Read up to 40 chapters ahead on Patreon - patreon.com/Dark_sym
This fic is completed in patreon
-----
Dumbledore studied Ethan carefully, as if committing every detail of his appearance to memory.
At last, he removed his hat, gave Ethan a small nod of respect, and turned away, rejoining the festive crowd.
Ethan, however, had no time for celebration.
"O'Dimm!" he called out, his voice sharp and unwavering.
"It's time for us to talk!"
The walls of Hogwarts shimmered, and suddenly, a massive full-length mirror emerged from the stone.
But instead of reflecting Ethan's image, the mirror's surface turned misty, as though concealing an entirely different world.
Without hesitation, Ethan stepped forward and disappeared into the glass.
Beyond the mirror lay a labyrinth of reflections—a vast and intricate maze constructed entirely of glass.
Ethan glanced around. Mirrors stretched endlessly in every direction, reflecting his image a thousand times over.
The dizzying repetition threatened to disorient him.
A voice, smooth and mocking, drifted through the air.
"You Witchers are always meddling in things that don't concern you."
Ethan spun, blade flashing, and struck—only to shatter another mirror.
A whisper of movement. A sliver of light.
Too late.
A transparent glass blade streaked toward him from an impossible angle. Ethan twisted with all his strength, barely avoiding a fatal blow.
Even so, the blade sliced across his waist, leaving a deep, bloody gash.
A chuckle echoed through the maze.
"The weapons you Witchers carry... always so full of righteousness." Gaunter O'Dimm's voice oozed with disdain.
Ethan swung again, striking nothing but empty air.
Another wound.
Then another.
"And like bedbugs," O'Dimm sneered, "you just won't die."
A flash of steel. White-hot pain. A fresh wound carved across Ethan's face.
He clenched his teeth, forcing his hunting senses to the limit, desperate to detect his enemy.
But the mirrored maze distorted everything—the echoes, the reflections, the very essence of the place. His instincts returned nothing but chaotic noise.
O'Dimm struck again. And again.
Ethan staggered. Blood dripped from countless gashes, pooling beneath his boots.
His strength was slipping away, his vision blurring.
O'Dimm wasn't just toying with him—he was torturing him. Slowly. Methodically.
Ethan's breath came ragged and heavy. Darkness clawed at the edges of his mind.
"I think I'll peel you apart, piece by piece," O'Dimm mused, his voice cruel and amused.
Ethan swung feebly, his strike deflected with ease. Another slash tore through his arm.
His knees buckled. His vision swam.
He was going to die.
Then—
"That's not what I taught you, Ethan!"
A voice—gruff, familiar, commanding.
Ethan's head snapped up.
There, standing before him, bathed in a faint blue glow, was Vesemir.
The old Witcher's spectral form radiated quiet authority, his expression one of pure disappointment.
"Don't rely on your eyes and ears!" Vesemir barked.
"Use your instincts! Your heart! That's how you catch the rat!"
The words hit Ethan like a thunderclap.
A memory surged forward.
His training. The darkened room. The scurrying of hundreds of gray mice. And among them, a single white mouse—his target.
"Feel it, Ethan! Sense it!" Vesemir's voice rang in his ears.
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut.
Silence.
Stillness.
Then—there.
A whisper of motion, so faint it was almost imperceptible. Like the flutter of insect wings.
He didn't think. He didn't hesitate.
With every last ounce of strength, Ethan thrust his sword forward.
The blade sang as it cut through the air—fast, precise, deadly.
A choked gasp.
Ethan opened his eyes.
O'Dimm stood frozen, Ethan's sword buried deep in his chest.
The self-proclaimed god looked down at the wound in disbelief.
"Impossible…" O'Dimm rasped.
"I am a god."
No blood spilled from the wound. Instead, an eerie black void spread from the point of impact, devouring the very essence of his form.
Then—
The sound of hooves.
A cold wind swept through the maze.
Lady Death had arrived.
