Chapter 334: Mr Weasley Blinked. The Werewolves Bowed.
[Congratulations! You have obtained Faded Golden Wheelgrass, silver dust of a Demiguise, deep-sea merfolk roe...]
[All of the above contain extraordinary power.]
[They can grant paintings a different kind of vitality. Extremely rare!]
The bell over the door chimed again.
Under Mr Borgin's bow so deep he looked about to sink into the floorboards, Ethan left the "Dark artefacts specialist" in high spirits, arms full and thoroughly satisfied.
"Honestly," Ethan said, smiling so brightly it could have lit the alley, "making that old goblin fossil cough up gold was absolutely the right call. It's all for art, after all. People in the future will remember your name!"
He was already picturing it: laying out those extraordinary materials and sketching a new, ingenious face across the strip of skin Voldemort had left behind.
"First time teaching," he mused, pleased. "Can't let anyone down. I've got to give those eager students a proper surprise."
Ethan slowed to a stop.
Up ahead, Mr Weasley and the others were being boxed in by a knot of Dark wizards. Shouts cut through the air, punctuated by flashes of spell-light.
"Oh," Ethan said, sounding almost impressed. "They're having fun."
He nodded approvingly, as if he'd stumbled across a friendly neighbourhood game.
"Mr Weasley really is an important Ministry man. He can get along with anyone."
The people of Knockturn Alley were capable, and they spoke so nicely. And, if Ethan remembered correctly, they were particularly fond of showing off freshly acquired body parts to anyone who'd look.
"I'm not one to be tactless," Ethan decided, considerate as ever. "I'll just wait here until they're finished playing."
He stood still and watched with the gentle satisfaction of a parent witnessing a child's first steps, gaze fixed on the crowd swallowing Mr Weasley whole.
Then, without meaning to, he met Mr Weasley's eyes.
Mr Weasley's face snapped into something desperate.
He started waving both arms with the frantic energy of a drowning man who'd just spotted a floating plank, shouting Ethan's name so loudly his voice cracked.
Oh.
Ethan frowned, thought for a second, and arrived at an answer with complete confidence.
He flashed a wide grin, lifted a hand, and gave Mr Weasley a firm thumbs-up.
You're doing great.
Mr Weasley's expression died in real time.
His arms froze halfway up. The hope in his eyes guttered out like a candle in rain.
Somewhere in the universe, a tragic headline wrote itself:
[Your Octopus Prince has swept away the last lifeline with a single tentacle.]
"Honestly," Ethan sighed, sounding faintly troubled, "Mr Weasley really is a bit of a child."
He glanced at the sky. "It's getting late. We should head back, or Mrs Weasley will be serving him that special whip-fried punishment."
He drew his wand and took a step forward.
Then his whole body changed.
A sharp twinge ran through his nerves; his pupils tightened. The relaxed air around him vanished, replaced by a cold, alert focus as his gaze cut across the shadows.
A pitch-black portal opened in front of him.
In the next heartbeat, several figures struck like lightning, launching themselves towards Mr Weasley's group. They moved like hunting wolves, grabbing Dark wizards by their collars and flinging them aside as if they weighed nothing.
The Dark wizards hit the ground with thudding cries, rolling like sacks across the cobbles.
They did not even think about retaliating.
They scrambled up, terror on their faces, and bolted, not bothering to brush off dust, fleeing as if they'd glimpsed something that lived under their beds.
At the same time, Ethan's wand pressed to the throat of the apparent leader, steady and unmistakably threatening.
But when Ethan got a clear look at their faces, his eyes widened slightly, and his wand shifted a few inches off-centre.
Everything had happened in a blink.
"Cool…" Ron breathed, staring at Ethan as if he'd just watched a stage magician pull a dragon out of a hat.
Beside him, Harry nodded so hard his glasses nearly slipped, eyes bright with awe.
A single, clean suppression. That was the strength of the Morning Star Club's president.
"What on earth just happened?" Mr Weasley blurted, still staring, genuinely lost.
It was as if the Dark wizards had vanished, replaced by a different group entirely, one that felt even more dangerous just standing there.
His reaction had been slower than Ethan's, and it stung.
Two seconds later, Mr Weasley snapped back into motion. He swung his wand around and put himself in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, shielding them instinctively.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Heat rose to his cheeks, shame crawling up after it.
He'd been the one talking about protecting Ethan, and instead Ethan had protected them. Peace made you soft. Apparently, it had made him soft.
He instinctively sucked in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, and then another thought hit right on its heels.
How had Ethan trained himself into this?
No. Better not ask. Mr Weasley could already see the headlines if the Ministry dug too deep.
The filthy, ragged figures ignored him completely.
They only stared at Ethan, unblinking, their throats working as a low, animal sound scraped out, half growl, half warning.
A Dark curse creation?
Mr Weasley's heart sank further. He tightened his grip on the boys before they could do something heroic and stupid.
These were not ordinary alley thugs.
The Dark wizards had run from them like rabbits from wolves, not one of them even stopping to protest being thrown like rubbish.
Which meant something simple and awful.
In Knockturn Alley, the real rulers were not the loud ones.
They were these.
Mr Weasley was still scrambling for a plan when he finally saw their eyes properly.
Orange-gold, slit pupils.
Every single one of them.
"Merlin's socks," he hissed, horror punching through his chest. "They're werewolves!"
He grabbed the children and prepared to Apparate on sheer reflex.
Knockturn Alley.
Werewolves.
Together, those words were enough to make his mind leap straight to the wanted posters: biters, curse-spreaders, predators who hunted wizards for sport.
And then the impossible happened.
With a heavy thump, the werewolves dropped to the ground.
One knee down, heads bowed, they knelt before Ethan as if he were a king.
Their voices shook with raw excitement as they howled, "We've finally found you, Master!"
Mr Weasley jolted mid-movement. "We're leaving, and…"
He stopped.
It was like someone had pressed a pause button on him.
Master?
Who?
Did they mean Ethan?
Were these dangerous werewolves Ethan's people?
What in the name of Merlin was going on?
Beside him, Hermione's head snapped around so fast her hair whipped her cheek.
She stared at the kneeling werewolves with a look so sharp it could have cut glass, and something fierce flared behind her eyes.
How many people did Ethan intend to attract before it ended?
If this kept going, would she even still matter to him?
And Hermione Granger, who had never accepted second place in anything that mattered, felt a cold, urgent sense of crisis settle into her bones.