As soon as those words left his mouth...
Clatter!
The sound of quick-quotes quills dropping echoed throughout the room.
"T-this... Minister Scrimgeour really is a man of few words, but when he speaks, he shakes the world!" a reporter stammered, his jaw practically hitting the floor.
—A Special Senior Investigator for the Ministry of Magic? With the authority to command Aurors at will?
This was effectively a license for Ethan to do whatever he damn well pleased!
He wouldn't even be bound by the laws of the wizarding world, because everything he did would be classified as "pursuing Dark Wizards" or "administering justice." Forget blowing up Gringotts or Azkaban—even if Ethan decided to blow up Hogwarts for a laugh once he got back, no one could legally say a single word against him!
Ethan Vincent was now, quite literally, untouchable in the wizarding world.
As long as he remained the "Bright and Just Savior," of course.
"I... I'm Ethan's subordinate now?" Connie blinked, pointing at herself as her brain stalled. The joy had hit her so suddenly that her mental gears were grinding to a halt.
[Congratulations! You have used undeniable facts to prove that you are indeed a kind, gentle, and life-saving White Wizard!]
[Your sincerity has deeply moved the Minister of Magic!]
[Lamp brightness increased!]
[If you pick up the Golden Cup now, you will discover a different set of information!]
Different information?
Ethan's eyes lit up. He glanced sideways at Neville. The cup was currently with Neville; he could just grab it back later.
"I thought I saw something flickering back then," Ethan mused to himself. "But the subtitles flashed by too fast. I thought I'd just misseen it. I didn't expect there to be hidden messages!"
If that were the case, this relic from one of the four founders might hold even greater value than he'd imagined!
Ethan's eyes crinkled as a delighted smile spread across his face. "Hehehe... this trip was definitely worth it!"
Hiss—come to think of it, my authority seems just as big as Umbridge's in the original story, doesn't it?
No, actually, it's even bigger.
After all, if that Pink Toad had actually tried to blow up the school, Dumbledore would have slapped her into deep space.
Ethan rubbed his chin, pondering the possibilities before flashing a bright, refreshing smile. Ministry of Magic, you've done a wonderful job!!
"First thing's first: I should probably change all the Hogwarts curriculum to my Defense Against the Dark Arts classes—haha, just kidding."
But he could certainly "intervene" a little in other classes. Using his own practical teaching experience, he could make those subjects a bit more... suitable for the physical constitutions of modern young wizards.
Meanwhile, in the gallery, the Hogwarts students suddenly felt a collective shiver run down their spines.
"W-why do I feel like something foul is watching us?" Justin Finch-Fletchley's eyes widened as he looked around uneasily. It felt as if they were being surrounded by a hundred Defense Against the Dark Arts professors.
A deeply ominous premonition surged within him.
"...But the DADA professor isn't even here. This trial has nothing to do with him. Right?"
Justin turned to the boy beside him. "By the way, Harry, this is Ethan's big moment of victory! Why aren't you smiling?"
Harry: "..."
Harry, who was all too aware of Ethan's multiple identities, was lost in a dark silence as he imagined the possibilities of what was to come. After a long moment, he spoke in a raspy voice.
"I'm wondering... is it too late to drop out of school?"
Justin: "?"
—Even if Harry marched straight into Voldemort's headquarters right now, it wouldn't be half as terrifying as the future of Hogwarts.
With the Ministry's "backing," Ethan was only one title away from being more powerful than Headmaster Dumbledore himself.
The trial ended "successfully."
The various onlookers had witnessed enough drama to last a lifetime, and the journalists had never had such a bounty of material to work with. One by one, they filed out of the hall, satisfied. As they passed the Longbottoms, they stopped to offer their respect and congratulations to the war heroes.
The trial ended "successfully." Everyone was happy.
Except for Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic.
He stood frozen in place like a pillar, looking as though he had turned to stone and intended to stand there until the end of time. His expression was so bleak that even the Aurors couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity.
Everything had been fine until he decided to provoke Ethan.
And now? The trial was over, and Ethan had transformed into the Ministry's "Honored Guest."
...But, at least it wasn't a total loss. The Ministry had suffered some damage, sure, but at least it hadn't been blown up like Gringotts or Azkaban. Scrimgeour breathed a small sigh of relief, only to immediately feel a wave of misery that he was actually settling for such low standards.
Forget it. This way, Ethan probably won't keep targeting the Ministry, Scrimgeour thought.
As for the Department of Mysteries being invaded? Ethan had been the one behind that too, so there probably wouldn't be a second time. No need to worry.
Just then, a heavy, firm hand clapped onto Scrimgeour's shoulder, as if offering encouragement.
Scrimgeour looked up and found himself staring directly into Ethan's grinning face.
Ethan: "Yo."
Scrimgeour: "..."
Under Scrimgeour's "I-want-to-die" gaze, Ethan patted his shoulder and spoke in the gentlest tone imaginable: "You are likely the first Minister of Magic in history to let Dark Wizards run rampant inside the Ministry. Congratulations, you've made it into the history books."
To be fair, that "honor" originally belonged to Cornelius Fudge. But if "Little Scrimmy" had just cooperated earlier and communicated sincerely, this tragedy could have been avoided, couldn't it?
Tsk, tsk. He still doesn't understand that to turn away from the Light is to walk into the Darkness.
Hearing this, Scrimgeour fell into a long, heavy silence.
Then, without any warning, he raised his wand, pointed it at himself, and incanted:
"Stupefy."
Flash!
The spell hit home. Scrimgeour crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, falling into a peaceful, baby-like slumber.
Out of sight, out of mind.
"Minister?!"
"Minister! Are you alright?!"
The Aurors scrambled around him in a panic, their eyes full of awe and dread as they watched Ethan saunter away. One of them swallowed hard and muttered, "In the future, even if I have to go poke Grindelwald in the backside, I am never crossing Ethan!"
The former would just kill you. The latter would make you "kill" yourself!
After leaving the Ministry, Ethan stood on the street in the dim twilight and took a deep breath of the cold air.
He looked up at the bright moon hanging high in the night sky and spoke softly.
"Hufflepuff's Cup, Harry's Occlumency... the Prophecy Orb that Death wants to seize. And most importantly, ascending to become an Immortal."
"There is still so much to do."
Suddenly, a soft, cool sensation touched his hand.
Ethan turned to see Luna standing beside him, looking at him with a serene smile. The moonlight spilled down, coating her soft blonde hair in a shimmering, silvery glow.
"Look, it's snowing," Luna said softly.
She raised a pale, delicate hand to catch a pure white snowflake. Following her gaze, Ethan looked up. In his cobalt-blue eyes, the reflection of the falling snow danced like willow catkins drifting from the sky.
He nodded. "Yeah. It's snowing."
As he spoke, he turned his hand over and clasped Luna's.
—There was indeed much to do in the future. But they had plenty of time to finish it all, one piece at a time. To learn, to prepare, and to face every danger the future held.
That was the way of Ravenclaw.
Behind them, the others began to emerge from the Ministry one by one. Ginny had intended to run up and thank Ethan, but seeing Luna standing there right beside him, her footsteps faltered.
She bit her lip. Under the teasing yet encouraging gazes of her brothers, she suppressed the urge and thought silently: I'll thank him later, when we're alone.
Neville supported his parents; the Weasleys supported their father. Many people leaned on their friends and loved ones, looking up at the night sky as the feathers of snow drifted down.
Dong— Dong— Dong—
The bells chimed for midnight.
Rows of lights flickered on in the distance, forming the shape of a pointed tree.
Christmas Eve had passed. Christmas Day—the day of reunions—had arrived.
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