Horace Slughorn. He was the former Head of Slytherin House and a Professor of Potions. He was also the direct catalyst that led to Tom Riddle becoming a "Voldemort divided by seven."
When Dumbledore spoke those words, the members of the Order of the Phoenix felt their breath hitch, their expressions turning solemn.
"Voldemort's Mentor"—that was a title that would bring indelible infamy to anyone's head. For anyone with even a shred of conscience, even if they had taught him something unintentionally, the guilt and fear would follow them like a shadow through every subsequent tragedy for the rest of their lives.
Any normal person would understand how terrifying such a charge was.
...Except for Ethan.
"So?" Ethan spread his hands, looking genuinely puzzled. "Voldemort's mentor? What's the big deal?"
He tilted his head and said with total sincerity:
"In our first year, we were taught by Quirrell, who was literally being remote-controlled by Voldemort. Our Potions Professor has always been a former Death Eater. During the Triwizard Tournament in our fourth year, Voldemort even 'personally graced' us with his presence to conduct a practical, hands-on teaching session through 'edutainment.' Slughorn just answered a few of Voldemort's questions—why is everyone so envious of that?"
If you really wanted to look at it that way, everyone at Hogwarts could be considered Voldemort's students!
The crowd: "..."
Who exactly is envious?! And please stop treating Voldemort like some kind of 'Outstanding Alumnus'!
...Though, strictly speaking in terms of "achievements," Voldemort had indeed reached the pinnacle.
Kingsley Shacklebolt looked on in shock. "Is this kid's brain even wired like a human's...?"
Meeting Ethan's earnest gaze, Dumbledore let out a helpless smile. He decided to skip the topic and continued:
"In any case, if you are willing, we can attempt to invite this retired Potions Professor to join us. Personally, I believe he would be of great help. However—to convince him, I'm afraid you'll have to make a personal appearance."
Dumbledore gave Ethan a knowing wink.
Hearing this, Ethan lowered his head in thought for a moment before slowly nodding. "Very well. Mr. Slughorn seems like he could be an enthusiastic talent."
Beyond the Horcrux memories, Slughorn himself was a Potions Master with an incredibly vast network of connections. If there was a better way to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic and step behind the Veil, Ethan didn't mind trying it.
Furthermore—
"I would be quite saddened if the poor old professor were killed by Dark Wizards because I changed the course of fate," Ethan lamented with deep sincerity. "It would be much better to bring him here and place him under my... protection."
The crowd couldn't help but groan internally.
Being under your 'protection' sounds infinitely more dangerous.
In their hearts, they silently lit a candle for the retired professor who was about to meet his doom.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as he beamed. "I imagine Mr. Slughorn would be delighted to know such an outstanding student is concerned for him."
He offered his arm to Ethan, signaling their departure. "No time like the present. Shall we pay him a visit immediately?"
"Hmph," Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Apparition? How utterly inelegant."
With a wave of his hand, a pitch-black door appeared before them. It resembled an elevator door, adorned with a semi-circular dial and a ticking pointer.
Ethan spoke to the door: "Horace Slughorn."
As the words fell, the pointer began to spin rapidly, and the internal mechanisms of the dial whirred without pause. Finally, with a sharp ding, the pointer stopped over the words: Budleigh Babberton.
The dark passage within the doorway began to rotate, eventually revealing a scene of a manor under the moonlight.
"Incredible..." Dumbledore's eyes widened. "A fusion of the owl's unique tracking magic, isn't it? Truly the work of a genius, Mr. Vincent. If we were currently at school, I would certainly award Ravenclaw ten points."
"Thank you for the compliment, Professor Dumbledore."
Ethan's lips curled into a smirk. He turned back to the stunned members of the Order.
"In a few days, members of the Enlightenment Society will contact you regarding the search missions. You may begin packing your bags."
"...But," Hestia Jones raised her hand, frowning. "We all have official duties and important business. We can't just drop everything to focus on the—ta—sk—"
Her words died in her throat.
Her mouth hung open as she stared at the gold and jewels pouring from Ethan's hand like a landslide of sand. They piled up on the floor like a small mountain, making the dim hall significantly brighter.
