It had undergone meticulous tanning and detailed painting.
At this moment, the skin of the original Voldemort's face lay quietly in Ethan's hand.
It had shed the raw, blood-red rawness of the past. It had become just like human skin, possessing a smooth, lustrous sheen. Even the curve of every arc was flawless.
Enhanced by cursed artifacts purchased from Borgin and Burkes, it had finally transformed into a mask capable of deceiving everyone.
"However, surely no student would be bold enough to try and peel off a professor's face, right?"
Ethan chuckled, sighing with feigned regret. "Why didn't I have such an interesting professor when I was in school?"
But it didn't matter.
As the saying goes, because one has been drenched in the rain, one wants to hold an umbrella for others.
Ethan promised that he would give these poor students the most wonderful Defense Against the Dark Arts experience imaginable.
Tentatively, Ethan lifted the mask and placed it upon his face.
It went on silky smooth, feeling light as air. His field of vision and ability to speak were completely unaffected.
It was just... the adhesion was a bit too perfect.
It was as if it had fully merged with his original skin, making it difficult to peel off.
"Little rascal," Ethan chuckled softly.
His tone was like that of a parent scolding a mischievous child.
Just then.
Knock, knock.
Mr. Lovegood knocked and entered the room.
In his hands, he carried a tray laden with hot tea and homemade cookies. He wore a cramped but kindly smile on his face.
"You've been up here for quite a while, Ethan."
"Come, take a break and have something to e—Hnnngh?!"
The moment his gaze landed...
On the face slowly turning toward him in the center of the room...
It was as if an invisible hand had violently seized Mr. Lovegood by the throat.
He let out a bizarre, strangled scream.
The tray in his hands flew upwards, sending cookies and hot tea scattering like flowers from a celestial maiden.
Thud.
Poor Mr. Lovegood collapsed backward onto the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head.
He fell into a sleep as deep as an infant's.
"My, my, Mr. Lovegood really loves to sleep. And at his age, too."
Ethan shook his head and scratched the mask on his face.
With a wave of his hand, he thoughtfully levitated two round cookies and placed them gently over Mr. Lovegood's eyes.
Hearing the commotion, Luna walked up from downstairs.
"Luna... run..." Mr. Lovegood mumbled unconsciously, twitching in pain.
"Hmm..."
Luna tilted her head, thinking for a moment.
She suddenly squatted down.
Using her wand, she conjured a white crayon. She then proceeded to earnestly draw a circle around Mr. Lovegood's body contour.
Then, she laughed happily.
"Li li~"
She looked up.
When she saw the current appearance of her childhood friend, she paused for a second.
Then, nodding with a hmm-hmm sound, she critiqued, "Very alien style."
The two looked at each other and shared a smile.
The afterglow of the setting sun paved over him, diffusing like slowly swirling golden dust. The atmosphere was just right.
Except for Mr. Lovegood, who was groaning in pain on the floor.
"No... Luna..."
As if sensing something, a single hot tear flowed from beneath the cookie covering Mr. Lovegood's eye.
—Today.
In this chess-piece-shaped rookery.
They were living yet another warm and peaceful daily life.
September 1st, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The whistling, dark red train was like a steel dragon. Carrying new hopes and expectations, it pulled away from the bustling platform, heading toward the land of sunshine and promise.
"I heard that Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports who hosted the Triwizard Tournament last term, was found to have shady dealings and massive debts. He's been taken away by Aurors for investigation!"
"There's a newly appointed Auror... apparently from a family over in France."
"Tsk, the Ministry of Magic is rotten to the core. Unless there's a massive purge, nothing will change."
"By the way, I wonder who our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is this year. 'Ann None'? No one in my family has heard that name."
"They wouldn't really make us learn wandless magic, would they? ...Hah, that's hilarious. How could we possibly learn that?"
Accompanied by conversations shifting from excitement to drowsiness, the sky gradually darkened.
The castle of Hogwarts, standing tall upon the cliff, appeared before their eyes.
In the Great Hall, embellished with thousands of floating candles, the Sorting Hat sang a different song this year compared to previous ones.
—In reality, this "tattered hat" sang a different song every year. According to the students, it spent the entire year coming up with those lousy lyrics.
Only this time, the meaning embedded in the lyrics was graver than ever before.
"The Dark Lord is rising," "Shadows are lurking nearby"?
Nearly Headless Nick looked puzzled and chuckled, "It sounds as if the Dark Lord is right here beside us."
The students stirred slightly, unsettled by the solemn lyrics. Associating it with the newspapers claiming "Voldemort's Resurrection," they began to feel panic rising.
But the moment they thought about it—
The most powerful Ethan Vincent was still right there with them!
Instantly, their hearts filled with a sense of security, and they relaxed.
After the Sorting Ceremony concluded, it was time for Headmaster Dumbledore's start-of-term speech.
The silver-haired old headmaster stepped forward. The orange candlelight illuminated the deep grooves lining his face. His silver hair and beard were like snow, and he wore a bright blue set of robes dotted with stars—an outfit seemingly at odds with his age—that shimmered and swayed with his movements.
His eyes were still piercing and bright.
However, only the most observant could detect a hint of exhaustion and haggardness on his face.
It was as if... he had been mentally tormented by some strange entity throughout the summer holidays.
"First, I would like to welcome our new students to the Hogwarts family," Dumbledore began. "For the next seven years, you will study magic here, going from empty vessels to being filled with knowledge—well, I must say, there may be a few who are 'leaky cauldrons'."
Dumbledore winked playfully, and the students roared with laughter.
A Hufflepuff freshman from a Muggle family had tears of excitement in his eyes. He murmured emotionally, "I didn't expect magic to really exist! And I get to learn it here! Heavens, I'm not dreaming, am I?"
A friendly voice sounded from beside him: "This is a reality more real than anything else."
The Hufflepuff freshman wiped his tears and said sincerely, "Haha, thank you for comforting me."
"No need to thank me, it's what I should do~"
The people here are so nice, the Hufflepuff freshman thought to himself.
I will definitely spend the most peaceful and happy seven years here!
On the podium, Dumbledore continued, "This year, there are two major changes."
"First, at the strong request of the Ministry of Magic, and out of consideration for the students' protection, Aurors have been dispatched to be stationed here at all times."
"Let us welcome Miss Connie Rosier and Mr. Corban Yaxley."
Scattered applause rang out.
Everyone looked with suspicious and wary eyes at the woman standing on one side of the Great Hall.
This made Connie's cheeks burn hot. She felt guilt torturing her soul.
What "protection"?
They were clearly here to investigate the true nature of Headmaster Dumbledore and Ethan.
After listening to the Headmaster's sincere words, Connie, who was full of a sense of justice, felt even more ashamed. She even began to feel that Headmaster Dumbledore had phrased it that way on purpose.
How is that possible? Headmaster Dumbledore is so kind. It must be that I have a guilty conscience and I'm overthinking it.
Connie bit her lower lip, unable to stop herself from glancing toward the Ravenclaw table.
Her gaze lingered for a long time on that black-haired figure.
Oh, my hero, the savior of the world, Ethan Vincent...
Her face flushed crimson, her red lips parted slightly, and she couldn't help but exhale a few heavy breaths.
Unfortunately, the angle was wrong, and she could only see the back of a handsome head.
It made Connie's heart ache with longing.
"...By the way, where has my colleague, Mr. Yaxley, gone?"
Connie wondered, puzzled.
For some reason, she had a faint, unsettling feeling.
Instinctively, she did not want to face the person Minister Scrimgeour had mentioned alone—the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who had unknown origins, no records, and was utterly mysterious.
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