Chapter 346: The Knockturn Expedition
While Snape worked on reeling Yaxley in, Ethan continued running his students through their paces in Defence Against the Dark Arts without missing a beat.
The class had become something of a legend — wildly polarising, depending on which year you asked.
The younger students adored it. Since they were still new to magic, Ethan paired them against interesting opponents: animated puppets, along with dark creatures sourced from Borgin and Burkes — Boggarts, Red Caps, Cornish Pixies, and the like. Every now and then, he would summon a Basilisk and walk them through resisting Petrification. In some ways, it felt like a practical reimagining of Professor Lupin's old lessons. Laughter was a frequent sound in those classes.
For the older years, though — fifth year and above — it was hell.
Pure, unrelenting, practical hell.
If they weren't fighting bizarre creatures, they were being hit with actual dark magic.
For example:
"I'll now be performing Legilimency. Prepare your Occlumency," Ethan said pleasantly. "I'll count to three — three — Legilimens!"
Whoosh.
Students: ?!!
In an instant, memories tore through Ethan's extraordinary mind like a freight train through a tunnel — and the Ministry officials standing guard nearby were swept up in it too.
"Miss Rosier." Ethan turned, raising one finger with a playful tilt of his head. "I'll make sure to get Mr Vincent's autograph for you when I have a moment."
Connie's face went scarlet. She twisted in place, flustered, and immediately began protesting. "I — that's for official purposes! An Auror's duties can hardly be called private matters—"
"…"
Not that anyone had the energy to pay attention to yet another member of the Ethan Vincent admiration society. Everyone was too busy managing their own crisis.
Ron staggered about, looking green. "I think I'm going to be sick… every single spider in my memory now has a spiral face. Every. Single. One."
"Same…" Harry agreed, exhausted.
He took his glasses off and closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his eyelids, spiral faces surrounded him from every direction, three hundred and sixty degrees of them. Inescapable.
Legilimency had been turned, somehow, into psychological contamination.
That spiral professor… Harry thought, uneasy. There's something strangely familiar about him.
But survival instinct has a way of sharpening the mind, and there had never been a student body more diligent than this one. Corridors, classrooms, the library — every corner of the castle had students from every house bent over their books and practice, heads down, wands moving.
It looked, at times, as though Hogwarts had been entirely taken over by Ravenclaws.
Even Mr Filch, nose extended to maximum sniffing capacity as he prowled the halls, could not find a single student misbehaving.
In the courtyard, the Weasley twins were commiserating with cheerful resignation.
"Ever since everyone realised that Skiving Snackboxes don't work — and worse, that Professor Unknown finds illness more interesting than absence — our sales have absolutely tanked," Fred said mournfully, turning a handful of brightly coloured sweets over in his hands.
"That said," George added, "Professor Unknown is surprisingly enthusiastic about helping us develop new products. Unlike certain other professors." He produced a small grey pellet. "Take this — eat it and your face sprouts tentacles. Octobrain Pill. Direct inspiration from Professor Unknown himself."
The students nearby crowded in, fascinated. Even the Slytherins, affecting an air of purely academic curiosity, stood on their toes to get a better look.
Within moments, several slippery, writhing tentacles had burst from various faces in the group and were waving around with enthusiastic independence.
"This is brilliant!"
"How does it even work?"
"Where did Professor Unknown even come from? The things he knows…"
"Ethan!"
The twins spotted a dark-haired figure nearby and immediately called out, waving their arms. George held up the grey pellet. "Want one? Octopus tentacles — guaranteed!"
"Haven't seen much of him lately. He must be deep in one of his projects again."
"…"
Ethan blinked.
Then he smiled — wide and sudden.
And in full view of everyone, his head transformed.
A complete, fully realised giant octopus replaced it entirely. Thick tentacles lashed through the air like whips. Two orange-yellow eyes, utterly pupil-less, burned with unsettling intensity. At the base of the writhing tentacles, a beak split open wide, revealing ring after ring of sharp teeth.
ROAAARRR!!
"…"
Every smile in the vicinity froze solid.
Hair and robes flattened beneath the shockwave.
Then Ethan's head was simply his head again. He gave the crowd a small, gracious nod — a performer taking his bow — and walked away arm-in-arm with Luna, her golden hair swaying.
"…"
The twins stood frozen, pellet still extended, buffeted by the fading wind.
After a long moment, Fred managed, "That's Ethan for you. There isn't a magic he doesn't know. Honestly, he was just being himself."
In Hogwarts' atmosphere of unprecedented, slightly terrified academic intensity, marks had risen sharply across every subject, not just Defence Against the Dark Arts. By now, roughly a third of the students had accidentally managed at least one wandless cast — helped in no small part by the Morning Star Club's foundational training over the past few years.
Time passed quickly.
