The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind Ethan and Tonks, leaving the "Golden Trio" and Bill standing in the center of the office, staring at the two Horcruxes as if they might sprout legs and run.
As they walked down the spiral staircase, the cool, torch-lit air of the corridor hit them. Tonks let out a long, shaky exhale, her hair shifting from its defensive, neon orange to a soft, exhausted lavender.
"That was... close," she whispered, leaning briefly against a stone gargoyle for support. "Hermione is too smart for her own good. Another thirty seconds and she would've started performing a diagnostic charm on the air quality. My heart is still hammering."
"You did great," Ethan said, giving her a wink. "Though next time, maybe we should try a room that doesn't have a hundred talking paintings."
*****
Back inside the office, the silence didn't last long. One by one, the portraits began to flicker back into their frames, moving cautiously like survivors returning to a blast zone after a nuclear event.
Phineas Nigellus Black was the first to reappear, his painted face looking physically pained. He immediately grabbed a silk handkerchief from his pocket and began aggressively wiping the "clean" air in front of his nose.
"THEY ARE GONE!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the rafters. "The barbarians have finally retreated! But the stain remains! I can still feel the... the heat of their sheer indecency! It's stuck to the canvas!"
"Oh, shut it, Phineas," Dilys Derwent snapped, fanning herself vigorously with a painted fan. Her cheeks were still a rosy, scandalized pink. "It was the most excitement this office has seen since the 17th-century goblin rebellions. At least the boy has stamina. Most wizards today can't even hold a Shield Charm for ten minutes without needing a nap and a biscuit."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared up at the wall in utter confusion.
"What are they talking about?" Ron asked, looking between the portraits. "Stamina? Heat? Did something happen while we were at Grimmauld Place? Did Ethan fight off another wave of Death Eaters in here?"
Hermione didn't answer. She was currently leaning over Dumbledore's desk, squinting at a very specific, slightly darker spot on the mahogany that the Scourgify had missed in the rush. She reached out a finger, touched a tiny, overlooked droplet of moisture, and brought it to her nose.
Her eyes went wide. Her pupils dilated for a split second before she slowly wiped her hand on her robes, her face turning a shade of red so deep it rivaled the Gryffindor banners.
"We are... not going to talk about it," Hermione said, her voice an octave higher than usual and strangely strained. "Ever. Harry, put the Diadem somewhere else. Ron, don't touch anything on this desk. Especially not the surface. Don't even breathe on it."
"Why?" Ron asked, reaching for a lemon drop. "It looks cleaner than the Great Hall table to me."
"RONALD!"
Ron jumped, nearly knocking over a silver instrument. "Bloody hell, Hermione! What's crawled up your robes and died?"
*****
Ethan didn't bother looking for a guest room or the Gryffindor tower. It was nearly dawn, and the "Adamantine Focus" was finally wearing off, leaving a pleasant but heavy ache in his bones. He found an empty classroom on the fifth floor, waved his hand to manifest a soft, silken mattress from his dimensional pocket, and collapsed onto it before his boots were even off.
As he drifted into the void, the System gave one last, glowing chime in the darkness of his mind.
[ System Status ]
Current Synchronization: Albus Dumbledore β 98%.
Casualty Count: 0.
Note: Significant 'Biological Data' exchanged with local Metamorphmagus. You're doing great, kid. Just... try not to dream about the Dumbledore-face incident. Even I have limits.
"Go to hell, System," Ethan muttered into his pillow, already half-asleep.
*****
While the light side was dealing with the "afterglow" of Ethan's arrival, a much darker scene was unfolding miles away at Malfoy Manor.
The drawing room was freezing, the air thick with the scent of dried blood and ancient terror. Lord Voldemort sat at the head of the long table, his pale, serpentine fingers stroking the head of Nagini, who lay coiled like a living shadow at his feet.
Severus Snape stood before him, his face a flawless mask of stone. Beside him, Draco Malfoy was trembling so violently his teeth were audible in the silence. Narcissa Malfoy stood in the corner, her hands clenched so tight her nails were drawing blood from her palms.
"You tell me, Severus," Voldemort's voice was a soft, high-pitched silk that made the skin crawl, "that the plan... the plan I spent months perfecting... failed because of a single person?"
"He was an anomaly, My Lord," Snape said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, a masterpiece of Occlumency. "He appeared on the tower through a spatial rift I have never seen. He utilized magic without a wandβhe conjured a shield of pure energy that absorbed the Killing Curse as if it were mere sparks."
Voldemort's red eyes narrowed into slits. "No wand? No incantation? You suggest there is a wizard in Britain more powerful than Dumbledore... and I have never heard of him?"
"He called himself Ethan Williams," Snape continued, hiding the memory of Ethan's smirk and Dumbledore's sudden, miraculous recovery. "He was not a member of the Order. He seemed... bored by us. He dispatched the Carrows and Greyback with a flick of his wrist. I judged that a tactical retreat was necessary to preserve young Malfoy and the secrets I hold."
"A tactical retreat," Voldemort hissed. He stood up, his robes flowing like smoke. He moved toward Snape, his presence filling the room with a crushing, suffocating darkness. "And Dumbledore? You saw him fall?"
"I did not see him fall, but he was inflicted with the curse of the ring. I believe he has reached his end," Snape lied, the words sliding out with practiced ease.
"Excuses!" A high-pitched, inhuman scream of rage erupted from Voldemort. He slashed his wand through the air, and the massive crystal chandelier above the table shattered into a thousand jagged shards, raining down like diamonds on the terrified Malfoys.
"If you did not see his body, then he is still an obstacle!" Voldemort breathed, his voice trembling with a cold, murderous promise. "Find him. Find this Ethan Williams. I want to know where he comes from. I want to know how he defies the laws of magic. And when I am done with him... I want his head on a spike at the gates of Hogwarts."
He turned back to the window, staring toward the distant horizon. He didn't know it yet, but two of his horcruxes were currently sitting on a mahogany desk, and the man he was hunting was currently fast asleep, dreaming of anything but the Dark Lord's wrath.
Author's Note:
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