After the feast ended, the first years naturally began talking amongst themselves.
Whenever the conversation shifted toward family backgrounds, everyone suddenly had endless stories to tell.
Seamus enthusiastically described how his Muggle father nearly fainted when Seamus's witch mother revealed the truth about magic. Listening to him, Ethan felt Edward probably belonged to the exact same category.
Honestly, Edward already behaved like a Muggle most of the time.
Cooking.
Shopping.
Playing Dungeons & Dragons.
The only obvious difference was that whenever he rolled a critical failure during board games, he secretly used magic to alter the dice.
Ethan finally understood why Edward always won at Ludo.
"What about you, Ethan?" Seamus asked curiously.
"Me?" Ethan raised an eyebrow. "My parents didn't tell me they were wizards until my birthday. I'm adopted, so they originally assumed I was a Muggle child."
Outwardly, he answered casually.
Internally, however, Ethan remained certain Edward and Rose already knew exactly what he was.
Dumbledore himself said adopting Ethan had been their choice.
Raising a creature recovered from a dark magic laboratory required courage ordinary people simply didn't possess.
And Ethan genuinely liked this family.
Which meant he absolutely wouldn't allow anyone to destroy it.
Now that he'd entered Hogwarts, the real plan finally needed to begin.
Ethan's gaze drifted across the Great Hall toward the professors' table.
Professor Quirrell was easy to identify with that ridiculous purple turban wrapped around his head. He sat beside Snape while nervously talking to him, exposing the back of his head to the students.
Snape, meanwhile, wasn't paying attention to Quirrell at all.
He was staring directly at Harry.
[ Soul Strength: 9 (Incomplete) / 25 ]
[ Soul Strength: 40 + 8 ]
Ethan narrowed his eyes slightly.
Quirrell's original soul strength should've been twenty-five. A large portion had clearly been devoured by the parasitic Voldemort attached to the back of his skull.
More importantly…
Voldemort's soul fragment inside Harry remained forty.
The fragment attached to Quirrell also totalled forty.
Interesting.
Did Horcruxes not divide souls through ordinary mathematics?
Or was Voldemort's original soul strength simply so terrifying that even fragmented pieces retained absurd stability?
Fortunately, this was excellent news for Ethan.
No matter how Voldemort resurrected himself, his soul would remain divided.
Which meant—
From Ethan's perspective—
Voldemort was essentially one incredibly generous experience boss split into multiple collectible portions.
Excellent.
The Sin Point farming plan officially began tomorrow.
After dessert finished, Dumbledore rose again to explain Hogwarts rules.
"First years should note that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden to all students."
His twinkling eyes specifically shifted toward Fred and George.
"Some older students should also remember this."
The twins looked deeply innocent.
"Mr Filch has additionally asked me to remind everyone that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes."
"Quidditch trials will begin during the second week of term."
Then Dumbledore smiled pleasantly.
"And finally, anyone who does not wish to suffer a painful, tragic, and highly unexpected death should avoid the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor."
Harry laughed immediately.
A few other students laughed too.
Most people looked uncertain.
"…He's joking, right?" Harry whispered toward Ethan.
"You know," Ethan replied softly, "if you really want children to investigate somewhere, the fastest method is calling it forbidden."
Of course, Ethan already knew what was hidden inside the corridor.
The Philosopher's Stone.
The legendary alchemical treasure capable of producing infinite gold and granting immortality.
To put things simply—
Ethan wanted it.
Not for wealth.
And honestly, probably not even for immortality.
He seriously doubted Dementors died naturally of old age anyway.
Nobody in wizarding history ever classified Dementors by age.
More importantly, Ethan already discovered his soul could leave his body entirely and theoretically inhabit another vessel if necessary.
Granted, that sounded horrifyingly dark.
Ethan still firmly believed he was a positive, law-abiding monster. In any world, good people survived the early game far more comfortably.
Still…
He needed to know whether the Philosopher's Stone could repair souls.
Human souls clearly aged and developed over time just like bodies did. True immortality required preserving both.
If the Stone could restore Ethan's damaged soul permanently, then perhaps he could stop stealing sweets from children quite so often.
The students even might leave positive reviews afterward.
Once Dumbledore finished leading the school song, the exhausted first years were finally guided toward their dormitories.
The Gryffindors followed Percy Weasley through endless moving staircases and hidden passages before eventually arriving outside the common room portrait.
A very wealthy-looking woman dressed entirely in pink stared down at them.
"Password?"
"Dragon dung," Percy answered.
The Fat Lady swung open like a door, revealing the entrance tunnel.
Ethan immediately formed a theory.
Perhaps Gryffindor only accepted brave students because brave students ran around constantly and therefore remained physically thin enough to fit through the portrait hole.
Otherwise, larger students would simply sleep outside forever.
The Gryffindor common room itself looked wonderfully comfortable.
Soft armchairs surrounded a roaring fireplace while warm golden light filled the circular room.
Perfect for tea during winter afternoons.
Unfortunately, Ethan barely noticed any of it.
He was exhausted.
Not emotionally exhausted.
Physically exhausted.
His eyelids were twitching dangerously.
At this point, all he wanted was to collapse into bed and sleep until civilisation ended.
Harry Potter and the Sleeping Dementor.
Complete.
Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Ethan ended up sharing the same dormitory together. Their luggage had already been delivered upstairs, including Earl, who was currently attacking his cage with great enthusiasm.
"Let me out already!" the owl screeched. "The nightlife's starting! Hurry!"
The moment Ethan entered the room, Earl immediately rattled the bars dramatically.
"And Harry Potter! Your owl told me she wants to see the Scottish Highlands tonight!"
"Did he fall in love with Hedwig at first sight?" Ron asked curiously.
"He's not romantic," Ethan replied while opening the cage. "He's just a shameless pervert."
"No!" Seamus yelped while covering his mouth. "Did the owl just speak?!"
"Yeah," Ethan sighed while climbing directly into bed.
"Yeah," Harry agreed sleepily while opening Hedwig's cage too.
"Yeah," Ron added without surprise while helping open the dormitory window.
Clearly everyone adapted to talking owls remarkably quickly.
The two birds immediately flew out into the night together.
Honestly, Hedwig looked like a pure-hearted girl about to be deceived by an ancient predator.
After all, Earl's brain contained only two things:
Voles.
And romance.
Mostly voles.
Wild owls ate voles constantly.
Wild owls that lived for centuries probably accumulated concerning amounts of relationship experience too.
Outside Gryffindor Tower, Earl flew beside Hedwig beneath the moonlight while speaking nonstop.
"You smell incredible. What perfume do you use?"
"Your wings are gorgeous. Want to compare sizes?"
"Your eyes are beautiful…"
"Would you mind if I didn't go home tonight?"
"It's far too late to fly back anyway. We should stay together in the Owlery."
"Can I touch your feathers?"
Suddenly—
A single scarlet feather drifted downward strangely from the darkness above.
It landed directly on Earl's head.
The owl froze instantly.
"Gugu?!"
For the first time all evening, genuine alertness appeared in his eyes.
Then fire erupted around him.
With a flash of brilliant crimson flame, the noisy owl vanished completely.
Hedwig circled the empty air in confusion several times.
Unable to find Earl anywhere, she eventually gave up and returned toward Gryffindor Tower.
At least Harry's owl treats tasted better than listening to that lunatic owl flirt endlessly about voles.
....
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