Halloween Eve arrived.
Carved pumpkins filled every corner, their wide grins flickering in the candlelight. Tiny bats fluttered among the decorations. At a certain professor's enthusiastic suggestion, the décor had also been supplemented with bloodstained spinning circular saws, meat cleavers hanging at angles that suggested they might fall at any moment, and rows of meat hooks dangling from the ceiling like grasping hands. Somewhere in the distance came the steady thunk thunk thunk of what sounded disturbingly like a cleaver striking a chopping block.
"…"
The students sat in the Great Hall and did not move. None of them felt especially inclined to.
Ron gnawed on a chicken leg while eyeing the Ravenclaw table with deep suspicion. "Wonder what Ethan's got lined up for us this Halloween…"
It had become a tradition at this point. A Hogwarts institution.
Somewhere nearby, a first-year was questioning an older student.
"Why do you keep staring at the ceiling?"
"In case the Defence professor drops in from above."
"Then why are you staring at the floor?"
The older student's expression turned haunted. "In case something crawls up from underneath."
Is this Hogwarts or the underworld?
As it turned out, though — to everyone's great surprise — Ethan remained completely quiet throughout the feast. No incident. No dramatic entrance.
At the Ravenclaw table, a few of Padma Patil's friends watched with concern, but it was Padma herself who leaned toward Ethan, her dark eyes soft with worry. "Are you all right, Ethan? You seem… somewhere else."
"Ethan" didn't respond.
He simply stirred his pumpkin soup with slow, unhurried movements, calm to the point of serenity. When he wasn't speaking, he looked almost like something displayed behind glass — fine-boned and elegant, his diamond-blue eyes catching the light like polished crystal.
Padma found herself staring.
At the line of his nose. The clarity of those eyes. The pale skin.
Being in the same house as Ethan is genuinely the best thing that's ever happened to me, she thought warmly. Even when he ignores everyone, it's completely fine.
She had, for the purposes of this pleasant moment, selectively forgotten every "incident" he had caused.
Across the table, Luna glanced at Padma, then said nothing.
This "Ethan" was a puppet — a double created by art magic. The real Ethan was up at the staff table.
Luna looked up toward the Spiral Being and smiled, small and sweet, two little dimples appearing in her cheeks.
"Maybe," Michael said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "Ethan's just saving something big for after Halloween—"
A rich, unhurried voice, smooth as aged wine, rang across the Great Hall.
"Everyone — I have a wonderful announcement to share on this festive occasion."
Michael's head whipped around.
Professor Unknown had risen from the staff table.
Michael's stomach dropped straight through the floor.
I was just saying it — I didn't mean for it to actually happen!!
In the silence, their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor spoke with evident enthusiasm. "Over these past two months, all of you have made extraordinary progress! Though some of you have not yet grasped the full essence of wandless casting—"
Ethan threw one arm in the air.
The candlelight caught the layered spirals of his face, illuminating even the shadows in the grooves.
Several students swallowed audibly.
"—I believe the time has come!" He paused for effect, then said, with obvious delight: "After Halloween, I will be leading all of you to Knockturn Alley. To recover a certain… treasure left behind by a Dark witch. As our first Defence Against the Dark Arts field trip."
He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Getting out of the castle — the students will love that.
The "treasure," naturally, was Bellatrix's wand.
Just yesterday, Professor Snape had delivered its location.
"Knockturn Alley, Lane 17, third house with the red tile roof," Snape had said with a short, contemptuous laugh. "The property's registered under her husband's name. No wonder the Ministry lot couldn't find it — the entire department's useless."
Then he'd lowered his voice. "Yaxley's been active around Azkaban lately. I expect he's setting a trap for you there. Be careful."
Ethan had solemnly promised that he would.
Snape had felt somewhat reassured.
He had not, at any point, expected that the very next day, Ethan would announce a field trip taking the entire student body to Knockturn Alley.
This is your idea of careful, Ethan?!
The announcement landed on the Great Hall like a stone in still water. Stunned faces everywhere.
After a long silence, a trembling voice surfaced.
"We — we won't actually have to fight real Dark witches and wizards, will we?" Ron asked, face white as chalk.
Ethan smiled, which on the outside manifested as the spiral face twitching slightly.
"Yes, Mr Weasley," he said warmly. "You will."
"Ah—!"
Ron sucked in a sharp breath. His chicken leg dropped back onto his plate. He stared into the middle distance with the expression of a man who has fully given up.
Hermione's hand shot up. "With respect, Professor — isn't this far too dangerous? We're students—"
"This field trip will be included in your end-of-term assessment, Miss Granger."
Hermione's mouth closed. Her hand came down. A fierce light ignited in her eyes.