Mounted upon her spectral steed, she gazed upon O'Dimm with pitiless eyes.
O'Dimm's voice turned desperate, hollow.
"You can't kill me," he snarled.
"I am beyond death!"
Death said nothing.
She only reached out.
And the mirrors shattered.
"RIDICULOUS PSEUDO-GOD."
Lady Death sneered, her voice laced with contempt.
"YOUR FATE WILL BE TEN THOUSAND TIMES MORE TERRIFYING THAN DEATH."
With a simple wave of her hand, a black door materialized behind Ethan.
She gestured for him to follow.
Ethan hesitated for a moment, glancing back. Vesemir's spectral form still shimmered in a soft blue light, his expression changed.
"You'll see them again, lad. You've got a way to go yet, but the paths of destiny... they're never as closed off as they seem."
Slowly, the glow faded, and his presence dissolved into nothingness.
Steeling himself, Ethan stepped through the door.
Beyond the threshold lay a mist-shrouded world.
A small, tranquil lake stretched before him, its waters impossibly still.
Lady Death stood beside him, her cold gaze fixed on the lake's surface.
"THIS IS YOUR FATE," she said.
"YOUR CURSE."
At her silent command, Ethan drew the Sword of the Lake Lady, its blade gleaming under the ghostly light.
Master Mirror, bound by unseen forces, drifted toward the center of the lake.
From the gaping wound in his chest, a single branch sprouted, twisting and growing at an unnatural speed.
Within moments, the branch thickened, stretching skyward, forming the trunk of a massive fruit tree.
Its roots coiled around Master Mirror's body, trapping him completely—only his head remained visible, peering out with desperate, horrified eyes.
"I HAVE TURNED YOU INTO A FRUIT TREE," Lady Death intoned, "AND I HAVE GIVEN YOU AN INSATIABLE HUNGER AND THIRST."
Master Mirror's gaze darted upward, where plump, golden fruit hung just beyond his reach, their scent maddeningly sweet. Below, the crystal-clear lake shimmered invitingly.
"YOU CAN SEE THE FRUIT. YOU CAN SEE THE WATER. BUT YOU CANNOT MOVE. YOU WILL NEVER TASTE THE FOOD, NOR DRINK FROM THE LAKE." Lady Death's voice was merciless.
"FOR ALL ETERNITY, YOU WILL BURN WITH HUNGER AND THIRST, SUFFERING ENDLESSLY, TRAPPED IN YOUR OWN TORMENT."
"No!" Master Mirror shrieked, his voice breaking.
"You can't do this! Forgive me!"
His cries echoed across the lake, but there was no one left to hear them.
Lady Death turned away, placing a hand on Ethan's shoulder.
As the shadows began to envelop them, Gaunter O'Dimm's voice cut through the silence, low and filled with malice.
"You think this is the end?" he rasped, his tone laced with something between a snarl and a chuckle.
"No… No, this is merely a pause before the great unraveling."
Ethan hesitated, glancing back.
O'Dimm's burning eyes locked onto his.
"The walls between worlds are crumbling, boy. The spheres will collide, just as they did once before. Magic, monsters, and nightmares—oh, they will flood through the cracks."
His lips twisted into a cruel smile.
"And when they do, neither your Witchers nor your wizards will be able to stop it."
Ethan clenched his jaw, but O'Dimm continued, his voice now an eerie whisper.
"The Convergence is near. And when it comes… not even Death will be able to save you."
Lady Death did not react. With an effortless motion, she turned, pulling Ethan with her.
Together, they stepped into the shadows and vanished—leaving Gaunter O'Dimm alone in his endless hunger, thirst, and solitude.
Yet, even as the darkness swallowed them whole, Ethan could not shake the unease that crawled up his spine.
For in the distance, barely audible, O'Dimm was still laughing.
--------
At Hogwarts, the victory feast had stretched on for days, a never-ending revelry of food, drink, and laughter.
