"Don't sleep too soundly?"
"What does that even mean? It kinda sounds like 'Don't leave after school,' doesn't it?" Ron muttered, scratching his head in confusion.
He glanced down at the black umbrella in his hand—it seemed to swallow every scrap of light that touched it.
With a shrug, he shoved the odd phrase to the back of his mind.
Ethan was always saying weird stuff; this was hardly the strangest.
The World Cup had finally wrapped up, and the crowds spilled back toward the tents, still buzzing with adrenaline.
Irish fans strutted along, flinging glittering shamrocks into the air and painting the night green.
Bulgarian supporters clustered in tight knots, chanting Viktor Krum's name like a battle cry.
A gaggle of kids bickered over whose Krum doll was the most lifelike.
Then Ethan materialized out of the shadows like a bat unfurling its wings, leaning in close with a pallid grin that could curdle milk.
"Need a hand with those dolls?" he purred. "I could whip up life-sized Krum puppets—indistinguishable from the real deal. Though if they're that perfect… do we even need the original?"
The children gawked up at him, jaws slack.
Two heartbeats later, they bolted, wailing like banshees.
The Weasley twins doubled over, howling with laughter, elbowing each other.
"You've got to pay a visit to Harry's aunt and uncle sometime," Fred wheezed. "You wouldn't believe how much they loathe the kid!"
Ethan straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. "Who says I haven't?"
The twins froze, then vibrated with fresh glee.
They pounced, badgering him for details about that long-ago "skirmish."
Harry finally piped up, cheeks pink. "It was my birthday, second year. I still have no idea what Ethan was trying to give me—it chewed straight through the box and vanished."
"But ever since, the toilet at Privet Drive makes the creepiest noises at night."
"My cousin Dudley's so terrified he sleeps with a bucket now. Ha!"
The twins stared at Harry's beatific grin and edged half a step back.
"Ethan! Look what you've done to our innocent Savior!"
Deep in the night, the camp settled into a hush.
The revelry had burned itself out; only the soft rustle of canvas and the distant hoot of an owl broke the silence.
Everyone slept like the dead.
In that velvet calm, a pair of cobalt eyes snapped open.
Time to move.
A rectangle of perfect blackness yawned beneath Ethan's bedroll and gulped him down.
All that remained was a single playing card, edges sharp as a razor.
Out in the marsh beyond the tents, black-cloaked figures flickered like faulty candle flames.
Their robes whispered against the damp grass; malice rolled off them in waves.
They fixed hungry eyes on the sleeping camp.
"Hmph. Drag all us heavy hitters out here just to twiddle our thumbs?" one snarled, voice gravel and venom.
"Patience," another crooned. "Look what I snagged."
Alec stepped forward, smug as a cat with a canary.
A longtime Voldemort devotee, he'd scrambled at the first whisper that the Dark Lord's hand might be stirring the pot tonight.
This was his chance to shine—to etch his name into the master's memory.
He flicked his wand skyward.
The Muggle groundskeeper's family levitated, limp and wide-eyed, swaying like broken marionettes.
The little girl's head lolled grotesquely from side to side.
"Mmmph! Mmmph!"
Muffled shrieks leaked through their gags.
The Death Eaters—because that's what they were, whatever they called themselves tonight—grinned like jackals, inching closer.
Then icy fingers slithered from the dark behind them, spider-leg delicate, stroking collarbones.
A stench of rot and old graves flooded the air.
Every stomach lurched; every heartbeat stuttered.
It felt like stepping barefoot into a blizzard.
Smiles calcified on their faces.
They couldn't twitch a muscle.
"Weren't you told to wait?" a voice murmured, soft as silk over steel.
A blank white mask drifted into view—featureless save for two black pits where eyes should be.
Crunch. Crunch. Footsteps on frostbitten leaves.
Sweat beaded and froze on trembling brows.
Ethan halted before them, head cocked like a curious raven.
"Can't follow simple instructions?"
A collective swallow echoed.
The hands on their shoulders clamped like iron vices.
Bones splintered.
Alec's neck gave a wet snap.
He crumpled, eyes bulging in eternal shock.
A thin ribbon of blood snaked through the air and vanished into Ethan's sleeve.
Amid choked whimpers, Ethan flicked his wand.
The Muggle family drifted gently to the ground.
He crouched before the trembling groundskeeper—arms flung protectively around wife and daughter—and whispered, "Obliviate."
Silvery threads unraveled from their minds.
Their faces slackened into blissful vacancy.
Only then did Ethan turn to the Death Eaters, throats still ringed by spectral rat-paws, and sigh, "Don't make me repeat myself."
A lazy wave.
The Rats in the Walls dissolved into smoke.
"Cough—hack—cough!"
The Death Eaters hit the dirt, gulping air, staring up at the masked apparition with something between terror and worship.
Power spoke louder than blood status in the dark.
Ethan surveyed the sleeping camp, raised a languid hand.
"Go. Burn it all. Mr. Barty's counting on us."
"Though you'll have to carve through the Aurors first."
"Yes, sir!"
Adrenaline reignited; wands crackled.
"Incendio!"
Fire bloomed, scarlet against the night.
Spells clashed with shields; screams split the air.
One Death Eater spun back, eyes shining. "What do we call you, sir?"
Ethan regarded him for a long, chilling moment.
"Mr. Lamp."
"You're the Mr. Lamp? We're golden!"
The man whooped and hurled himself into the fray, giddy as a schoolboy.
Ethan watched him go, expression unreadable.
He drew a leather-bound tome from his robes—the Necronomicon.
Alec's blood had soaked into the cover, but the pages remained sealed.
"Not enough," he murmured. "It hungers for more than blood. It craves art—terror painted in screams."
A butcher's shop wouldn't do.
Snap.
He closed the book.
Licked his lips.
"Let's see if a hundred Death Eaters can sate it."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"You've rounded up the perfect volunteers."
"You've advanced my great work immeasurably."