At the very least, the nameless Muggle corpse Quirrell had dug up from somewhere would no longer suffer further desecration after being blown into dust.
Deep down, Ethan really was a kind person.
The afternoon's Dark Arts lesson could only be described as wildly successful. Quirrell had even nearly cried from emotion by the end of it.
After all, watching an eleven-year-old casually cast Avada Kedavra strongly enough to vaporize a corpse was not exactly comforting. If Ethan's aim had shifted even slightly, Quirrell himself might have exploded instead.
No wonder the Dark Lord valued this child so highly.
"How about the Imperius Curse next time?" Ethan asked excitedly. "Can you prepare some proper test subjects? And—"
"O-of course," Quirrell replied automatically, his stutter suddenly returning under stress. "Anything else you wish to learn, Mr. Norton…?"
"Actually, yes." Ethan leaned forward hopefully. "Can I skip next week's Defence Against the Dark Arts homework?"
Silence filled the office.
Then Quirrell answered immediately.
"Yes. Certainly. You may also skip the assignment after that."
How could he refuse?
To Quirrell, the situation felt identical to watching a tiny child holding a loaded revolver while politely asking for a can of Coke. Behind the child stood Voldemort himself saying, Teach him how to shoot properly.
Quirrell would happily wager every Galleon he possessed that Ethan Norton would never graduate normally from Hogwarts. If Dumbledore allowed a child this catastrophically dangerous to remain at the school for seven years, the old man had clearly gone blind.
Just as Quirrell prepared to send the terrifying little monster away, Ethan suddenly stopped near the door.
"Wait."
Quirrell immediately broke into a cold sweat.
"Didn't your boss ask me to help steal something from the fourth-floor corridor?" Ethan asked casually.
"Well…" Quirrell hesitated awkwardly. "I'm still searching for an opportunity. The professors remain extremely watchful…"
"Last time I suggested releasing a dragon into the school," Ethan reminded him seriously. "But after careful reflection, I realised squeezing a dragon through the castle entrances would be difficult."
Quirrell nearly sighed with relief.
Then Ethan continued.
"So instead, what about a troll?"
Quirrell froze again.
"There's a troll cave somewhere in the mountains nearby," Ethan explained enthusiastically. "During the Halloween feast, we release the troll into the castle. Everyone panics. While the professors handle the chaos, you slip into the fourth-floor corridor."
He outlined the entire plan in remarkable detail.
Naturally, Ethan already knew the idea would work because it had happened before. More importantly, compared to dragons and mass destruction, a troll was relatively safe. No students needed to get seriously hurt.
And if Dumbledore questioned him afterward?
Simple.
Quirrell and Voldemort forced him.
Perfectly reasonable explanation.
"…That is actually an excellent idea," Quirrell admitted slowly.
At this point, Ethan genuinely seemed more enthusiastic about stealing the Philosopher's Stone than Voldemort himself.
"Perhaps you should return to your dormitory now, Mr. Norton," Quirrell said carefully. "If Dumbledore were to discover—"
"He won't," Ethan promised confidently. "I'm extremely good at keeping secrets."
Quirrell somehow felt less reassured after hearing that.
In the end, Ethan finally completed all his homework late Sunday night.
The experience taught him an important life lesson.
Procrastination solved absolutely nothing.
Homework was the greatest evil in the world. It robbed students of their most precious resource: recreational time.
And worse—
"Homework matters, Ethan," Hermione said sternly. "Next time you have to do it yourself. I'm not letting you copy mine again."
Inside the empty classroom, Hermione glared at him with complete seriousness.
"You're obviously excellent at both theory and practical spellwork," she continued. "You shouldn't waste all your time causing trouble with those boys."
"Some things don't need endless practice once you already understand them," Ethan replied lazily.
He knew Hermione was secretly soft-hearted beneath the strict attitude. If she allowed him to copy homework once, she would absolutely allow it again in the future.
At this point, Ethan considered Hermione Granger the Goddess of Homework.
"And I have other responsibilities anyway," he added mysteriously.
Hermione gave him an exhausted look painfully similar to Professor McGonagall's.
Clearly, she did not believe him at all.
Especially after Filch spent the entire day searching for a student named Colson Golden due to the Dungbomb incident. Ethan had deliberately written the fake name on the wall afterward, while Fred and George spent hours loudly praising his creativity in the common room.