"Also," Ethan added pleasantly, "wands will not be permitted on this field trip. The pressure of real combat, I believe, will give everyone a much deeper understanding of wandless casting."
As long as the pressure doesn't kill us before we get there, the students thought, exchanging anxious looks.
Harry stared hard at the spiral-faced figure on the stage, brow furrowed.
His scar hadn't hurt in months. But years of extraordinary Defence professors had given him a highly developed distrust of anyone standing behind that lectern.
Ethan was still sitting at the Ravenclaw table, so it couldn't be Ethan in disguise.
Which meant this singular, unmistakable style…
Could it be Mr Lamp ?!
Harry's eyes widened.
He dropped his gaze immediately, pressing his expression flat before anyone could see it.
The thought kept circling, impossible to suppress.
Far away, on a dark triangular island, waves crashed against thick stone walls, leaving patches of green-black damp that quickly frosted over in the cold.
Ahh…
Dark shapes circled above — robes billowing like the embodiment of death and cold — hovering over the place the wizarding world used to imprison its worst.
Azkaban.
"AAAAAHH!!"
A shriek tore through the air, cutting across the atmosphere of numb, endless despair.
Dementors surged toward the sound, clustering — then were scattered by a Patronus, retreating to drift hungrily at the edges.
Inside the cell, Voldemort's most devoted servant lay curled on the floor like a wounded animal. Bellatrix Lestrange's back was crisscrossed with wounds, and blood pooled beneath her on the stone.
Two Aurors stood outside the bars with their wands raised, smiling.
"Keep it moving."
A curse struck. Bellatrix's head snapped back, her eyes flying wide as fresh pain tore across her back, breath breaking into ragged gasps.
This had been Ethan Vincent's request, made two years earlier. The rising saviour of the wizarding world — all light and promise — had quietly asked that a certain Miss Bellatrix be kept in regular "exercise."
And so Azkaban had been full of cheerful activity ever since.
"Strange, isn't it," one Auror said conversationally, "that someone that bright would ask for something so cold."
"You ask me, it's long overdue. Let them feel what they put others through."
"Heh… heh…"
Bellatrix trembled, her face drained of all colour. Beneath the wild tangles of her hair, her blood-red eyes shook with unhinged intensity.
"The Dark Lord… the Dark Lord will come for me," she rasped. "He'll kill all of you…"
The Auror rolled his eyes with practised familiarity and slowly drew something from his coat — a painting. "Still mouthing off. Time to raise the stakes."
Bellatrix's eyes flew wide the moment she saw it.
Even eyes that had endured Dementors and torture without flinching now showed unmistakable fear.
She threw her hands over her head and squeezed her eyes shut. The scream that tore out of her was not a defiant one.
"NO — !!"
"Begging already? We'll count that as ti—"
Two flashes of green.
Two Aurors crumpled to the floor, their faces frozen in expressions of pure disbelief.
The painting slipped from a falling hand and hit the ground.
A rough hand reached down to pick it up.
"The Scream? What kind of rubbish is this?"
Yaxley stood over the fallen Aurors with little concern, frowning at the painting. Something about the distorted, screaming figure bothered him — a faint but persistent sense of recognition he couldn't place.
Without another thought, he set it on fire.
Burned it.
Eyes: clean.
He did not notice that the burning canvas left behind no ash at all.
He turned to Bellatrix, who remained exactly as she was — curled on the floor, unmoving, as though his arrival meant nothing to her.
Yaxley clicked his tongue. "Useless woman. She's not fit for anything in this state. I'll have to get her out first and treat her injuries."
Then he lifted his gaze toward the long, dark corridor stretching deeper into Azkaban.
His tongue ran along his cracked lips. A smile spread across his face — lean, hungry, like a wolf that has scented prey.
"Heh heh heh… Professor Unknown. You have absolutely no idea. Every move you make is already in my hands."
"Knockturn Alley, is it… facing criminals who've killed more people than you can count — just how much can you actually do?"
"I hope you'll be sensible. Make the right choice."
"Heh heh heh…"
Though, of course — if the Dark Lord weren't still in hiding, he wouldn't need to be this restrained at all.
Damn Ethan.
Yaxley's eyes went cold. He ground his back teeth.
After Halloween.
Through the lingering grey drizzle, a tall figure appeared at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, holding a black umbrella.
And as he walked forward, shapes emerged from the fog behind him.
Dozens of them. Packed close, heads bobbing, an advancing wall of people that radiated a pressure that made the Dark witches and wizards nearby back away instinctively, skin prickling.
Merlin. Has the army of hell finally arrived?!
At the front, Ethan — wearing the face of Professor Unknown — tipped the brim of his hat.
He surveyed the ring of wide, frightened eyes around him with evident satisfaction and smiled.
"Don't worry, Miss Bella," he said pleasantly. "I'm just here to liberate your wand."