The golden interface of the System was still flickering in Ethan's peripheral vision, the words SSS Grade glowing with a prestige that made his inner gamer purr. He was busy wondering what kind of "Legendary Item" was waiting for him when the physical world decided to remind him it existed.
A blur of bubblegum-pink hair slammed into his chest.
"We did it!" Tonks laughed, her arms wrapping around his neck in a crushing hug. She didn't give him a chance to respond before she pulled him down into a searing, breathless kiss right in the middle of the smoking courtyard.
Ethan stumbled back, catching his balance and returning the embrace. Around them, the silence of the aftermath was being broken by the sounds of a waking world.
He looked over Tonks's shoulder at the scene. The castle was a wreckâspires were chipped, the Great Hall's roof had a new "skylight," and the courtyard was a graveyard of stone statues and dark-robed bodies. But the air... the air was different. The oily, suffocating weight of Voldemort's presence had evaporated.
Exhausted students were helping each other up. Neville was leaning on the Sword of Gryffindor like a cane, Ginny beside him. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were huddled together, looking like they had aged ten years in a single night, but their smiles were genuine.
Dumbledore met Ethan's gaze from across the rubble. The Headmaster looked younger, his back straight and his blue eyes clear. He gave Ethan a slow, profound nod of gratitudeâa silent acknowledgment that the "variable" had done exactly what it was meant to do.
The news of the Dark Lord's final fall didn't just spread; it exploded. By noon, owls were clogging the skies over Britain. The Daily Prophet's printing presses were likely melting under the strain of a "HE IS GONE" headline that actually meant it this time.
The political landscape was shifting beneath everyone's feet.
Death Eaters who hadn't been captured or turned to ash were currently making a desperate run for the coast.
The "Grey" families were suddenly claiming they had been under the Imperius Curse the whole time.
The Malfoys: Thanks to Severus Snape's clinical, cold testimonyâand the fact that Draco had stood in the line for Hogwartsâthe Malfoys were being "whitewashed." Snape had suggested a narrative of deep-cover sabotage, and the Ministry, desperate for a clean ending, was happy to accept it.
By evening, the Great Hall was packed. It wasn't the orderly, house-separated banquet of the past. Gryffindors were sitting with Slytherins; the Order members were squeezed onto benches next to terrified first-years; and Hufflepuffs were sharing drinks with the animated stone knights that had survived the night.
The mood was a chaotic mix of mourning and absolute ecstasy. The story was already growingâhow Neville had slain the snake, how Harry and Albus had stood as one, and, of course, the legend of the "Stranger from the Stars."
Ethan sat on the high podium, flanked by McGonagall and Snape. Minerva looked like she wanted to cry and give Ethan a detention at the same time. Snape, true to form, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, though he didn't pull his hand away when a younger student came up to thank him.
Dumbledore stood, and the Hall went silent.
"We have lost much," Dumbledore began, his voice amplified by the quiet magic of the room. "But we have gained a future that, only days ago, seemed like a distant dream. We owe our lives to the bravery of our students, the resilience of our staff, and the dedication of the Order."
He paused, turning his head toward the man in the leather jacket.
"But tonight, I must speak of a friend. A man who appeared when our darkest hour was upon us. A man who asked for nothing, yet gave us the strength to break our chains." Dumbledore raised his golden goblet. "To Ethan Williams. The Sorcerer of Hogwarts. He didn't just fight for us; he showed us that we were never truly destined to lose."
"TO ETHAN WILLIAMS!" the Hall roared.
Hundreds of goblets were raised. The sound was deafening, a wave of pure, unfiltered joy.
****
The celebration in the Great Hall continued to roar below, but the atmosphere in the Headmaster's office was far more intimate. The air was thick with the scent of expensive sherry, aged parchment, and the heavy, sweet relief of a victory no one truly thought would be this clean.
Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair, looking less like a war general and more like a man at the start of a very long, very deserved vacation. McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape stood by the periphery, while Tonks leaned against a bookshelf, her eyes never straying far from Ethan.
