. Everyone had taken time out of their busy schedules to celebrate with him... and even Ethan had popped out from who-knows-where to deliver a gift in the most unexpected way...
Combined, this should have resulted in double the joy.
So, why did it turn out like this?
Harry held the gift box, which, for some reason, kept emitting thumping sounds from the inside, and asked this question from the depths of his soul.
Fortunately, after dinner, Ethan prepared to leave with Luna. He didn't stay at the Black family's ancestral home like the others.
This decision brought joy to some and sorrow to others.
Hermione bit her lip, carefully tugging at Ethan's sleeve. Ignoring the frantic head-shaking signals from Harry and Ron, she mumbled:
"Ethan, can't you stay? My room is actually quite big."
Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but Luna, standing beside him, spoke up briskly:
"No need We just crafted a coffin that allows two people to lie inside. We need to be buried in the earth to sleep tonight"
Facing Hermione's raised eyebrows, Luna narrowed her eyes and murmured intoxicatedly:
"Oh——imagine that coldness and dead silence, the night sky rotating above your head. In the brilliance of the stars and moon, you will be able to hear the sound of elves flapping their wings."
"I can only imagine the smell of dirt and rot," Hermione said dryly.
She furrowed her brows, shooting Ethan a stern, questioning look—Are you really going to do something this crazy?
Ethan, however, completely misunderstood. He issued an enthusiastic invitation: "Do you want to come along, Hermione?"
"If we squeeze a bit, the three of us can fit!"
"Just think of it as a rehearsal."
Ethan winked playfully at Hermione.
...Rehearsal for what?
Suddenly coming back to life to scare a random passerby to death?
Hermione struggled with the idea for several seconds before finally deflating. "No, thank you for the invitation, Ethan..."
"I prefer to stay in a warm, dry bed."
"What a pity."
Ethan shrugged. He summoned his cane, twirled it beautifully in his hand, took his bowler hat off the rack, and bowed elegantly.
Raising his eyes, he smiled at the stiff-frozen group. "Well then, see you later... members of the Order of the Phoenix."
Everyone: !!!
Everyone's eyes widened, staring at Ethan in disbelief! They couldn't believe what they had just heard!
Knowing about this location could barely be explained away by the fact that Sirius and Harry lived here. But the Order of the Phoenix was top secret—how did Ethan know about it?!
If Dumbledore had told him, surely they would have received notice beforehand!
However—
"Wait! Who exactly are you——" Mad-Eye Moody roared.
Snap.
Ethan snapped his fingers.
In the next second, he and Luna plummeted straight down.
Where they had stood, only a pitch-black door opened flat on the floor remained.
It was as if he was determined to go against the grain. Just when they wanted to question him the most, Ethan simply vanished.
"..."
After several seconds of silence, Mad-Eye Moody clicked his tongue heavily. His magical eye spun around with a gulu sound as he spoke in a grim, raspy voice:
"Speak up. Who leaked the information?"
"Unless someone led that kid in by the hand, he absolutely could not have discovered this place!"
"..."
Sirius swallowed hard.
In his mind, scenes flashed by like a revolving lantern.
...James, Lily, I'm coming soon...
Sirius took a deep breath. "Well, let me explain——"
"By the way."
A clear, bright voice suddenly rang out from the portal!
It scared everyone out of their wits!
Ron jumped three feet in the air, practically leaping onto Mad-Eye's head, nearly knocking the magical eye right out of its socket. Maximum damage inflicted.
On the floor, a pale hand extended from the pitch-black portal.
The hand was clutching three letters sealed with complex wax stamps.
"These are your school acceptance letters; I almost forgot to give them to you," Ethan's voice echoed. "Next term's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor requires some... new equipment."
"So, tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock, I'll see you at Diagon Alley."
With that, the portal closed——
Leaving behind a severed hand still resting on the floor.
Everyone: ??!
WTF????
Under their horrified gazes, the severed hand flipped over lightly.
Balancing on its five fingers and clutching the envelopes between them, it scuttled toward them with the dexterity of a spider!
