Under the moonlight, a blonde girl and the mistletoe.
"..."
Ethan opened his mouth, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch his cheek, where a lingering sensation seemed to remain.
His normally agile mind had gone uncharacteristically blank; he was utterly speechless. All he knew was that he would likely never forget this scene for as long as he lived. It was a moment of inspiration, etched deep into his memory.
"Come along now~" the girl called out, waving to him from up ahead.
A few people nearby teased him good-naturedly, "Go on, lad! Don't keep your girlfriend waiting!"
"We aren't—" Ethan began to defend himself, but seeing the "we've all been there" glints in their eyes, he shut his mouth.
Without another word, he quickened his pace to catch up with her.
...Luna is like a sister to me, someone I've raised myself... just like Mr. Lovegood, she is my closest family...
And yet, this feeling wasn't bad at all.
Ethan touched his cheek again, an unconscious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His steps toward her became a bit lighter.
Of course, he didn't forget to bring the Golden Cup.
"When we get back, we can use this cup to brew tea for Mr. Lovegood. It'll definitely have an extra kick to it..."
"That's a wonderful idea! My father will absolutely love it..."
Watching their retreating figures, a Muggle man with a cigarette dangling from his lip shook his head, wearing the expression of someone who had seen it all.
"Ah, youth... I remember when I was a handsome, dashing rogue with a beauty in my arms just like that—huh? Where did those two go??"
The Muggle man's eyes suddenly bulged, and the cigarette fell from his mouth to the ground. He stared in stunned silence at the now-empty street.
What the... was it a ghost...?
A second later, a finger politely tapped him on the shoulder from behind.
When he turned and saw the newcomer, the shock on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a look of infatuation. "Oh! What a beautiful lady—are you spending Christmas alone? Might I ask your name?"
"Obliviate."
Connie Rosier held her wand aloft, offering a practiced, professional smile.
The Muggle blinked. "Obliviate? What an exotic name—wait, why am I standing here?"
A white flash faded. He blinked again, staring blankly at his empty surroundings. For some reason, he felt a sudden, profound sense of loneliness and emptiness.
Withdrawing her gaze from the despondent Muggle, Connie looked toward the spot where Ethan had disappeared. The business-like mask on her face gave way to a soft blush. She pressed a hand to her chest and murmured, "Go home safely, Lord Ethan... I will handle everything for you from the shadows."
"As your most loyal subordinate!"
With a soft crack, the Auror—who was currently acting more like a stalker under the banner of "loyalty"—vanished into the shadows.
Everyone was busy on Christmas, including the Wizarding World's former Savior, Harry Potter.
Inside the ancestral home of the Black family, Mrs. Weasley had prepared a massive table of delicious food to celebrate the reunion.
"You saved my husband's life, Harry." Molly raised her glass, her eyes shimmering with tears as she looked at him.
Harry tried to protest, "It was Ethan who healed him—"
"Oh, no, dear. I mean, of course we are equally grateful to Ethan. But if it weren't for your timely warning... Merlin! I can't even imagine what would have happened!"
Molly stood up and gave Harry a crushing hug. She patted his back, whispering, "Thank you, child... thank you..."
Harry didn't respond. Feeling that warm, solid weight against him, he only felt as if a piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum was stuck in his throat, thick and suffocating.
...He hadn't told anyone yet that he hadn't just "seen" Mr. Weasley being attacked.
He had been the creature that attacked Mr. Weasley! Harry could still remember the overwhelming urge to kill that had surged through his entire body.
Crush him, kill him, sink fangs through his throat...!!
At the thought of that hot blood hitting his tongue, Harry couldn't help but feel a wave of nausea.
What was happening to him? Why was he seeing those hallucinations? What kind of monster was he becoming?
However, the atmosphere was so peaceful and joyous that Harry didn't want to be the one to ruin it. Even Sirius was so happy he had transformed into a giant black dog, Bounder, running around everywhere.
Harry could only swallow his words, downing glass after glass of Butterbeer along with the others. He figured he would wait until the night was over to have a proper talk with his godfather.
One glass of Butterbeer followed another.
And another... and another...
The world began to spin.
...Oh no, he thought he might have had a bit too much to drink...
"—What did you want to tell me, Harry?"
Suddenly, Harry snapped back to his senses.
He found himself in the drawing room of the ancestral home, slumped awkwardly in a deep, forest-green sofa.
"I'm..."
Harry looked around dizzily. On the wall nearby, he saw the unmistakable Black Family Tree. Perhaps because his mind was hazy, the names seemed to be crawling around like earthworms, and the embroidered faces seemed to be smiling at him.
One of them—a beautiful woman with dark, curly hair—nodded to him before shifting her gaze to the person sitting beside him.
Harry turned his head as well.
In the armchair opposite him sat a man. He was dressed in a sophisticated, well-tailored suit, his frame lean and elegant. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, hands resting casually on his knees, holding a notebook and a quill. His posture was effortless and composed, radiating the aura of someone used to being in control.
A shadow happened to fall across his face, making it impossible for Harry to see him clearly.
For some reason, Harry instinctively felt that this person was Sirius. Perhaps it was simply because they were in Sirius's house.
"What did you want to say to me, Harry?" the man repeated, his finger tapping his knee as if urging him on.
Strange, when did Sirius become so imposing...? Harry thought muzzily. The words tumbled out of his mouth:
"I... I was wondering if I've changed..."
"Oh, you've definitely changed," the man said naturally. "You're about forty centimeters taller than you were when you started your first year."
"That's not what I mean!" Harry snapped, suddenly frustrated. He was genuinely distressed, yet the person across from him was joking. For a moment, Harry even began to feel a faint resentment toward his godfather.
"I mean... have I... have I become bad?" Harry stammered. Keeping his head low, he began to recount the visions he had seen.
As he spoke, the man opposite him scribbled away with the quill. It gave Harry the distinct impression of being at a psychological consultation; it felt incredibly professional.
"I feel like I was the one who attacked Mr. Weasley... I'm afraid I'm turning into someone like Voldemort!"
Upon hearing this, the man stopped writing. After a pause, he spoke. "You need to broaden your horizons. If you're going to pick a goal, you should at least aim for someone like Grindelwald."
Harry: "..."
Couldn't he have picked a more heroic goal?
Just as Harry started to feel that the vibe this man gave off was becoming more and more familiar, "Sirius" spoke again in a low, certain tone.
"You haven't become bad, Harry."
"You are simply being influenced by a soul fragment of Voldemort. Ravenclaw's philosophy is that instead of agonizing over theory, it is better to take action."
"In your next semester, I will provide you with specialized one-on-one tutoring."
"My dear Savior, Mr. Harry Potter..."
Harry froze. Like waking from a dream, the surrounding room began to melt away like wet paint, and he felt himself falling.
He stared at the face slowly emerging from the shadows and cried out:
"—Professor Ethan Vincent!!!"
Splash!
Harry plunged abruptly into darkness!
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