Chapter 345: The Demon Never Removes His Mask! Ethan Drops an Instant Bombshell
Snape gripped his wand, shaking with barely contained fury.
"Where did this tea table come from?" he rasped. "Where is my cauldron? And don't think that just because you're a Ravenclaw student you can go replacing the Slytherin Head of House's sofa with something blue!!"
He added, with particular venom: "And take that mask off!!"
The single most disturbing thing in this entire room was the artificial human wearing a face like a cursed whirlpool.
Snape swayed slightly on his feet, then gave a defeated wave of his wand and conjured himself another chair — he had always kept only one in his office, specifically to discourage visitors from lingering. He collapsed into it.
In the same instant, Ethan's fingers snapped out, quick as lightning.
The chair Snape had just sat down in turned blue.
Snape: "..."
"..."
"Stop eyeing my wallpaper," Snape said, in a voice that had gone very quiet and very dangerous. "You are not to change a single thing. Not one thing. You appallingly rude little creature."
"How petty," Ethan said, with genuine regret.
He withdrew his gaze. Set down his wand with visible reluctance.
Then, with the tolerant air of someone making a great concession, he obliged the fussy old bat by removing the beautiful mask.
Riiip.
The sound of skin peeling away made Snape's scalp crawl.
When he saw the small beads of blood surfacing slowly on Ethan's face, Snape paused. His eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the desk drawer where he kept his healing potions.
Ethan was clutching the mask with the expression of someone who had just lost a family member.
"An Evil God's Chosen never removes his mask," he said mournfully.
Snape: .
"Episkey."
"Ah!"
At Ethan's startled sound, his face smoothed over, good as new.
Snape made a noise through his nose and put his wand away, with the air of someone who had done something against his better judgement and intended to pretend otherwise.
That boy, he thought privately. Never a moment's peace.
"Ahem." He cleared his throat and pulled the conversation back to solid ground. "So. To what do I owe the pleasure, at this hour?"
"You know that Death Eater," Ethan said. "The one called Bell-something."
Snape's eyebrow climbed. "Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"That's the one." Ethan snapped his fingers.
"What do you want with her? She's in Azkaban."
The furrow between Snape's brows deepened. Even he made a point of keeping his distance from that particular woman — fanatically devoted to Voldemort, thoroughly unhinged in every direction. A familiar, unpleasant premonition began to surface in the back of his mind.
Though, in fairness, the moment Ethan appeared at his door tonight, disaster had already become inevitable. Snape had accepted that much. Whatever Ethan was about to say — even if it was "I'm going to invade Azkaban" — he would remain composed.
"It's nothing major," Ethan said brightly. "Voldemort turned Hufflepuff's Cup into one of his Horcruxes. The Cup is currently sitting in Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts."
Snape: ???
Snape's composure lasted approximately one second.
His expression shattered. He stared at Ethan, eyes wide, the words escaping before he could stop them.
"A Horcrux?! How do you know about Horcruxes? They're among the darkest magic in existence — wait, Voldemort made a Horcrux?! That explains why he wouldn't stay dead — hold on, there's one in Bellatrix's vault?! How did you even—"
He cut himself off.
He looked at Ethan's pleasantly smiling face.
Then pressed two fingers to his temple and held them there.
Don't throw that much explosive information at someone all at once.
He genuinely didn't know which part to address first.
Ethan crossed one leg over the other and took a leisurely sip of tea — tea he had conjured himself, now circulating right back through him. The very image of elegant self-sufficiency.
Snape looked at that insufferably relaxed posture, then picked up his own teacup. He drank deeply in three long gulps, forcing the anger back down.
Then he looked at Ethan and said roughly,
"…How much do you know? I need to report this to Dumbledore."
He had already stopped wondering how Ethan knew any of this. Reincarnation of Merlin. There was no point asking anymore.
Ethan's brow lifted. "The Horcruxes are mine."
He still needed the energy from the little Voldy cards inside them.
Snape: "..."
Who is trying to take them from you?!
This conversation was genuinely impossible.
Snape drained three more large mouthfuls of tea, jaw tight.
Then he paused. Worked his tongue against his teeth, frowning.
"What did you put in this tea? There's something off about it."
Ethan smiled and said nothing.
Snape: ?
The hand holding the teacup went very still.
"Never mind the details," Ethan said, waving a hand dismissively. "The priority is the Horcrux in Bellatrix's vault."
His reasoning was simple enough. There were not many of Voldemort's Horcruxes left. Better for him to deal with them personally than let Dumbledore blunder through it and end up destroying himself in the process.
Not, he reminded himself firmly, because the dark energy inside them interested him in the slightest.
Absolutely not.
"I need to know where Bellatrix hid her wand," Ethan said. "I need it to access her Gringotts vault."
Snape set down his teacup, his expression turning serious as he considered it carefully.
"When Bellatrix was captured, her home was searched from top to bottom. Her wand wasn't found — she must have hidden it elsewhere." He paused. "I don't know where it is. But it may be possible to go to Azkaban and… extract the information through certain methods." Another pause. "Though it would be inconvenient for me to go personally…"
The corner of Ethan's mouth curved upward. Those cobalt-blue eyes settled on Snape.
"Isn't there someone far better suited to the task?"
"The man who just left your office. Mr Yaxley — a Death Eater loyal to Voldemort."
Snape's fingers twitched. His eyes widened — just slightly.
Then he let out a short sound, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Nothing gets past you, does it… If these weren't my own quarters, I'd be checking for hidden surveillance devices."
Ethan: heh heh.
Snape: ?
Under Snape's startled stare, Ethan continued, "Yaxley isn't just a Death Eater — he's also a senior Ministry official. He'd have far easier access to this sort of intelligence than you would."
"…" Snape visibly suppressed the thoughts churning through his head. After a wary glance to either side, he said carefully, "Yaxley would be more convenient, yes. But what reason do we give him? That man isn't easily fooled."
Ethan laughed, easy and unhurried. "Professor Snape, where has your sharpness gone?"
He raised a hand. The terrible spiral mask slid back into place. He laced his fingers together and rested them on his crossed knee with the relaxed authority of someone who had already seen three moves ahead.
"Tell him this is Professor Unknown's next plan. I expect Mr Yaxley will be quite eager to prepare the ground himself."
Since this Death Eater wanted to come after him — then let him try.
You can do that?!
Snape's mouth opened slightly.
He stared at the face that inflicted psychological damage simply by existing and, beneath that alien exterior, caught the unmistakable shape of something far more unsettling.
Yaxley believed Snape was one of the Death Eaters Voldemort trusted most. He would never question the information. He would prepare everything himself, careful and self-satisfied, convinced no one could see him.
All the while, every move he made would be watched.
Like a spider observing a fly that has already tangled itself in the web.
Just as I said, Snape thought. Ask Ethan directly, and you'll get any answer you want.
He shook his head slowly, then let the corner of his mouth curl upward.
"Very well. I can manage that. With Dumbledore and me watching from the shadows, the intelligence will be genuine."
He picked up his teacup and raised it — with what, for Snape, came remarkably close to admiration.
"To your success, Professor Unknown."
"To success."
Ethan lifted his cup and tapped it lightly against Snape's with a quiet clink.
The fire crackled in the grate, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls.
Something dark and quietly conspiratorial settled over the room.
In that moment, it became genuinely difficult to tell which of them was supposed to be on the side of good.