Plates refilled themselves the moment they were emptied. Butterbeer flowed freely.
Excited students and professors danced without rest, swept up in the euphoria of Voldemort's defeat.
Filch, for once, turned a blind eye to the magical pranks filling the halls. Even the strictest professors allowed themselves to indulge.
The true winners of the celebration, however, were the Weasley twins. With their joke products flying off the shelves, they made enough gold to finally open their dream shop.
For Harry, it was the happiest he had ever been.
For the first time in years, there was no lingering fear in his heart. No shadow of Voldemort hanging over him. No whispers of prophecy or destiny.
He had lost count of how many Butterbeers he had downed, how many times he had been pulled into a toast, into a hug, into cheers that felt like they might never end.
Hogwarts had declared several days off in celebration. Each of the four Heads of House—caught up in the excitement—had awarded a thousand points to their respective Houses.
Dumbledore, watching the revelry, smiled warmly. It had been a long time since he had felt such joy.
Since Voldemort's fall, his smile had yet to fade.
As the party raged on, Dumbledore's expression suddenly shifted.
His gaze flickered toward the Owlery's spire, where a lone figure stood against the night sky.
Quietly, unnoticed by the revelers, Dumbledore slipped away from the Great Hall and made his way up the winding stairs.
At the top of the tower, he finally saw the familiar silhouette, and he let out a soft sigh of relief.
"Ethan, you're back."
Ethan, standing by an open window, scattered a handful of owl treats into the air. The owls hooted eagerly, diving for the food, feathers ruffling as they jostled for position.
Hearing Dumbledore's voice, Ethan emptied the last of the treats into a golden dish and dusted off his hands.
"Yes, Dumbledore," he said with a smile.
"It's finally over."
He studied the headmaster for a moment. Dumbledore looked well—more than well. There was no sign of the old fatigue that had once lined his face. No hidden pain in his movements.
"Dumbledore… have you recovered?" Ethan asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
The headmaster held out his hand, his wrist smooth and unblemished, free from the dark curse that had once doomed him.
"One day, I simply woke up and found myself healed. At that moment, I knew—your mission had been a success."
Ethan grinned. "That's good to hear."
Dumbledore's expression turned serious.
"Ethan, I would like to offer you a permanent position at Hogwarts—a tenured professor."
Ethan hesitated, the words weighing on him for a moment. He looked back toward the Great Hall, where laughter and music floated in the air, but then shook his head slowly.
"I appreciate it, Dumbledore, I do. But I came to tell you something… I'm leaving Hogwarts."
Dumbledore's smile faltered, his brow furrowing as he took a step closer.
"Leaving? After all that's happened, surely you've earned your place here."
Ethan turned toward him fully now, a quiet resolve in his eyes.
"I'm starting something new—something bigger."
Dumbledore's gaze softened, understanding and perhaps a touch of regret in his features.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm starting a Witcher's school," Ethan said, the weight of his words settling between them.
"There are things coming that this world isn't ready for yet—things far worse than anything Voldemort could've imagined. It happened in my world, and there's no place for Hogwarts to teach what's needed. I have to prepare those who will face what's coming."
Dumbledore's smile faltered for a moment before he sighed, nodding in understanding.
"That is a great loss to us, Ethan."
Dumbledore seemed to consider something for a moment before speaking again.
"I still believe you could one day be Headmaster here, you know."
Ethan rolled his eyes. "Dumbledore, you just got a new lease on life. You'll be around for at least another century—maybe more. You have all the time."
"Maybe in the future. But for now, I have my own path to follow."
The old wizard laughed, eyes twinkling.
"Then it seems the world will have one more great school of magic in the future."
Ethan grinned. "That reminds me—I could use some advice. Care to join me for a Butterbeer?"
Dumbledore looked toward the Great Hall, where the celebration still roared.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Together, they descended the tower, stepping back into the warmth and light of Hogwarts, where the future awaited.
---THE END---
P.S- Tonks and Ethan end up together;