Chapter 335: Eve of the New Term! All Prepared! Mr Weasley: What Do You Think of Our Ginny?
"I have to try harder too — it's just a different form of address, that's all!"
Hermione muttered under her breath, her fists clenched tight as colour crept across her cheeks.
Harry and Ron exchanged a look. There were four of them—but somehow, it felt like the two of them were the ones intruding.
Hmph.
Meanwhile, Mr Weasley had gone completely blank.
He was working through it like a very painful food chain:
They couldn't even handle a gang of unhinged dark wizards. Those wizards, however, feared the werewolf pack who ruled Knockturn Alley—and that pack called Ethan their master.
Which meant Ethan was...
Mr Weasley let out a light laugh. "Oh! So after all that, Ethan's the master of the entire Knockturn Alley!"
And they were right at the very bottom.
Well. That certainly clears things up.
Mr Weasley opened his mouth—then closed it again.
A moment later, he let out a wail.
He felt a vast and rather depressing gulf had opened between himself and the dark-haired boy in front of him.
"I've been so naive. Truly!"
Those newspaper reports about Ethan — they weren't sensationalism. They were documentaries.
Dangerous and powerful werewolves. The dark underbelly of Knockturn Alley—and perhaps the wizarding world itself—was slowly falling under one person's influence.
Mr Weasley didn't dare let his thoughts go any further.
He had a quiet, creeping sense that Ethan's true aims were something else entirely — something far removed from theirs.
These werewolves had been gathered by Lupin and brought into the Morning Star Club. They hadn't yet received the potion to break the curse, but simply having their monthly transformation suppressed was already, by any measure, a miracle.
The werewolves looked toward Ethan.
Their eyes were wet.
In that moment, the ferocity seemed to drain out of them, and they looked less like wolves and more like a row of very large, very earnest dogs.
"Master Vincent, it was you who suppressed our werewolf curse. It was you who gave us the hope of living."
Their voices were rough and halting, as though they had gone a long time without speaking.
"We intended to remain in the shadows and serve you quietly. But when we saw your companions in trouble, we came out. We are sorry. We've let you see us like this."
They bowed their heads in shame, trying to hide the savage, bestial faces they wore.
In the next instant, Ethan reached out and took hold of their hands.
"I will never be ashamed of my own people."
A clear, steady voice.
The werewolves looked up, startled, and found themselves meeting a face that was warm and certain, like sunlight after a long winter.
Ethan's gaze was fierce and bright. He seemed, in that moment, to radiate something golden.
He spoke slowly and deliberately. "You will be cured. I promise."
The sentence was simple—but it hit them like a hammer.
They stood stunned, unable to speak.
Because all their lives, the words they had heard most often were: you're beyond saving.
Cured. Hope. Those things had seemed to vanish the moment the curse entered them.
"Ah..."
The werewolf at the front trembled as he spoke, reverence rising from somewhere bone-deep.
"You are the first person who has ever promised us a cure."
"Merciful master!"
A faint notification flickered in Ethan's mind:
[You are like a lamp in the dark, giving hope to the lost.]
[Soul Fusion increased by 0.1%]
[Current Soul Fusion: 93.8%]
The gain was small this time.
But there was promise in it. A single spark could set an entire prairie ablaze. One day, that small, quiet flame would grow into a fire that shook the entire wizarding world.
A moment later, the werewolves wiped the corners of their eyes and quickly reassembled their usual ferocious expressions.
One rasped, "Master, those Dark wizards from earlier — do you want us to make sure they never speak again? We could relieve them of a few arms and legs."
Mr Weasley went pale.
Ethan shook his head. "No need. Knockturn Alley has its own way of doing things. No need to interfere too much. A simple lesson will do."
"Understood, Master."
The werewolves grinned wide and bloodthirsty, baring their fangs.
It was unclear exactly what they had understood.
"Oh, Master — one more thing," a werewolf added. "Diagon Alley has been strange lately."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
The werewolves thought for a moment, choosing their words carefully.
"We can't quite explain it. It's a feeling — a restlessness, like danger is constantly circling. We swept all of Knockturn Alley and found nothing out of the ordinary."
