"What are you standing around for? Get to work!"
Filch's hoarse voice brought Ethan back to his senses.
He lowered his head and looked at the rag Filch was holding out.
After a moment's hesitation, he said nothing and took it.
"By the way, there's something I need to make clear," Filch continued.
"You don't need to clean anything covered up, and don't get curious and try to lift the cloth. That's not allowed! I'll be watching you."
Filch narrowed his eyes, his old, cloudy gaze fixed on Ethan like a snake.
Mrs. Norris crouched silently at his feet.
The little monster was all skin and bones, and no one knew how old she was. Her two eyes glinted in the moonlight.
Ethan glanced at them, turned around, and set to work polishing the old trophies.
What about two Stunning Spells?
Or two Petrificus Totaluses?
If I used the Portal, I could fire the spells from behind Filch and the others—it'd look like someone else had cast them.
But I'd have to face Filch and keep my eyes on the space behind him.
Ethan pondered.
He showed no sign of realizing that he was in detention for beating up a fellow student.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the mysterious object beneath its cloth, shrouded in hazy moonlight. It exerted an inexplicable pull on him.
Ethan barely hesitated before making up his mind.
Tonight, I'm going to find out what it really is!
He had a feeling.
It would be a great help to the art he sought.
All that remained was getting away from Filch's watchful eye.
Feeling those two burning gazes on his back, Ethan's eyes flashed coldly.
He was polishing the glass case that held the trophies.
His cobalt-blue eyes reflected in the glass, overlapping with the gold trophy within, now dulled by a layer of dust.
The inscription read:
[Special Contribution Award, Tom Riddle, 1943]
"You know," Ethan said suddenly, breaking the silence, "I'll win a Special Contribution Award someday, too."
Ethan turned around and smiled at Filch.
"Huh?"
Filch frowned, then gave a scornful snort.
"Boy, do you even know what a Special Contribution Award means? It's awarded to good students who've made enormous contributions and achieved great things for Hogwarts!"
"A troublemaker like you, who's only just started first year and has already landed in detention, could never win a Special Contribution—"
Filch suddenly couldn't finish his sentence.
He had seen those cobalt-blue eyes.
Even in the ivory light of the moon, they held no warmth.
Like two blue planets encased in black ice, they radiated a bone-deep chill.
Under that gaze—even with Ethan's lips curved into a smile—
Filch couldn't utter another word.
As a Squib, he envied, resented, and hated the little wizards who could use magic more than anything.
His twisted thinking—that other people flew on broomsticks while he had to sweep the floor with one—made him want to punish those "swaggering" students as harshly as he could.
With whips and shackles, preferably!
But now—
Facing the black-haired, blue-eyed boy, who stood there quietly, Filch felt a new emotion take hold of him—
Fear.
"Hiss!"
Mrs. Norris arched her back, her fur standing on end and her pupils narrowing to slits. She opened her mouth and hissed at Ethan.
Filch stumbled backward.
Then he noticed the wand in Ethan's hand, which he had somehow raised without realizing it.
His eyes widened in terror, and he blurted out,
"W-what are you doing—?!"
"Bang!"
A loud crash broke the eerie atmosphere in the room.
Then came a clattering, pounding sound from outside, like a Troll running.
Filch showed none of his usual excitement at catching students out of bed.
As if reprieved, he muttered, "I'll go see what it is," and limped away.
"Come on, come on! Mrs. Norris!"
At his call, the cat gave Ethan one last glance, then turned and nimbly followed her master.
Soon, they disappeared through the doorway.
"..."
Ethan blinked, lowered his wand, and murmured regretfully,
"I wanted to show him the wonders of magic. What a shame he suddenly ran off."
Still, it was just as well.
That way, he wouldn't break another school rule.
He wondered which student who should've been in bed had so conveniently distracted Filch.
The thought came and went.
Ethan turned and stared intently at the tall object hidden beneath the cloth.
He crossed the room in three quick strides and yanked the cloth away!
"Whoosh!"
A magnificent mirror came into view.
Its golden, carved frame reached all the way to the ceiling, and it stood on two claw-shaped feet.
A line of writing was engraved at the bottom:
[Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi]
"I show not your face but your heart's desire."
Ethan murmured the words, recognizing the object.
The Mirror of Erised.
The mirror that had drawn Harry in—and the final safeguard Dumbledore had placed around the Philosopher's Stone.
He hadn't expected it to be here.
Moonlight shone on the mirror's smooth surface, where Ethan's slender, upright figure was reflected like a pale ghost.
What will I see?
Will I see myself achieving success and basking in the attention of the masses?
Or standing at the pinnacle of art, remembered and worshipped by the world?
But Ethan already knew the answer when he asked himself the question.
It had nothing to do with money or fame.
Nor would he compromise for the sake of conventional tastes.
All his life, he had pursued nothing but "art" itself!
As the thought faded, ripples suddenly spread across the mirror's surface, like waves on a lake.
Ethan's reflection warped, blurred, and vanished.
The raw scents of grass and earth drifted from within the mirror.
Moonlight shone into it, passed through its surface, and fell inside.
Ethan's eyes widened slightly.
Before him lay a primitive path, bathed in moonlight!
Dim shadows stirred among the trees, rustling softly.
[You have discovered a special location—Path of Moonlit Journey!] [Current identity: Mortal] ["I know well that all things in this world are but fleeting glimmers."]
"Mortal"?
Ethan noticed the way it referred to him.
If there were mortals, then there had to be supernaturals.
Ethan thought of Voldemort, and of Nicolas Flamel, who had lived for more than six hundred years.
They had altered themselves, either through external means or through magic, and reached a state beyond the limits of ordinary people.
He wondered what awaited him in the shadowy forest.
Ethan took a deep breath, stepped over the mirror's frame onto the damp earth, and walked toward the depths of the forest, one step at a time.
The moonlight was faint, and everything around him looked black.
Ethan pushed aside the dense plants and struggled onward.
Blades of grass and brambles scratched his exposed skin, leaving tiny wounds across his face and hands.
For a moment, he felt he was about to lose his way, forgetting where he had come from.
He even forgot to cast a spell.
But just then, the wand in Ethan's hand glowed, illuminating his surroundings.
It drove back the shadows and lit the path ahead, reminding Ethan of the way he had come.
"Thank you, Aibo, my partner."
Ethan looked gratefully at his wand.
At last, when the trees ahead grew too dense to pass through and sweat had soaked his back,
he found something hidden—
a patch of tree bark covered in moss.
Lines of text were carved into it.
When Ethan touched it, a flash of blue light appeared, and a line of text floated before his eyes:
[You have learned the Erised Spell!] [You can create illusions through painting and entrance others] [You have marked a special location—Helga's Abandoned Mansion, the hidden room inside the tapestry] [Perhaps you will find treasure there, or danger] [Often, the two go hand in hand]
Before you continue