The Necronomicon, pulsing with absorbed life force, began to glow faintly. Its pages, once brittle and fused together, softened like well-worn leather. The tome was massive—larger than an Oxford dictionary—and far too heavy to hold comfortably. Ethan Vincent, with his usual flair, simply plopped down cross-legged on the cold stone floor. He set his heavy hammer, its surface writhing with the faint, eerie wails of trapped souls, beside him with a resonant clang. Then, with a glint of mischief in his eyes, he dove into the book's contents, utterly engrossed.
The Most Immersive Chapter Yet
The later pages chronicled the book's previous owner—a figure of relentless curiosity. They detailed expeditions to remote villages where dark rituals had summoned malevolent spirits, investigations into why castle walls groaned under unseen weight, and treks up the jagged, surreal peaks of the Mountains of Madness. The writer, Ethan noted with a smirk, must have been absurdly fit. One punch from them could probably flatten ten Lord Voldemorts.
"How inspiring," Ethan muttered, a pang of envy flickering through him. Though the text was biographical, its vivid prose and intricate illustrations sparked something in him. Inspiration +1, he thought, chuckling at his own mental tally.
Then he stumbled upon a passage in Mr. Black's jagged handwriting:
"I've finally found a way to keep my daughter human during the full moon—but it's not enough. Her blood still carries the taint of a werewolf. How can the noble House of Black tolerate such impurity?"
Ethan's brow furrowed. Typical pure-blood nonsense, obsessing over lineage as if it defined worth. The words dripped with outdated pride, reinforcing every stereotype he'd ever heard about the Black family.
"My ultimate goal," the text continued, "is to purge this impure blood from her veins entirely. I've studied the Necronomicon through sleepless nights and uncovered something extraordinary!"
But then—nothing. The entry ended abruptly.
Ethan blinked. "That's it?" He flipped through the pages, incredulous, only to confirm the writer had stopped mid-thought. "Are you kidding me? What did you find?!" he growled, half-expecting the book to answer. "Did you learn cliffhangers from some hack novelist?"
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Ethan muttered, "The Black family residence. Looks like I'm headed there."
Perfect. He'd been itching to learn more about this mysterious Mr. Black and his daughter. The Black ancestral home, now the Order of the Phoenix's secret headquarters in their fight against Voldemort, was hidden from prying eyes. Ethan tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"If I just waltz up to Professor Lupin or Dumbledore and say I want to visit the Order's base, they'll probably dig into my entire life story," he mused. "But luckily, I've got a better option—Sirius Black."
A wicked grin spread across his face, equal parts charming and unsettling. "Good thing you broke out of Azkaban, Sirius. Saves me the trouble of springing you myself. I bet you're dying to go home—your mother's portrait must be so eager to see you."
Ethan shot to his feet, pumping a fist in the air. "Operation [Sirius Welcome Plan] is a go!" He paused, then coughed. "Not 'capture.' Welcome. Wizards don't 'capture' people. How uncivilized."
Just then, a single page slipped from the Necronomicon, gliding down like butter scraped with a hot knife. Ethan caught it with a flick of his wand, magic humming in the air.
"You have obtained the extraordinary material 'A Corner of Territory,'" he read aloud, as if the book itself had spoken. "A small piece of land you can carry in your pocket. Said to originate from a lord obsessed with controlling the earth beneath him—and he succeeded. Draw on it, and it unfurls, pulling nearby creatures into its world. Soul fusion increased by 1%."
With a rush, Ethan's depleted magic reserves surged back to full, his very hair seeming to shimmer with renewed energy. "Well, that's refreshing!" he exclaimed, squinting happily. He studied the page—[A Corner of Territory]—a palm-sized canvas, soft as silk.
"It's like a portable Ancient City of Sen!" Ethan marveled, stroking the material. "Not as grand as a mural, but perfect for a surprise attack. Maybe I'll use it to paint a trap for Sirius."
Tucking the canvas into his pocket, he glanced at the faint golden glow flickering in the mist at the river's end. With a satisfied nod, he hefted his hammer and strode back toward the door he'd entered through. Tonight had been a treasure trove of gains.
Meanwhile, in the dense forest near Luna Lovegood's home, a group of wizard villagers huddled in the underbrush, trembling. Their eyes were fixed on a towering white door, its surface etched with serpentine patterns. Not long ago, blood-curdling screams had echoed from within, accompanied by a bone-chilling cold that seeped into their very souls. They were certain: this was the fabled Gate of Hell.
