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The next morning, Ethan arrived at his office to look at the piece of parchment lying on his desk.
The inked lines twisted and shifted across the surface, intricate and alive with magic.
It was the Marauder's Map.
Furrowing his brow, Ethan carefully scanned the names moving about the castle, searching for anything unusual.
But nothing stood out. No unregistered intruders, no Polyjuice impostors—nothing that could explain the strange events unfolding at Hogwarts.
With a quiet sigh, he folded the map shut. Something was definitely off.
Still, he wasn't about to give up just yet.
Using his Witcher senses, Ethan turned his attention to the Goblet of Fire, hoping to uncover some hidden clue.
But the sheer number of students who had touched it left behind a chaotic mess of magical traces, making it impossible to extract anything useful.
Frustrated but undeterred, Ethan decided to step out of his office.
Training Neville and Cedric would be a productive distraction, at least.
The hallways of Hogwarts were as lively as ever, buzzing with excited chatter.
The Goblet of Fire had become the school's hottest topic, and students eagerly exchanged theories about the unexpected events of the Halloween feast.
As he walked, Ethan caught sight of a familiar figure lingering near the corridor's edge—Draco Malfoy.
The once-proud Slytherin had been keeping a remarkably low profile since the start of the term.
It wasn't hard to guess why.
His father, Lucius Malfoy, had recently turned in a number of former Death Eaters to the Ministry of Magic.
Many of them were parents or relatives of Slytherin students, and now Draco found himself an outcast among his own housemates.
Gone was the usual arrogance, the sneering superiority.
Even Pansy Parkinson, who had once trailed after him like a shadow, now kept her distance in public.
Now, he sat alone in the corridor, his usual smug confidence replaced with a quiet, almost pitiful solitude.
Ethan exhaled softly. He could only hope Draco would find his way through this on his own.
But as he approached, Malfoy suddenly stood, stepping forward hesitantly.
"Professor Ethan... can we talk?" he asked in a low voice.
Ethan met his eyes and nodded. "Of course."
He wasn't about to turn away a student who clearly needed guidance.
Draco hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before finally speaking.
"They say my father—" His voice faltered.
"They say he betrayed his friends. That he's a traitor to the pure-blood families. Is that true?"
Ethan studied him carefully. Draco's usual bravado was gone, replaced with something far more fragile—doubt, uncertainty, maybe even shame.
The boy lowered his gaze, staring hard at his shoes as he muttered,
"Everyone keeps saying it. That my father turned on his own people. That he's a disgrace."
Ethan crouched down, leveling his gaze with Draco's. His voice was steady, firm.
"You shouldn't doubt your father like this," he said.
"Lucius made a choice—the right one—to protect his family when it mattered most. That doesn't make him a traitor."
Draco bit his lip, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides.
"But they—"
"People will always talk," Ethan interrupted gently.
"They'll twist the truth to fit their own views. But at the end of the day, your father did what he had to do. That's not betrayal, Draco. That's survival."
For a long moment, the boy was silent, struggling to process Ethan's words.
Ethan stood, placing a reassuring hand on Draco's shoulder.
"Don't let their words define you. You're more than a name, more than their expectations."
Draco swallowed hard, nodding slightly.
As Ethan walked away, he hoped—just maybe—that those words would help the boy find his own path.
Ethan's expression turned serious as he looked at Draco.
"Draco, have you heard of Voldemort?"
Draco hesitated for a moment before nodding. He met Ethan's gaze but looked unsure.
"My father never spoke about him directly," Draco admitted.
"But at pure-blood gatherings, I've heard people call him the 'Savior.'" His voice dropped lower.
"They say he's the hero of all pure-bloods, that he wanted to restore our families to glory."
Draco wouldn't dare lie—not to Ethan. He had heard rumors that Ethan had a way of knowing when someone wasn't telling the truth.
Ethan sighed. "Draco, everything you've heard is wrong."
His voice was firm but not unkind.
Draco blinked in surprise.
"Wrong?"
"Voldemort wasn't a hero. He was a selfish, power-hungry dark wizard who used pure-blood families for his own gain," Ethan said.
"He preached about the glory of pure-bloods, but in truth, he only wanted their resources—money, influence, power. He made empty promises, handing out small rewards to keep people loyal while he plotted to seize control of the entire wizarding world."
Draco remained silent, his mind racing.
"Voldemort ruled through fear," Ethan continued.
"He forced his followers into submission, black magic, and violence to keep his position. But in the end, it wasn't an enemy that destroyed him—it was himself."
Draco's eyes widened. This was the first time anyone had spoken about Voldemort in this way.
Before, all he had known were the whispered stories told at his family's gatherings—stories quietly slipped into conversation by his father's more eccentric friends, tales of Voldemort's 'glorious vision' and the 'greatness' of the pure-blooded elite.
And Draco had believed them.
It had seemed rebellious, almost thrilling, to know what others didn't.
When he later heard people at Hogwarts speak against Voldemort, he had dismissed them, convinced that they were the ones being misled.
But now, hearing Ethan's words, doubt crept into his mind for the first time.
"Professor Ethan... is everything you said true?" Draco's voice was barely above a whisper.
Ethan nodded. "Voldemort claimed he wanted to restore pure-bloods to power, but do you know how many pure-bloods he killed because they stood in his way?"
Draco paled. "What?"
"If you don't believe me, ask your father," Ethan said gently.
"Lucius knows the truth—he's seen firsthand what Voldemort is capable of. That's why, in the end, he made the right choice."
Draco swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind of emotions.
"At this turning point, Draco, your father is standing on the right side of history," Ethan added.
"And you have the chance to do the same."
Draco was silent for a long moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders.
"Okay," he said, determination flickering in his eyes.
"Thank you, Professor Ethan."
With that, Draco turned and hurried away. He needed to speak to his father—he needed to know everything.
Ethan watched him go, hoping the boy would find his own answers.
By the time Ethan reached the Great Hall, he found it bustling with energy.
The Triwizard Tournament had thrown the school into a frenzy, and at the center of it all were two students who had unexpectedly captured everyone's attention—Neville and Cedric.
The long table where they sat was packed with students. Piles of food had been heaped onto their plates—gifts from excited classmates eager to see them succeed.
"Eat up, you'll need your strength!" one student urged.
Another leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "I heard that if you enchant your robes just right, they can repel against most attacks!"
Neville and Cedric exchanged amused but slightly overwhelmed glances. Their classmates' enthusiasm was... a little much.
Ethan smirked. Watching the students rally behind their champions was a refreshing sight. But he also knew that the real challenge was only just beginning.
With a final glance at the two warriors, he stepped forward—training awaited.