Tap-tap-tap-tap!
"Ahhhhh! Don't come over here! Ahhhh!!!"
"Ron? Ron?! Don't die on me——"
"Ethan, you are an absolute genius! Quick, catch that hand! We need to replicate this!"
"George, Fred!!!"
Massive chaos swept through the ancestral home that had been silent for countless years, like a tornado.
Thank goodness this house was soundproof. Otherwise, the neighbors would have filed eight hundred complaints in a single day, Harry thought with a bitter smile.
He took the letter from the agile, severed hand. The hand politely bent its knuckles in a bow.
...Very much Ethan's style.
"It hasn't been this lively since I was born in this old house," Sirius said, slinging his arm around Harry's shoulder, his eyes curving with amusement. "Anyway—Happy Birthday, Harry."
"..."
Harry remained silent for a moment. Finally, he grinned with a helpless yet happy smile.
"This really is the most unique birthday I've ever had! I'll never forget it as long as I live!"
Every year brings new tricks, and every year is different.
Thanks for thinking of me, Ethan.
But next time... maybe think of me a little less.
"We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy school supplies," Harry said. "I wonder who the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is this time... Hmm? What's this?"
Harry looked at a separate piece of paper that had fallen out of the envelope.
He picked it up. Written in large letters across the top was:
[Personal Risk Acknowledgement Form]
Signed:
Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Ann Norn (Unknown).
The Next Day.
The Leaky Cauldron.
12:50 PM.
This small pub, hung with bizarre portraits and sculptures, had seemingly transformed into a gathering place for some kind of fanatical cult.
Today, as always, they were dressed in mysterious black cloaks. On their faces, they wore golden brass masks shaped like eagle beaks to distinguish themselves from Death Eaters and to display their identity as "Enlightenment Society Believers."
"Ah————Great God of Art and Light! May your brushstrokes cover the universe!"
"Ethan is our new Savior! The beacon leading us to glory!"
"Please grant me one hundred—no, just twenty Galleons will do!"
As usual, several believers were prostrate before a statue of an octopus, shouting and pouring out their adoration and wishes, hoping their busy young leader—who was primarily busy attending school—might cast a pitying glance their way.
At the same time, sensible members seized the opportunity to organize donations. In these tense times of soaring prices, they were distributing free dry bread and basic supplies, creating a virtuous cycle.
Old Tom, the pub owner, was already used to this. Having experienced so much, he was no longer the naive boy he once was. As long as it boosted consumption and the people were generally well-behaved, let them worship whatever they wanted.
However, where there are fanatics, there are detractors.
"Hmph! A bunch of lunatics!"
An old drunkard, already intoxicated in broad daylight, slammed his glass down with a bang.
He shouted loudly, deliberately targeting the gold-masked figures.
The believers were accustomed to this; immersed in prayer, no one paid him any attention.
Seeing this, the old drunk's face turned even redder. Humiliated and angry, his cloudy eyes darted around, looking for a soft target to bully.
Coincidentally, he found one.
It was a young believer sitting alone in the corner, sipping a drink.
He appeared "young" because his frame was tall but lacked the bulk of a grown man. The hand extending from his cloak was smooth, without a single wrinkle—pale and delicate, clearly untouched by the hardships of time.
Only his fingertips seemed permanently stained by something, presenting a darker color.
And he was clearly a "believer" because he wore that glittering golden eagle-beak brass mask. The exposed lower half of his face was perfectly symmetrical, enough to hint at handsome features beneath.
A rich kid, a cultist, and all alone.
These factors combined made the old drunk, whose inner impulses were fueled by alcohol, increasingly resentful.
...Besides, the guy was alone.
I can definitely take on some young kid, right?!
At the same time.
Ethan, who was waiting for Harry and the others, tilted his head slightly as if sensing something.
The hand holding the tin cup was stained with a touch of ash-grey paint.
If one looked closely, the cup itself seemed to possess the texture of a painting!
Hmm?
It seems something interesting is coming.
Ethan glanced at the restless old drunk out of the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth hooking up with amusement.
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