"Has it come to this? Summoning demons?" the lead wizard whispered, swallowing hard. Determination flashed in his eyes. "We can't let this continue! We must stop this evil before it spreads!"
"Stop the evil!" the others echoed, psyching themselves up.
The door rumbled open.
Every wizard held their breath, expecting a grotesque demon to emerge. Instead, out stepped a masked figure, his silver-white hammer slung over his shoulder. Blood-red eyeballs embedded in the weapon's handle swiveled in unison, locking onto the villagers. Their vision warped, colors twisting and flickering wildly.
The masked man turned, as if sensing their presence. A gust of wind lifted his cloak, revealing a sharp jawline and lips curling into a predatory grin—like a butcher spotting fresh game.
"—AHH!" Screams tore through the forest as the villagers scrambled to flee.
Ethan, standing outside the door, adjusted the Ergani Skirt draped over his shoulders and blinked innocently. "So shy," he sighed. He'd only wanted to say hello. Oh well—next time.
Days later, Ethan met Harry Potter at the Leaky Cauldron to shop for school supplies in Diagon Alley.
"Ethan! Been a while," Harry said, eyeing his friend warily. "Did you… take up dragon hunting or something?"
Ethan cut a striking figure: a brimmed cowboy hat perched jauntily on his head, leather armor hugging his frame, high boots gleaming, a silver rope spear slung across his back, and chains rattling at his waist. He looked less like a student shopping for books and more like a bounty hunter prowling Diagon Alley's cobbled streets. He was, without question, a walking spectacle.
Harry noticed the young witches nearby stealing glances, their whispers following Ethan like a spotlight. Even Gilderoy Lockhart's fanfare last year paled in comparison. Ron, my eternal wingman, save me from this attention, Harry thought, shrinking under the stares.
Ethan, oblivious to the fuss, flashed a grin. "Half right, Harry." He slapped the chains at his waist with a theatrical clatter. "I'm hunting a big Black dog. Might be as tricky as a dragon."
Harry blinked, picturing Ethan wrestling some monstrous pet. "Right. Let's hit the bookstore first."
As third-years, they had electives to prepare for, meaning more books to buy. "Did you pick Divination, Ethan?" Harry asked, recalling Ethan's earlier debate about the subject. He'd once quipped, "What if I study for a semester and don't grow a third eye?"
"Nah," Ethan said cheerfully. "Figured out I can audit it if I'm curious. No exams, just vibes."
Harry stared, awestruck. Auditing a class? Is this what a top student does? He'd barely survived picking his own electives.
At Flourish and Blotts, Ethan handed his booklist to a frazzled shop assistant wearing thick gloves. "I need The Monster Book of Monsters," he said politely.
The assistant's face fell, as if Ethan had asked for his soul. He gestured to a cage where a brown, furry book snarled and snapped. Ethan peered at it, murmuring, "If I ever become a professor, I'm picking textbooks this wild. Maybe even writing my own."
Harry forced a laugh. "As long as you're happy." Thank Merlin I'll be long gone from Hogwarts by then.
The assistant, looking defeated, handed Ethan the writhing book. "Be careful—it bites!"
But the moment the book touched Ethan's hands, it stilled, purring like a contented kitten. The assistant's jaw dropped. "How…?"
Ethan stroked the book's bristly cover, grinning. "Good boy~" The book trembled, utterly subdued.
Along with The Monster Book of Monsters, Ethan grabbed Elementary Ancient Runes, Ancient Runes Reference Chart, Unfogging the Future, and Intermediate Transfiguration. Harry, meanwhile, pointed at a book called Omens of Death. "Says here a black dog is the worst omen there is."
Ethan glanced at the cover, which showed a bear-sized black dog oozing menace. "If that's true, we could just air-drop a pack of them on our enemies. Instant victory."
Harry stared, speechless, a faint unease creeping in. His eyes drifted to a nearby newspaper clipping about Sirius Black's Azkaban escape. The wild, snarling face in the photo screamed "dangerous madman." Minister Fudge had warned Harry: Sirius was Voldemort's loyal follower, and he was after him.
Noticing Harry's tension, Ethan snapped his fingers, his silver spear glinting dangerously close to Harry's face. "Don't worry, mate," he said, his smile equal parts reassuring and unhinged. "I'll catch that 'inauspicious' dog and prove I'm the ultimate King of Omens."
Harry relaxed instantly. With Ethan around, even Sirius Black's menacing mugshot looked oddly… tame. No omen, no matter how grim, stood a chance against Ethan's chaotic confidence.
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