After breakfast, Harry followed Oliver Wood and the rest of the team away from the Gryffindor table, while Ron and Hermione headed back toward the common room. Most of the Gryffindor students were already preparing banners, noise-makers, and every kind of cheering prop imaginable for the Quidditch match later that day.
Before Cohen could join them, however, Professor Quirrell intercepted him outside the Great Hall and quietly led him toward his office.
The moment they entered, Quirrell shut the door firmly behind them and immediately cast a Silencing Charm over the room. His nervous eyes darted toward the windows before he lowered his voice to a whisper.
"The Dark Lord has a plan."
Ethan leaned against the wall casually, already guessing where this was headed.
"We're going to kill Harry Potter together."
"Thank God," Ethan said with exaggerated relief. "You finally came to your senses."
Quirrell blinked in confusion for a moment before continuing eagerly.
"Today is the perfect opportunity. Once Potter gets on his broom, we'll curse it together. Everyone will think it was an accident during the match."
"A first-year making a fatal mistake in his first game?" Ethan nodded thoughtfully. "Reasonable. Very believable."
Quirrell looked delighted that he understood so quickly.
"The spell is—"
"Wait."
Ethan raised a hand before Quirrell could continue. He had absolutely no intention of becoming Voldemort's unpaid employee.
Quirrell stopped mid-sentence. "What?"
"I've spent quite a lot of time and effort helping you lately," Ethan said slowly. "There's also the matter of personal risk."
"Risk?"
Quirrell stared at him blankly, clearly unable to follow his logic.
Ethan extended a hand toward him.
Quirrell hesitated for a second, apparently assuming the boy wanted some kind of handshake, and awkwardly placed his own hand on top of Ethan's.
Ethan immediately recoiled in disgust.
"What are you doing?"
"You held out your hand!"
"I was asking for payment," Ethan snapped. "Helping you murder a classmate carries serious professional hazards. I already paid my tuition this year. If the other professors discover I participated in killing Harry Potter, who's compensating me for my financial losses?"
Quirrell opened and closed his mouth several times.
Apparently, this was not the reaction Voldemort had predicted.
The Dark Lord's glorious plans were obviously far more important than a few Galleons, but Quirrell reluctantly admitted that this child's priorities were… unusual.
After fumbling awkwardly through his robes, Quirrell finally pulled out three gold Galleons and dropped them into Ethan's palm.
"Harry is my closest friend," Ethan said sadly. "My brother. We sleep in the same dormitory every night."
He looked down at the three coins with visible disappointment.
"You're trying to buy betrayal and murder with this?"
Quirrell twitched nervously.
"The Hogwarts professors earn at least a hundred and fifty Galleons a month," Ethan continued calmly. "Frankly, this rate is insulting."
"You want more?"
"There's emotional damage involved."
Quirrell looked as though he regretted starting this conversation at all.
Several painful minutes later, Ethan finally left the office with a heavy coin purse containing a full one hundred and eighty Galleons. Only then did he reluctantly agree to participate in the plan.
In truth, Ethan knew the scheme was doomed from the beginning.
There were too many professors watching the match today. Even if Harry somehow fell off his broom, there was almost no chance he would actually die. Ethan strongly suspected Voldemort simply wanted revenge after Harry's humiliating defeat during Halloween. Being destroyed by a first-year wielding a basic enchanted gauntlet had probably wounded the Dark Lord's pride more than his soul.
"Have you memorised the spell?" Quirrell asked anxiously before Ethan left.
"I have."
Ethan casually demonstrated it toward Quirrell's turban.
The scarf instantly unravelled and fell off his head.
A pale, flattened face suddenly appeared on the back of Quirrell's skull. The icy winter air hit Voldemort directly, causing him to sneeze violently before he could react.
For one glorious second, both sides of Quirrell's head looked equally horrified.
"If you still don't believe me," Ethan offered politely, "I can demonstrate again."
"No need!"
Quirrell nearly screamed the words. He scrambled frantically to wrap the turban back around his head before Voldemort exploded in fury.
The sudden exposure left Quirrell visibly shivering.
Ethan clicked his tongue sympathetically.
No wonder bald people wore hats during winter.
Unfortunately, Quirrell did not appreciate the concern. He immediately shoved Ethan out of the office before another accident could occur.
