Chapter 290: Christmas Ball Partners! The Battle for Ethan!
For the second task, there might not be a golden egg with mermaid song, but there could be an Obscurus egg instead!
Completely novel and unique. No one had ever seen such a thing.
"Merlin, I must be a genius," Ethan muttered excitedly, eyes blazing with a light that made people edge away.
"Give everyone an Obscurus egg. If it breaks, instant detonation—"
The idea struck him as brilliantly inspired.
Not only would it educate people about this rare creature, but it would also promote the warm-hearted spirit of caring for the afflicted.
True, most patients did not explode on the spot when mishandled.
Minor detail.
"Heh. No one in history has ever conceived of something so exquisite. This will go down in the annals," he said, mouth curving.
Yolk and white. Soul and body.
The parallel gave him a hazy sort of inspiration.
His voice echoed through the kitchens.
Dead silence followed.
Luna still wore her usual faraway expression. Ethan could probably wheel out a pram one day, lift the blanket, and reveal Voldemort inside, waving hello, and she would simply clap and say, How creative.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood frozen with their mouths half open, not looking particularly clever.
What?
What kind of egg had Ethan just said?
Ron recovered first and asked the constructive question: "What is an Obscurus?"
Hermione's eyes rolled so hard they nearly launched into orbit to shake hands with Kars.
At that moment, a sob broke through.
It jolted everyone back to their senses.
Ethan looked down into dozens of wet, wide "fried-egg eyes."
The house-elves trembled where they stood. The atmosphere had gone tight as a drum without anyone noticing.
Harry had a terrible premonition and blurted, "E-Ethan is only joking! He does not really want some kind of Obscurus egg—"
Before he could finish, tears burst from the elves like water through a broken dam.
"Ladle cannot do it! Lulu cannot! Baal cannot!"
"So useless! Cannot make what the young wizard asks for, an 'Obscurus egg'!"
"Useless, useless!" they wailed.
In the midst of the crying, as if they could not bear to face the students, the house-elves vanished with a chorus of cracks, leaving only a clatter of pots and pans tumbling to the floor.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione: ???
Two seconds later, staring at the empty kitchen and the kettle shrieking on the stove, they let out matching screams.
"Mate, are you serious?! You scared off the cooks before dinner??"
Their vision went black. One thought blazed through their minds:
That's Ethan for you!
Fortunately, two house-elves remained.
"H-Harry Potter, sir! You must get away from that demon! D-Dobby will protect everyone!" squeaked one, brandishing a pot lid and ladle as he charged at Ethan in a display that would have been heroic if it were not so absurd.
"Humanoids are not really edible, though," Ethan mused aloud.
All three: !!!
Before things could escalate, they managed to stop the "brave martyr" and recognised Dobby with surprise, learning he had been "employed" by Hogwarts.
"Traitor. Disgrace. You should be ashamed, hic," slurred the only other elf who had not fled. She called herself Winky and lay slumped over a crate, clutching an empty bottle.
Hermione frowned. "I know her. Is she not Mr Crouch's house-elf? What is she doing—"
"Winky is useless! Winky is worthless! Did not watch over young master properly. Winky should die of shame!"
"Wait, what do you mean—"
Bang.
"Winky!"
Ethan ignored the chaos. With a wave of his hand, he scooped up the scattered hard-boiled eggs and studied them intently.
"Shell, membrane, white, yolk membrane. Creating new life from different materials is forbidden in alchemy, yet it is also one of its great and wondrous arts. How exciting."
He smiled, tossed one egg in the air, and swallowed it whole. Licking the corner of his mouth, he turned to the frazzled trio and beamed.
"No cooks? No problem. We can make our own."
Under their horrified stares, he rolled up his sleeves with a cheerful expression and pulled out ingredients of deeply questionable origin.
"I happen to be quite accomplished in the culinary arts."
That evening, when dinner appeared on the tables, students swore they heard the food screaming.
"Is this a traditional British dish?" a Durmstrang student asked, pointing at the writhing lump of meat on his plate.
No. That is an interdimensional military ration.
The Hogwarts students kept their eyes down and said nothing, sticking to intact fruit. That night, they all dreamed of being pressed into tinned meat.
November arrived. Fat snowflakes drifted between earth and sky, draping the world in white frost. The French students from warmer climes shivered miserably, though they found a new pastime: huddling in the Three Broomsticks with mugs of hot Butterbeer.
This sparked jealous grumbling from younger Hogwarts students: "Why can they go to Hogsmeade whenever they like? It's not fair! We have to wait until third year!"
The first task was over. The second would come after Christmas.
In the meantime, another battle had quietly begun.
The Battle for Ethan as a Christmas Ball Partner.
Dancing with Ethan would be something to boast about for life. It might even be passed down to future generations.
"Back in my day, your gran—"
Overnight, perfume-soaked letters, invitations, chocolates laced with love potions, and even threatening notes assembled from newspaper clippings piled up beside Ethan's bed.
At breakfast, Ethan dissected an egg.
Girls from every House and every school lined up, faces pink, slipping envelopes one by one into the postbox behind him. A sign above the slot read: [Please Post in an Orderly Fashion ↓]
The other boys: …
Jealousy. Pure, seething jealousy.
Are you even human?!
Michael looked ready to molt back into a single cell. His features twisted into something barely recognisable as he wheezed, "Hah. No one really expects anything anyway. See? The girls are all posting letters secretly. Not one has publicly asked—"
The Great Hall fell silent.
Michael looked up, and his breath caught.
Fleur Delacour, the brightest jewel of France, had risen. Step by step, she walked toward Ethan.
That alone would not have caused such a stir.
She wore a silver gown, nothing ostentatious, yet it traced the elegant lines of her figure to perfection. Her heels clicked on the stone. Chin high, she strode toward him with the presence of royalty.
Every boy along her path stared after her like dogs spotting a bone, practically drooling.
"Veela," a girl muttered in disgust.
Click.
Fleur stopped before Ethan and crossed her arms, haughty as a queen.
Her radiant figure seemed to dim the very light around her. Actually, judging by the silver bracelet on her wrist radiating magic, that was not just an impression.
Michael, beside them, looked ready to pass out. His jaw dropped so far he could have swept the floor with it, his expression so twisted it practically needed a censor bar.
"May I help you, Miss Delacour?" Ethan asked with a polite smile, though his backside remained glued to the bench.
Fleur ground her back teeth and said nothing. She raised her wand.
Instantly, a field of blooming irises filled the Hall. Pale purple petals swirled through the air like something out of a sweet meadow dream.
The French really do care about atmosphere, the students thought, dazed.
"Hmph." Satisfied with the reaction, Fleur's lips curved. She toyed with a strand of her hair and said lightly, "I cannot be bothered to find anyone else to dance with. You will do, Ethan."
The boys erupted.
They bounced and howled like a troop of hairless monkeys.
Fleur Delacour had made her move! Publicly staking her claim!
Ethan, you cannot possibly refuse.
Ethan raised an eyebrow, unsurprised by the invitation. Miss Delacour clearly wanted revenge, to humiliate him on the dance floor.
He would never fall for it.
He opened his mouth to decline.
In that instant—
Whoosh.
A river of glittering stars and moons spilled forth, drowning the flowers in a tide of midnight blue.
The sheer scale of magic made Fleur sway on her feet. She stared in shock at the girl beside Ethan.
"Sorry, but Ethan and I already agreed to dance together," Luna Lovegood said, watching Fleur's face shift.
She rose slowly, pale gold hair spilling like silk down her back. Wand in hand, she smiled gently.