Restlessness. A constant sense of danger nearby.
Could it be Fate making its move?
Ethan's eyes sharpened with quiet interest.
He broke into a broad smile, clapped the werewolf's stone-solid shoulder, and said, "You've done well. This information is very useful to me."
"Is — is that so?"
The werewolves looked both pleased and puzzled. Even they couldn't say what use the information might be.
But if their master was happy, they were happy.
"We'll keep a close watch for you, Master. The moment anything stirs, we'll report directly to Mr Lupin."
Ethan nodded. "I'm counting on you."
His expression grew quietly serious. In his mind, he thought:
Fate — remember this. You are not facing me alone. You are facing the entire wizarding world.
On the way back from Knockturn Alley, Mr Weasley went through the same cycle several times: take a deep breath, open his mouth — then deflate and close it again.
Until Ethan said pleasantly, "If you're not using your mouth, I can sew it shut for you. Friends-and-family discount, twelve percent off."
Out with it, then.
Mr Weasley flinched. Catching Ethan's expectant look, he coughed twice and said with some embarrassment, "Ethan, what do you think of our Ginny?"
Ethan: ?
Hermione: ??
Ron: ???
Harry: [incoherent noises].
Under several very intense stares, Ethan considered the question carefully and gave a sincere answer.
"A perfectly adequate carbon-based life form. Skeletal structure and physical condition are both healthy. Overall rating: Excellent."
Mr Weasley stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.
What in Merlin's name are you? Some sort of alchemical construct?
Ron choked.
"Right, well." Mr Weasley pressed down his loudly protesting son with one hand and pretended not to notice Hermione's accusing glare.
"You and Ginny are only a year apart. The girl has always admired you greatly. You're not in the same house, of course, but my wife has always had a soft spot for clever Ravenclaw students. Ginny can be a bit headstrong, but she — Ethan?! Where are you going?!"
Ethan: Goodbye.
Luna's made dinner and she's waiting.
Before anyone could react, Ethan simply vanished from existence, as though the ground beneath him had opened into another dimension. He vanished in an instant, leaving behind only a black doorway that snapped shut the moment it appeared.
A portal. An extraordinarily useful thing.
"Phew!"
Hermione let out a long, pointed sigh, shot Mr Weasley a reproachful look, gave a small indignant huff, and marched ahead on her own.
As for Ron — the idiot — he was still shouting, "Ginny?! In her dreams! What year is she even in?!"
Mr Weasley opened his mouth as if to say something—then thought better of it.
He stood still for a moment.
Then, with a rueful shake of his head, he smiled to himself.
But his eyes carried something heavier, something barely perceptible, as he murmured quietly, "If even a family bond could tie down a boy as unfathomable as Ethan — that would do."
But if Ethan were so easily swayed by others, he would never have done something as impossible as developing a cure for werewolves.
Mr Weasley straightened up, his tone brightening. "Right then, children! Home for dinner!"
"You don't need to be as studious as the Ravenclaws, but given the rather alarming state of your grades, it wouldn't hurt to put a bit more effort into your studies with the time you have left."
"Especially Defence Against the Dark Arts!"
"I have a feeling you're about to meet a most extraordinary new professor!"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, come off it! If this new professor's actually got any talent, I'll do a handstand and — "
Laughter carried them down the street.
The last sliver of sunset slipped beneath the horizon.
The moon rose, and the stars came out.
Night had arrived.
Several weeks later, on the eve of the new term—
"Finished!"
Ethan let out a slightly breathless exhale, his hands and face splattered with an unsettling red liquid of unknown origin
He held up an even more unsettling object — a face. A mask of skin — with a look of excited, undisguised delight.
[Name: Son of Man]
[Type: Sculptural Artwork]
[Rank: Tier 3 · Blue — Rare]
[Effect: When worn over the face, it becomes indistinguishable from real skin.
No magic can detect it.
Even Fate itself cannot perceive your true form for a fixed duration.]
[Evaluation: The appearance leaves something to be desired… but that's exactly your sort of aesthetic, isn't it?]
[A moment of silence for all those who will have to look at this face for an entire school year.]