Carrying the heavy purse of gold, Ethan returned to Gryffindor Tower in an excellent mood.
The common room had become complete chaos.
Students were running around carrying piles of red-and-gold decorations, enchanted banners, and bizarre homemade cheering devices. One enormous banner appeared to have been made from an old bedsheet stained by something deeply suspicious.
Ethan examined it carefully before his expression soured.
Peter Pettigrew had probably wet the bed again.
Disgusting.
Across the fabric, bright red letters repeatedly flashed:
POTTER WILL WIN
"Ethan!" Ron shouted excitedly while waving the banner overhead. "Look what Hermione did! The paint moves by itself!"
"There's no need to swing it around," Ethan said, dodging quickly. "I can already see it."
He had no desire whatsoever to touch anything that might have come from Pettigrew's bed.
Ron grinned proudly anyway.
"Now Harry will definitely notice us from the air!" He finally spotted the heavy purse in Ethan's hand. "Wait—what's that?"
"My salary," Ethan replied smoothly. "I've been doing extra work for Professor Quirrell on weekends."
Ron stared at him in disbelief.
"Professors pay students?"
"Some professors value talent."
Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously but said nothing.
Ethan casually tossed the purse once in his hand before changing the subject.
"What time does the match start? We should grab seats early."
"The higher rows are best," he added. "Better view."
In reality, he wanted the best possible angle to monitor Harry.
Although he had accepted Quirrell's money, Ethan had absolutely no intention of helping murder his roommate. By the time the match began, Snape, Quirrell, and Ethan himself would all be casting spells toward Harry's broomstick. Quirrell would never know whether Ethan was sabotaging the broom or secretly counteracting the curse.
After Ethan's reminder, the Gryffindors immediately rushed toward the Quidditch pitch much earlier than necessary, determined to seize the highest seats before Slytherin could claim them.
As if seating position somehow affected the outcome of the match.
By the time they reached the enormous circular stadium, students from every House were already scattered through the stands. The weather was bright and clear, and excitement buzzed through the crowd. Everyone wanted to see the famous Harry Potter play his first official Quidditch match.
"Hagrid?" Hermione called in surprise.
The giant gamekeeper was already sitting near the top row, looking unusually tense. His massive hands kept clenching and unclenching nervously.
"Course I'm here," Hagrid said thickly. "It's Harry's first match."
His black beetle-like eyes glistened suspiciously.
"Just like his dad…"
He sniffed loudly through his nose before shifting aside to make room for them.
"Yeh can sit here if yeh want."
Most of the Gryffindor students politely declined.
It was not that Hagrid frightened them exactly. The real problem was that sitting beside him carried a significant risk of accidental elbow-related injuries whenever he became emotional.
Ethan, Ron, and Hermione settled nearby anyway.
Barely five seconds after sitting down, both Ethan and Hermione simultaneously pulled books from their bags and began reading.
Ron stared at them in horror.
"You two cannot be serious. It's Saturday."
"Waiting for the match is boring," Ethan replied reasonably without looking up from his book. "Besides, we only have seven years at Hogwarts. If you subtract holidays, we have approximately two hundred and sixty-six weeks left to study. Time is precious."
Hermione hummed approvingly beside him while turning a page.
"That sounds exactly like my cousin after he caught dragon pox," Ron muttered. "He kept talking about how little time he had left to live."
"We actually have six and a half years remaining," Hermione corrected automatically. "Not hundreds of years, Ron. You should spend more time studying."
Ron looked personally betrayed.
Ethan wisely chose not to comment further.
The "two hundred and sixty-six weeks" speech was mostly nonsense anyway. He had no interest in becoming one of those terrifying academic obsessives who treated every waking moment like an exam review session.
The real reason he was studying was much simpler.
He urgently needed to learn the counter-curse to Quirrell's broom-jinx before the match started. Otherwise, if he joined the spellcasting later and accidentally strengthened the curse instead of weakening it, Harry might genuinely fall off his broom. At the very least, Ethan needed to make it look convincing enough that Quirrell believed he was helping sabotage the match.
....
Join my P@treon FOR FREE and get 5 advanced chapters.
Paid members can get upto 60+ chapters ahead of the public release.
Link : [email protected]/thebookaddict