Harry, Ron, and Hermione's fascination with the dragon egg disappeared surprisingly quickly.
Soon enough, they remembered why they had originally come to Hagrid's hut in the first place.
"Hagrid," Harry called out.
At the moment, Hagrid was busy tossing more wood into the fire beneath the dragon egg.
"Thump, thump, thump… eh?" Hagrid had been humming a horribly off-key lullaby to the egg. When Harry suddenly spoke, he clearly assumed another dragon-related question was coming.
"We think Snape is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone."
"I told yeh already, yeh don't need ter worry about that. Snape would never steal—wait…"
Hagrid froze halfway through adding another log.
"How d'yeh know about the Philosopher's Stone?!"
"Yes—"
"Because Ethan told them," Ethan interrupted calmly before anyone else could answer. "Honestly, I've stopped counting at this point. There are no secrets left in this castle. Every single one of you is basically suicidal infantry."
"What's suicidal infantry?" Ron asked curiously.
"We just wanted to ask…" Hermione carefully stepped in before Ethan could elaborate. "Besides Fluffy, what other protections are guarding the Philosopher's Stone?"
"Course I can't tell yeh that!" Hagrid frowned immediately. "First, I don't know everythin' myself. Second, even if I did know, I wouldn't tell yeh lot. Yeh already know too much as it is."
He crossed his arms stubbornly.
"The Stone's perfectly safe here."
"Oh, Hagrid," Hermione said sweetly, her tone instantly softening. "You probably don't want to tell us, but you must know something. Nothing that happens around Hogwarts escapes your notice."
The effectiveness of an eleven-year-old girl deliberately acting adorable was honestly terrifying.
Ethan watched in silence as Hagrid's beard visibly twitched upward with a helpless smile underneath.
Hermione pressed the attack mercilessly.
"We only want to know which professors helped design the protections," she continued innocently. "Besides you, we mean. We just want to know who Dumbledore trusts."
Hagrid folded instantly.
"Well… s'pose there's no harm tellin' yeh that much…"
He began counting on his fingers.
"Fluffy's mine, obviously. Then there's Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall…"
He paused thoughtfully.
"Professor Quirrell too. O' course, Dumbledore himself added protections as well… oh, right, an' Snape. Snape helped too."
Terrifying.
Ethan suddenly realised Hermione Granger was only eleven years old, yet she already understood how to manipulate people frighteningly well.
Women were horrifying creatures.
Thankfully, Ethan himself never needed complicated social tricks like that.
Dementors solved problems through much simpler methods.
The Imperius Curse.
Avada Kedavra.
The Dementor's Kiss.
All perfectly effective ways of forcing cooperation.
Or, if necessary, something even more unpleasant—like smearing cursed blood directly onto someone's face or unleashing Ali into a violent rampage.
Thankfully, the Count wasn't here right now.
Otherwise he'd probably spend the next three hours complaining about Ethan's "inhuman social skills."
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
A sharp tapping sound suddenly echoed from outside the hut window.
A brown Screech Owl stood impatiently on the windowsill.
"That's yer talkin' owl, Ethan," Hagrid said while glancing toward the bird suspiciously. "Though I s'pose he won't tell anyone about the dragon egg."
"He's perfectly capable of balancing secrecy against the possibility of losing his feathers and cloaca," Ethan assured him calmly.
He cracked the window open slightly.
"Careful!" Hagrid instantly panicked the moment cold air entered the hut. He practically threw himself in front of the dragon egg to shield it from the winter breeze.
"Gentle! You're ripping out my feathers!"
The Count flailed furiously after Ethan dragged him inside.
"Do you know how difficult my life is? I work constantly for you every day!"
"You spend ninety-nine percent of your time sleeping and stalking Hedwig," Ethan replied mercilessly. "And despite all your efforts, there still aren't any owl eggs."
Then he added calmly:
"Also, the owl feed I buy costs one Galleon per bag. Never forget your actual market value, you ten-Sickle second-rate owl."
"One Galleon…" Ron whispered weakly as though his soul was leaving his body.
Ignoring him, Ethan pulled a rolled-up piece of parchment from beneath the Count's claw.
The handwriting belonged to Quirrell.
[Come to my office.]
Looks like Quirrell was finally ready to move forward with the plan.
To obtain the Philosopher's Stone naturally, Ethan still needed to cooperate with Quirrell for now. Under Dumbledore's observation, Ethan's role remained perfectly clear:
A tragically innocent child being manipulated and threatened by an evil professor using mysterious dark magic.
After saying goodbye to Hagrid and the others, Ethan left the hut first.
When he pushed open the door to Quirrell's office, he immediately found the professor pacing back and forth anxiously.
"Ah—Ko… KOEN…" Quirrell stammered awkwardly before correcting himself.
"We can speak normally now," Ethan replied while casually casting a silencing charm over the office door.
Then he got straight to the point.
"Did you figure out the protections beyond the three-headed dog?"
"I did," Quirrell admitted.
But his expression looked terrible.
"The Dark Lord is becoming impatient. The strength I recovered using unicorn blood is fading again, but Dumbledore remains inside the school constantly. I don't dare move recklessly…"
"Fool!" Voldemort's furious voice suddenly roared from the back of Quirrell's head. "You fear that old man too much!"
Ironically, Ethan thought, the person most terrified of Dumbledore in the entire room was probably Voldemort himself.
The Dark Lord clearly desired the Philosopher's Stone desperately. He wanted a new body as quickly as possible.
"Perhaps…" Quirrell swallowed nervously. "Perhaps we can obtain more unicorn blood first. Maybe wait until the centaurs calm down…"
With Voldemort attached to the back of his head, Quirrell looked disturbingly like a man arguing with himself.
"You need more unicorn blood?" Ethan asked suddenly.
Nightmares could infiltrate unicorn herds because unicorns naturally struggled to distinguish between curses. Their blood already carried ancient magical corruption, and Nightmares merely represented a darker variation of the same species.
Ethan had read that in The Origins of Evil.
From that perspective, obtaining unicorn blood really wasn't difficult.
At worst, he could simply ask Ali for assistance.
"Why?" Quirrell asked immediately, grabbing onto the idea like a drowning man reaching for driftwood. "Do you have another plan?"
Ethan calmly nodded.
"I'm familiar with the unicorns inside the Forbidden Forest too. I can help you obtain unicorn blood."
Then he added casually:
"Pure quality guaranteed."
"Excellent!"
Quirrell nearly looked ready to cry from relief.
At this point, he no longer questioned Ethan's bizarre abilities at all. A child trusted by the Dark Lord himself—and one capable of throwing around Unforgivable Curses like fireworks—was naturally capable of solving impossible problems.
"Unicorn blood contains powerful magic…" Voldemort's voice sounded noticeably warmer toward Ethan than it ever did toward Quirrell. "I am pleased you can assist us… child…"
"Don't celebrate too early," Ethan interrupted calmly.
He had absolutely no intention of working for free.
Even evil cooperation required proper compensation.
"This is a business transaction," Ethan said seriously. "I help you, and you give me something in return."
"Very wise…" Voldemort replied with clear satisfaction. "Only intelligent people truly understand human nature."
"There are no permanent loyalties between people."
"Only interests."
....
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