"Did you see Filch's face?" Fred had shouted proudly earlier. "Red as a baboon's backside all day!"
Honestly, Hermione was beginning to understand why adults constantly complained about boys.
Fortunately, Ethan had managed to locate Hermione studying inside the Charms classroom. Otherwise, finishing four essays within a single hour would have been physically impossible.
Somehow Hermione's lectures consumed nearly as much time as the homework itself.
By the time Ethan returned to the Gryffindor common room, only Harry and Ron remained awake.
Both looked deeply miserable.
The moment Ron spotted Ethan, his eyes lit up like Christmas decorations.
"Ethan!" he cried desperately. "You finished your homework already, didn't you?"
"Help us," Harry added immediately.
Several painful hours later, the good news was that Harry and Ron successfully completed their assignments under Ethan's supervision.
Mostly.
The second piece of good news was even better.
Flying lessons would officially begin on Thursday morning.
There was currently no bad news at all.
By Thursday breakfast, Ron had already repeated his "incredible broomstick experiences" at least eighteen times despite never having actually flown before. Hermione, meanwhile, insisted on reading sections aloud from Quidditch Through the Ages as though memorising theory could somehow prevent gravity from functioning.
"It's just riding a broom," Ethan reassured them. "Basically like driving a car. Worst case scenario, you crash a bit."
"There are no seatbelts!" Hermione protested anxiously while tugging at her messy hair. Clearly she hated practical subjects she couldn't prepare for through reading alone.
"Oh my God, Hermione," Ethan groaned. "You're a witch. Your wand is the seatbelt, not an actual belt strapped to the broom."
Before Hermione could continue spreading enough anxiety to poison the air itself, a flock of owls suddenly swooped into the Great Hall carrying the morning post.
Almost every student nearby looked relieved by the interruption.
Ethan also disliked anxiety.
It tasted sour.
For reasons Ethan definitely did not understand whatsoever, most owls always took huge detours whenever flying near him. Only the Count willingly landed beside him, immediately stealing a chicken leg from someone's plate.
"Letter from your mother," the Count said vaguely through a mouthful of food.
A thick envelope dropped into Ethan's hands alongside an entire package stuffed with sweets and snacks.
"Your father added those."
Harry glanced at the package with visible envy before quickly looking away again.
Ethan unfolded the letter.
Most of it consisted of Rose reminding him to eat properly, sleep properly, study properly, and avoid dangerous behaviour.
Near the end, however, one line caught his attention.
She warned him he might need to remain at Hogwarts during Christmas holidays because she and Edward planned to visit Edward's father.
Apparently the old man was dying.
"…It's only September," Ethan muttered blankly. "Isn't that a little early to plan Christmas?"
The letter never explained why they intended to leave him behind. Maybe it related to his strange identity. Maybe there were other complications.
Still, staying at Hogwarts for Christmas didn't sound terrible.
He could probably stay awake all night causing trouble without supervision.
Across the table, Neville also received a gift from home: a Remembrall.
The small glass sphere filled with white smoke turned red whenever its owner forgot something important.
Ethan vaguely remembered the Remembrall leading to several famous events. Malfoy provoking Harry. Harry humiliating Malfoy spectacularly. McGonagall discovering Harry's absurd Quidditch talent.
Unfortunately, none of those events helped Neville himself, who would apparently spend most of today recovering in the hospital wing.
However, the moment flying lessons officially began, Ethan realised something unexpected.
This class had absolutely nothing to do with him.
A senior student suddenly hurried onto the training field while everyone gathered around the brooms.
"Is Ethan Norton here?" he called loudly.
Ethan pointed at himself in confusion.
"…Me?"
Had Filch finally discovered the truth about the Dungbombs?
Or had the Count started bullying other owls again?
"This is class time, Mr. Smith," Madam Hooch said sharply.
"Sorry," the older student replied nervously. "But Professor Dumbledore requested him personally."
He quickly handed over a folded note.
Curious, Ethan secretly separated a tiny fragment of his soul and drifted close enough to read the message.
Written in Dumbledore's long looping handwriting were several simple lines.
Please escort Gryffindor student Ethan Norton to the Headmaster's office for tea.
Due to a special request from his parents, he is exempt from flying lessons at Hogwarts.
....
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