You Should Pay Me for This Lesson

"Oh—are you angels!"

Ethan stared at Harry and Ron in amazement, feeling his heart melt.

"Thanks, my good brothers! You've been a huge help!"

Ethan spread his arms and hugged the two little ones tightly, sighing inwardly:

Whenever I start to lose my humanity, someone always proves I'm still in the Living World.

There are still plenty of good people out there.

Ethan said sincerely, "If it weren't for you, I'd have attacked Filch and his cat."

Harry and Ron: "..."

Their shy, proud smiles froze on their faces, and their eyes went wide with terror.

Ethan, please don't!

Even if Filch isn't a professor, he's still staff!

Attacking staff is way more serious than fighting with classmates!

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, reading the same thought in each other's eyes—

That's Ethan for you.

A Living World person doing Netherworld things. Others might just think about it, but Ethan would actually follow through.

Late night wasn't really the time for talking.

Hearing footsteps in the distance, Harry and Ron quickly said their goodbyes to Ethan.

"If you're free tomorrow, we can go visit Hagrid's hut together and ask him about the Three-Headed Dog and that package!" Harry said.

"Sure," Ethan nodded, thinking it over. "I don't have class in the afternoon. How about we go then?"

"Great!"

The two little ones nodded firmly at him, then tiptoed away.

Ethan smiled and waved, watching their figures disappear around the corner.

He turned his head and saw a beam of light shining toward him.

"Who's there?!"

Percy, the Gryffindor Prefect on patrol, held up a glass lantern and shouted loudly.

It wasn't that Percy was overly nervous.

Anyone, in the dead silence of the night, seeing a pitch-black figure standing motionless under a window, would get a fright.

Ethan slowly turned his head.

His smile, under the moonlight and the glow of the magic lamp, looked like a painted mask.

Handsome, elegant, and perfect.

But somehow unreal.

"..."

Percy swallowed hard, instinctively gripping his old wand.

But the next second, Ethan greeted him proactively: "Hey, Percy. Good evening."

Obviously, nearly one in the morning wasn't a normal time for greetings.

But Percy still breathed a sigh of relief.

He straightened his back, putting on his Prefect airs, and said, "Do you know what you're doing? Illegal night wandering! And I've caught you red-handed!"

Ethan blinked and said, "Sorry, but tonight I was working for Mr. Filch. I was just about to head back to the dorm."

"...Ah, oh."

Percy froze, thought about it, and realized that was indeed the case.

Whenever a Young Wizard was given detention, they'd notify the Prefects on patrol.

He'd been so startled by Ethan just now that he'd forgotten in his panic.

"Ahem."

Percy coughed pretentiously, hoping the night would hide his flushed face, and asked suspiciously, "Was it just you? I thought I heard voices."

Ethan didn't flinch: "A ghost passed by just now."

Before Percy could respond, Ethan yawned, rubbed his eyes, and put on a sleepy look:

"If you don't have anything else, can I go back to the dorm and sleep? I've been polishing trophies all night, and my arms are about to fall off."

Although.

Strictly speaking, he'd only wiped down the glass case for a Special Contributions Award.

He left the rest to the Scouring Charm.

For some reason, even though Percy was a first-year bean several years younger than him, Percy inexplicably found himself ceding control of the conversation.

"Uh, yeah, okay, you go get some sleep."

Percy nodded stiffly.

He watched as Ethan politely bid him farewell and strolled away at a leisurely pace, Completely unaware that, just a minute ago, his own little brother had broken several school rules and slipped right under his nose.

The next day.

At dawn, Ethan, who always stuck to an early-to-bed, early-to-rise routine, uncharacteristically had dark circles under his eyes.

But the real disaster was the morning's Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"Th-this scarf was a g-gift from an African p-prince, after I defeated a R-Reanimated Zombie back in the day!"

Professor Quirrell stammered at the podium, his large purple turban perched like a flying saucer on his head.

At first, everyone had been looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

After all, it was about dangerous and mysterious "Dark Arts"!

Even though Hogwarts wasn't open-minded enough to let students actually dabble in Dark Arts—they only learned how to fight them—

Just reading the textbook, Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, was entertaining enough.

Scary Boggarts, nocturnal vampires, mischievous Cornish Pixies.

The Disarming Charm, the Shield Charm, and all sorts of bizarre Counter-Jinxes!

Like how to properly use magic to shove your intestines back in if you got hit by a Belly-Ripping Curse—

Instead of going to a Muggle doctor and awkwardly explaining why your rectum had prolapsed (if you were still conscious by then).

Ethan's favorite case was about a Muggle kid who got snatched into an alternate dimension by a monster (rumor had it that the very bottom of the Department of Mysteries' elevator connected to a cold, dark alternate space).

To keep in touch with her son in that dimension, the Muggle mother hung little fairy lights all over the house.

Using the lights' flickers to determine positions and letters, they communicated—pretty clever.

This method even gave the Ministry of Magic some inspiration and became a model case.

By the way.

Michael thought this case was a bit creepy, saying it "would give him nightmares."

His favorite was Hero Gilderoy Lockhart's various exploits—especially the ones where he saved the damsel in distress.

Ethan didn't have the heart to shatter his illusions.

After all, in a year, how much substance this boastful Lockhart actually had would be exposed for all to see.

Back to the point.

No matter how flashy the textbook made things sound, When it came to Professor Quirrell, it was all for nothing.

Not only did the whole classroom reek of a strong garlic smell, but Quirrell also stuttered through his lectures, rambling incoherently.

When students asked him how he actually defeated those monsters, he'd just play the weather card.

Ethan kept his head down, his nose tortured by the garlic smell, his ears battered by the meaningless drivel.

His eyes stared at the textbook he'd already read to tatters, and a vein bulged on his temple.

Pathetic.

It was a complete waste of time, paying money to suffer.

Damn it, he'd bought this textbook with real gold and silver—don't underestimate a secondhand book, alright?

Professor Binns for History of Magic might lecture like he was chanting sutras, but at least he was actually teaching something proper.

And Professor Quirrell?

BYD didn't teach a single bit of knowledge.

All blocked by the Dark Lord, huh?

Ethan couldn't take it anymore.

He'd stayed up late last night recording the Erised Spell, and now his whole brain was buzzing this morning.

A thick aura of low pressure clung to him.

"Bang."

The screech of a chair scraping across the floor cut through Professor Quirrell's rambling.

All eyes fixed on Ethan, who had suddenly stood up.

Professor Quirrell paused, then forced a stiff smile tinged with surprise and confusion. "V-Vincent? May I ask what's the matter?"

Ethan smiled politely and said:

"Professor Quirrell, I believe you should pay me for attending this class."