Solitary Confinement = Legal Night Roaming

Seeing Ethan and Malfoy "reconciled," Lucius curled his lips.

At the same time, a faint pang of reluctance gnawed at him inside.

Seven hundred Galleons, while within his means to pay, was no small sum.

In recent years, he had spent a considerable amount greasing palms over the Dark Lord's affairs.

The Flying Broomstick still had a covert supply channel, but this full seven hundred Galleons, plus an Undetectable Extension Charm bag not even available on the open market—that was the real cost.

He had never spent so much on a child who wasn't family.

Still, drawing on years of investment experience, Lucius saw immense potential in Ethan.

In the future, Ethan might well become a major figure at the Ministry of Magic!

His name would echo through the wizarding world, earning the adoration of the masses.

The Malfoy family had already made a misstep by following the Dark Lord before.

This time, surely he couldn't go wrong?

Thinking this, Lucius felt his own son was utterly clueless.

Harry Potter. Ethan Vincent.

The people he wanted Malfoy to befriend—Malfoy had managed to offend every single one.

"Malfoy, aren't you going to apologize to Ethan?"

Lucius shot a sidelong glare at Malfoy, his voice icy.

"S-sorry..."

Malfoy lowered his head, muttering almost inaudibly.

Lucius raised an eyebrow sharply, about to scold him, when Ethan stopped him.

"Don't be so hard on Draco. We're all friends—why so formal?"

Ethan's eyes crinkled into a smile as he warmly patted Malfoy on the shoulder.

Each pat made Malfoy jolt, like a little snake caught in an eagle's gaze.

"Well then, we'll take our leave."

Lucius nodded at Ethan, then flicked a glance at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, letting out a cold snort:

"I'm afraid I must take my son home for a few days of reflection. It seems he hasn't yet adapted to life at Hogwarts—running around with some—unsavory types."

Lucius thought of that unsightly girl, Pansy Parkinson.

Pure-blood though she was, she had far too little brain.

He'd heard that girl had also been sent home to reflect.

Hmph. Served her right.

Just as they were about to leave, a figure shuffled over.

It was Professor Quirrell.

He still wore that enormous, ridiculous purple turban, hunched and cowering, reeking of a strong garlic smell.

Lucius stopped, leaning back in disgust, his brow furrowed.

"M-M-M-Mr. Malfoy!"

Professor Quirrell stammered, a strange, secretive gleam in his eyes.

"I-I-I'd like to invite you to come—"

"I'm sorry, but our time isn't so abundant that we can afford to waste it."

Lucius cut off Professor Quirrell's words, not noticing the faint oddity.

He swept him aside with his cane like shooing away a fly, walking forward without a sideways glance.

"Oh, and."

Lucius suddenly turned his head, staring at Quirrell's large turban.

"Your turban has a rotting smell."

"I'm afraid I can't accept my son's professor suffering from some disease that requires hiding—Dragon Pox, perhaps."

Dragon Pox, a malignant infectious disease contracted through poor living habits.

"I'll suggest to the other board members that you be relocated elsewhere."

With that, Lucius led his son away without looking back.

Hmm, though—why did his left arm feel a bit itchy?

Professor Quirrell stood alone, smiling awkwardly and stiffly, trembling all over.

If one looked closely, there was also a trace of terror in his eyes.

Off to the side.

Ethan was about to burst from holding in his laughter.

He dug his nails into his palm to keep from cracking up in public.

—Laughing right in Voldemort's face, mocking him as a shameful "Dragon Pox"!

Lucius, your trash-talk is seriously unmatched!

As if to ease the awkwardness, Professor Quirrell turned to Ethan and forced a smile:

"M-Mr. Vincent, c-congratulations on receiving the Malfoy family's sponsorship..."

Ethan raised an eyebrow at that:

"How is this sponsorship? This is the emotional distress compensation I rightfully deserve."

Professor Quirrell: "...Ha ha."

Let's just laugh it off.

He really had no idea who should be compensating whom for emotional distress.

Ethan clutched the money pouch, his mood soaring, already itching to buy a batch of art supplies.

Turning his head, he caught Michael's twisted expression.

"Ethan, oh Ethan."

Michael shook his head, speaking with pained sincerity:

"How could you take money from the Malfoys? You've been tainted by filthy lucre—you're not the pure Ethan you used to be!"

Seven hundred Galleons, damn it!

Michael was green with envy, practically falling apart at the seams.

Weren't we supposed to take down the enemy together?

How did you end up siding with them instead?!

Magical Boy Once Opposed Evil??

Hearing this, Ethan let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

He looked at Michael with the kindly gaze of an elder indulging a child's tantrum, patiently explaining:

"The Malfoys' money was all plundered from everyone else. So if I earn it from them and then use it to benefit the masses, isn't that just recycling the wealth back?"

"Someone has to bear the stigma. Might as well be me—I'll take it on, I'll shoulder it!"

Michael: ?

W-Wait, that actually makes some sense...?

Put that way, Ethan was making quite a sacrifice.

After all, he only got boring, soulless money, while having to face everyone else's envy and resentment.

Ethan patted Michael's shoulder approvingly.

The kid could learn.

He liked making friends with people who caught on quick.

Leaving the naive little fool to ponder it deeply.

Ethan turned away, a barely restrained grin twisting across his face.

Plan successful.

What an unexpected windfall.

Don't worry, I'll use this money to do good for the masses.

Like, for Halloween, putting on a heart-pounding—no, wait, a heartwarming Art Exhibition.

"Heh, heh heh heh..."

Ethan chuckled lowly as students stepped back in alarm, making his way to the owlery with the shipping orders.

Oh, and while he was at it, he'd pick up some odd little trinkets for Luna.

Like a reusable goblin guillotine.

Palm-sized, easy to carry, educational and fun—great for a child's early development.

The path was clear all the way.

Monday evening.

Ethan followed Filch to the trophy room for detention.

The evening light spilled through the windows, softly brushing Ethan's face, leaving it pale as ivory.

The corridor was dead silent, broken only by the footsteps of Ethan and Filch.

Skinny and dull-coated, Mrs. Norris padded soundlessly beside them.

Orange-red vertical pupils gleamed in the moonlight with a glassy, animal-like sheen.

Click.

Filch used his key to unlock the door to the trophy room.

A wave of dust rushed out, and as the door swung open, a cloud of floating particles rose from the floor.

"This room is specially kept for troublemakers like you who've been caught red-handed."

Filch curled his lips in a malicious grin.

"Tonight, you'll wipe it clean inch by inch with a rag—no magic allowed!"

But at that moment, Ethan wasn't listening to what he was saying.

His attention was fixed on a tall object by the window.

It was covered tightly with a cloth, blocking the moonlight that streamed in.

Beneath the cloth, the faint outline of claw-shaped supports was visible.

For some reason.

As Ethan looked at it, the magic within him stirred, rippling like disturbed water.

A longing to uncover it rose from deep inside his heart.