"Seriously, everyone," Ethan laughed, holding up a glass of the amber liquid. "If I hear 'thank you' one more time, I'm going to start charging by the syllable. I didn't come here to be a saint; I came to fix a mess."
"Nevertheless, Mr. Williams," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling with a clarity that seemed to pierce right through the room. "You have saved the very soul of this world. We find ourselves in the rare position of being in your debtâa debt that Hogwarts cannot easily repay. Is there truly nothing this reality can offer you in return? A title? A permanent seat on the board?"
Ethan leaned back, a calculating look crossing his face. He'd played the hero, but the "Master of the Mystic Arts" in him was still a collector at heart. He didn't need a job in a castle that was still missing half its battlements.
"You want to return the favor? Fine," Ethan said, crossing his arms. "Then let's skip the medals. I want the Deathly Hallows."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop five degrees. Flitwick's glass paused halfway to his mouth, and McGonagall let out a sharp, audible gasp. Even Snape's eyebrows performed a rare, synchronized twitch of disbelief.
Dumbledore, however, didn't look shocked. He looked almost... relieved.
"The Hallows," he repeated softly, the name hanging in the air like a heavy spell. "A dangerous request, Mr. Ethan. Many have lost their minds and their lives chasing that trinity. Given the strength you have displayedâstrength that makes my own look like parlor tricksâI must ask: what use could a Master of the Mystic Arts have for such trinkets?"
"Don't be so stiff, Albus," Ethan chuckled, swirling his drink. "Call me a collector. Before I head back to my own reality, I'd like to take a few high-end souvenirs. Think of it as a memento of the time I saved a bunch of wizards from a snake-faced egomaniac with an identity crisis."
Dumbledore smiledâa genuine, weary smileâand reached into the depths of his robes. He pulled out a wand. It was knobby, strange, and pulsed with a low-frequency hum of ancient, cold power that Ethan could feel vibrating in his own teeth.
"I cannot be more relieved to see it go," Dumbledore said, placing the Elder Wand on the desk between them. "This wand has brought nothing but blood and sorrow for centuries. It is a burden disguised as a gift."
"As for the others... the Invisibility Cloak is with Harry. It is his birthright, though I suspect he would part with it for you, if asked. And the Resurrection Stone..." He sighed, his gaze drifting to the window. "It lies somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, dropped during my journey to the tower. But I must warn you, it does not truly bring back the dead. It only creates a shadow."
"I know the pitch, Albus," Ethan interrupted with a smirk. "I'm not looking to raise the dead. I'm looking to complete a set."
"Albus!" McGonagall interjected, her eyes darting between the wand and the Headmaster. "If you give him that... what will you do? You are still the Headmaster. To be without your wandâ"
"Minerva, please," Dumbledore said, his voice soft but absolute. "If not for Mr. Williams, I would have died on that tower, and this wand would have passed to a murderer. Better to send it to a good hand, and perhaps a different universe entirely. Besides..." He looked at his hands, then back at the room with a wise, knowing smile. "I am not the greatest wizard in Britain because of a stick of wood. I am Albus Dumbledore because of who I am. The wand was just... an accessory."
'Damn,' Ethan thought, a grin tugging at his lips. 'This old guy is really out here farming "aura" right now. Respect.'
*****
As Ethan reached out and closed his fingers around the knobby wood of the Elder Wand, a familiar, translucent window flickered into life.
[ Side Mission: Master of the Hallows ]
Status: 1/3 (Elder Wand Secured)
Note: Careful, Host. Power like this tends to go to the head. Oh wait, I forgot who I was talking to.
The tension in the room broke as Flitwick began recounting the look on a giant's face when his own club turned into a giant marshmallow, and McGonagall actually cracked a smile at the memory of a suit of armor sitting on a Snatcher.
"Alright, alright," Ethan said, standing up and stretching. The weight of the night was finally hitting him. "I'm heading to my room. I'll do the scavenger hunt for the stone tomorrow. And Harry... I'll talk to him later."
"A wise choice, Mr. Williams," Dumbledore nodded.
Author's Note:
Want to read advanced chapter with image illustrations subscribe to my patreon.
đ patreon.com/evilUchiha