Gulp.
Hestia clearly heard the sound of her colleagues loudly swallowing their saliva.
"I know you all do what you do without seeking reward," Ethan said mildly. "This is just a small token of my appreciation. The journey ahead will require you to give up a lot; please, at least allow me to cover your living expenses—"
Before he could finish, a wizard sprang up, eyes gleaming with excitement. He gave a fervent bow.
"Dedalus Diggle is at your service!!"
After being poor for so many years, they finally had a leader who threw money around like water! What "Order of the Phoenix"? From this day forward, he was the most loyal follower of the Enlightenment Society! (Not really... but almost.)
Though Dumbledore was wealthy, his finances were monitored by the Ministry; he couldn't just scatter gold as he pleased.
Hestia Jones gripped the hem of her clothes, her face stiff. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the glittering hoard of wealth. Finally, with a resigned expression, she nodded slowly.
"Then I shall look forward to your good news," Ethan chuckled. He turned and made a "please" gesture to Dumbledore.
The two of them stepped through the Anywhere Door one after the other, their figures appearing on the other side.
Snap.
The door vanished.
Looking at the empty room, it took a long time for the Order members to recover. They let out long breaths and collapsed into their seats, their eyes hollow and exhausted. In just a short moment, they felt as though they had been swept into a mad, extravagant dream.
Like a violent storm, Ethan had effortlessly shredded their original plans and dragged them into his own rhythm without leaving any room for negotiation.
"Hmph!"
Mad-Eye Moody gave a heavy grunt, tipped back a flask of firewhiskey, and growled, "I'm heading out. If I have a choice, I'm going to Germany." He bared his teeth in a grotesque, brutal grin. "I hear there are plenty of Dark Wizards over there."
Kingsley, the dark-skinned Auror, looked at his senior with disapproval but said nothing. Finally, he just sighed heavily and lamented:
"What a terrifying young man... For better or worse, Ethan Vincent is destined to leave his mark on history."
His impact would surely be far more vivid and unstoppable than that of Grindelwald or Voldemort.
"I just hope when Ethan breaks into the Ministry again, he doesn't cause too much of a scene... though, ha, it'll definitely be a massive mess by then."
As for Ethan slipping in silently? Don't even think about it—it was impossible. Kingsley gave a bitter laugh and shook his head, feeling like a parent dealing with an utterly unreasonable, overpowered brat.
Pushing the thought aside for now, he stood up and prepared to return to the Ministry to tackle his mountain of paperwork.
Budleigh Babberton.
This was a small Muggle village that rarely saw visitors. However, tonight, two "uninvited guests" had arrived.
Under the deep cover of night, facing a Muggle manor, a door opened silently. Two figures stepped out.
Dumbledore: "Let me see... Hmm, according to my information, Mr. Slughorn is hiding in this Muggle residence. Your 'Anywhere Door' is remarkably precise, Mr. Vincent."
Ethan: "I've opened your eyes, haven't I, Old Dumbledore? No need to thank me."
Dumbledore turned his head away, suddenly appearing very interested in the patterns on the iron fence. "The door isn't locked. It looks like Slughorn might have run into some trouble. Shall we go in, Ethan? See what exactly has happened."
Dumbledore moved to step forward, but his ankle was suddenly caught by something. Looking down, he saw a strange, pale hand reaching out from the shadows.
"Wait a moment, Professor Dumbledore."
Ethan's clear voice rang out behind him. In the pale moonlight, it sounded inexplicably chilly.
"You wouldn't want to visit an old friend empty-handed, would you? Tsk tsk, such a breach of etiquette is hardly the behavior of a gentleman."
Dumbledore turned to meet Ethan's curving cobalt-blue eyes.
With a flick of his wrist, Ethan's wand transformed into a lush, shimmering paintbrush.
Drip. Drip.
Crimson liquid began to flow from the tip of the brush.
Ethan's smile widened. In the silence of the night, his picturesque face looked as unsettling as a soul-reaping specter.
He spoke playfully, his voice light:
"...Let's prepare a 'grand gift' for this old gentleman, shall we?"
A gift that would save them both a lot of talking time.
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