Hogwarts, Hospital Wing The morning light was thin and pale, slipping through winter-grey clouds like a guilty secret. It fell across the ivy on the windowsill and coaxed the leaves open, just a little.
"Ugh… don't come closer… I don't want an octopus… Ethan… hah!"
Fleur Delacour jolted awake and shot upright in the hospital bed.
Instantly, the world spun. She froze, clutching her throbbing temples, lips bloodless.
How had she dreamt of being wrapped up by an octopus that wore Ethan Vincent's face? Was the castle's feng shui completely cursed?
"Where…?" She blinked, disoriented. "The Tournament! What happened to the first task?"
Her last clear memory was a bolt of crimson lightning tearing across the sky like the wrath of heaven itself. A colossal black dragon rearing between earth and sky, roaring until the air cracked. And him—suspended high above, untouchable, looking down with those freezing cobalt eyes.
The image was burned onto the back of her eyelids. Just remembering it made her shiver, heart racing for no good reason.
Unnecessary feelings acquired.jpg
"Ethan… you've humiliated me again," she muttered through clenched teeth, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Just wait until I bury you under the roses back home…"
She looked up and met Madam Pomfrey's sparkling, gossip-hungry eyes.
Madam Pomfrey: Wow~
Fleur's face exploded scarlet. "It's not what you think—!"
The matron gave her the slow, knowing smile of someone who had seen this exact scene far too many times. "Mr. Vincent is exceptionally handsome, I'll give him that."
"I didn't— I'm not—!"
Pomfrey huffed. "Hmph! Shame about the personality. The amount of extra work that boy has given me since first year ought to be illegal."
Fleur looked down, twisting the blanket between her fingers. "Actually… his personality isn't that bad. He just… thinks differently from everyone else."
Madam Pomfrey stared at her with the profound sorrow of a woman watching yet another lamb trot willingly toward the wolf.
While measuring out a pepper-up potion, she casually dropped the results of the first task. When Fleur's expression turned stormy, the matron added, almost kindly, "You won't be able to storm off and demand explanations from him this week, dear. Doctor's orders."
Fleur tossed her hair. "As if I care about that arrogant little—"
"Though," Pomfrey continued airily, "there'll be a perfect chance soon. The Yule Ball. Champions open the dancing. You could always ask him."
"I would rather die than invite that child!"
"Mmm. Better hurry, then. Half the school's already plotting how to snag him."
Fleur went very still.
Two seconds later her head dropped, golden hair curtaining a face that had gone nuclear.
"…Could I borrow a quill and parchment?" she whispered.
Madam Pomfrey hid her approving smile behind a clipboard.
Just then, the peaceful morning was shattered by the frantic beating of wings. A veritable storm of owls poured through the window, dropping letters and parcels like feathery bombers.
One newspaper landed with pinpoint accuracy on Fleur's blanket.
"Daily Prophet?" She frowned, unfolding it.
The headline screamed across the front page:
DARKNESS UNVEILED! ETHAN VINCENT'S TALENT RUNS DRY — REMAINING TASKS DOOMED TO MEDIOCRITY?
Meanwhile, in the Great Hall — second day after the first task, breakfast.
Hermione slammed the very same edition onto the table so hard the goblets jumped.
"This is slander! Pure malicious slander!"
Half the hall turned to stare.
Ethan, unbothered, was delicately stacking fried eggs on toast, then drawing a little ketchup skull on top. He took a satisfied bite. Runny yolk, crisp toast, tangy-sweet ketchup, chased with hot coffee — perfection.
He closed his eyes in bliss.
Hermione gaped. "Ethan!"
He turned, accepted an apple slice from Luna, crunched it, then leaned his head on her shoulder like a cat.
"I know," he said gravely. "It's serious."
Hermione brightened. "Exactly!"
"Tell me, Hermione—" Ethan frowned, perfectly serious. "Is an Obscurial viviparous or oviparous?"
Hermione's brain blue-screened.
While she stood there buffering, Ethan continued muttering to himself.
"Professor Scamander classified it as a parasitic entity made of raw dark magic… but the law of conservation of energy still applies. Something has to become the Obscurus. If I could just figure out the moment of transformation, maybe I could reverse-engineer it…"
He trailed off into his own world.
Hermione's face slowly matched the Gryffindor banners.
Luna looked up dreamily. "Hermione, I heard you've been studying house-elves lately."
Hermione seized the lifeline. "It's not studying, it's helping! They're exploited creatures, not specimens!"
"Of course," Luna agreed pleasantly. She tilted her head, pale eyes wide and guileless. "Since you care so much, you've obviously visited the kitchens already, right? They're just under the Hufflepuff common room. Tickle the pear."
Hermione opened her mouth. Closed it.
That afternoon, after classes, the usual suspects trailed Ethan and Luna down to the basement corridor.
The fruit-bowl painting looked… wrong.
The grapes glistened too wetly. Juice dripped from the apples in slow, viscous beads. If you stared too long, you could swear something inside the bowl blinked.
Hermione shot Ethan a dark look.
He grinned, all teeth. "I may have… redecorated it a little."
Understatement of the century.
Luna tickled the pear. It giggled — high, disturbing — then turned into a door handle.
The door swung open.
The Hogwarts kitchens exploded into view: mountains of steaming dishes, rivers of fragrant steam, and more house-elves than any of them had ever imagined, all bustling like a small, eager army.
Ron's stomach gave a betrayed growl loud enough to echo.
Every elf froze, then squealed in delight and swarmed them, pressing cakes, pies, and warm pasties into their hands before anyone could refuse.
Hermione was still stammering polite nos when Ethan's gaze locked onto a single plain boiled egg balanced on an elf's palm.
He stared at it like it held the secrets of the universe.
"Yolk… white… soul and body…"
His eyes snapped wide, manic and brilliant.
"I've got it," he whispered.
Then he shouted, loud enough for the whole kitchen to hear:
"An Obscurus egg!"
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