Chapter 72: The Party
The grand clock in the courtyard chimed, echoing through the empty corridors. Eight o'clock.
Ethan adjusted the collar of his leather jacket as he walked through the stone hallways. He was running late, but considering he'd just spent the last hour introducing a fifty-year-old ghost to the wonders of multiversal sex toys, he figured he had a decent excuse.
The castle was alive with the soft hum of chatter and music drifting up from the lower levels. As he rounded a corner toward the Grand Staircase, a pearlescent figure floated through the wall. It was Nearly Headless Nick, looking quite dapper in his spectral ruff.
"Ah, Mr. Williams!" Nick beamed, doffing his plumed hat, his head flopping dangerously to the side. "Heading to the Great Hall? The festivities are well underway!"
"Just on my way, Nick," Ethan smiled, walking alongside the Gryffindor ghost. "Though I have to ask... did you hear any, uh, strange noises coming from the second floor?"
Nick paused, looking thoughtful. "Now that you mention it, the Bloody Baron was complaining about a dreadful hum and some rather spirited shrieking. Sounded like someone was having a marvelous time. Or being murdered. With poltergeists, it's so hard to tell."
"Yeah. Poltergeists," Ethan smirked, continuing down the stairs.
Speak of the devil. As Ethan reached the bottom landing, a cackling sound echoed from the ceiling. Peeves the Poltergeist was hovering near a chandelier, his arms full of what looked like dungbombs and water balloons filled with ink.
"Ickle guest of honor is late!" Peeves sang, his malicious little eyes locking onto Ethan. "Too busy packing his bags? Let's give him a proper Hogwarts goodbye! INK FOR THE STINK!"
Peeves hurled a massive ink balloon right at Ethan's head.
Ethan didn't even draw a wand. He casually swiped his hand, opening a miniature portal that swallowed the balloon and redirected it straight over Peeves's own head. SPLAT. The poltergeist was drenched in black ink.
Peeves shrieked in outrage. "You dirty cheat! You can't do that to Peevesy!"
He swooped down, intending to fly straight through Ethan's chest to give him a spectral chill. But as Peeves phased toward him, Ethan's hand snapped out, glowing with a fierce, amber astral energy. His fingers wrapped directly around Peeves's ethereal throat.
The poltergeist froze, his eyes bulging comically. He kicked his legs, realizing with absolute horror that this human was physically holding him.
"Did you forget what I do for a living?" Ethan asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I punch souls out of bodies. You're nothing but a soul. Now, you're going to float up to the ceiling, behave yourself, and not drop a single thing on anyone tonight. Understand?"
"Y-yes, sir! Squeaky clean, sir!" Peeves squeaked, nodding frantically.
Ethan let him go, and the poltergeist shot straight up into the rafters like a terrified rocket, hiding in the shadows.
Ethan dusted off his hands. "Right then. To the party."
*****
Ethan pushed open the massive oak doors of the Great Hall, and the sheer scale of the celebration washed over him. Dumbledore hadn't just thrown a party; he had transformed the room into a masterpiece.
The four House tables had been removed, replaced by dozens of elegant, circular tables covered in white silk and floating, golden centerpieces. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a perfect, starry summer night. Banners of gold, silver, red, and blue fluttered in the air, and a spectral band was playing an upbeat jazz tune in the corner.
The hall was packed. It wasn't just the staff; the entire Order of the Phoenix had turned out, along with prominent members of the Ministry and those who had fought in the battle.
Ethan's eyes swept the room, taking in the familiar faces.
In a dark corner, Severus Snape stood nursing a goblet of wine, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else in the multiverse, though the usual venom in his eyes was replaced by a quiet, brooding exhaustion. Nearby, Professor Flitwick was animatedly recounting the battle to Professor Sprout—the earthy Hufflepuff Head of House, who was laughing and clapping her hands. Sybill Trelawney was already incredibly tipsy, swaying near the punch bowl and trying to read the tea leaves of a very confused Auror.
And then, there was the Malfoy family.
Lucius stood stiffly, looking humbled and stripped of his usual arrogance, his cane resting heavily on the floor. Draco was beside him, quiet and looking utterly lost in a world that had suddenly flipped upside down.
But it was the woman beside them that caught Ethan's eye. Narcissa Malfoy.
She was breathtaking. She wore a form-fitting gown of midnight blue that clung to her aristocratic curves, her pale blonde hair swept up in an elegant, intricate twist. She radiated a cold, untouchable "ice queen" energy, but the way the gown hugged her hips and pushed up her generous cleavage screamed high-class MILF. Ethan couldn't help but let his eyes linger on her. Narcissa noticed the stare; she met his gaze, her icy blue eyes widening slightly before she offered a very small, very calculated nod of respect.
Damn, Ethan thought. If I had another week in this world, I'd definitely be paying Malfoy Manor a visit.
Finally, his gaze found her.
Minerva McGonagall was standing near the Headmaster. The repair charms had done their job perfectly; the emerald silk gown was flawless, the plunging neckline and high thigh-slit intact. She looked incredibly hot, radiating a mature, sophisticated beauty that put half the younger witches in the room to shame.
When she saw Ethan, she froze for a fraction of a second. She remembered the sink. The spanking. The torn dress. A faint, tell-tale flush of crimson crept up her neck, but she quickly masked it with a poised smile, taking a slow sip of her sherry. Her eyes, however, carried a dark, hungry promise: Later.
"Look!" a voice boomed over the crowd. It was Hagrid, towering near the buffet tables. He pointed a massive finger toward the entrance. "The guest of honor is here!"
The jazz band abruptly stopped playing. A hush fell over the Great Hall, followed immediately by a thunderous eruption of applause. Witches and wizards turned, raising their goblets.
Arthur Weasley clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past. "Brilliant timing, Ethan! We were just about to start the toasts!"
Tonks materialized out of the crowd, her hair a dazzling, celebratory gold. She threw her arms around him, giving him a tight hug. "Look at you, keeping the whole room waiting! I was starting to think you got lost in the plumbing."
Ethan coughed, a smirk playing on his lips. "You have no idea, Pinky."
Dumbledore stood at the front of the hall, standing on a slightly raised dais. He tapped his goblet with a spoon, the ringing sound magically amplified until the room fell silent.
"My dear friends," Dumbledore began, his eyes twinkling as they locked onto Ethan. "Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate the end of a dark era, but to honor the light that helped us see it through. We have faced the shadows, and we have won."
Dumbledore raised his goblet toward Ethan. "To Ethan Williams. A traveler from afar, a Master of the Mystic Arts, and a true friend to Hogwarts. May his journey onward be as triumphant as his time with us."
"TO ETHAN!" the crowd roared, hundreds of goblets raised in the air.
Ethan stood in the center of it all, bathed in the starlight of the enchanted ceiling. He looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione smiling at him. He looked at Tonks grinning. He looked at Minerva, who gave him a sultry, knowing look over the rim of her glass, and he looked at Narcissa, who watched him with cautious, intense curiosity.
Not a bad way to go out, Ethan thought, raising a glass of firewhisky he'd snagged from a passing tray.
He downed the burning liquid in one shot, ready to enjoy the final hours of his legendary vacation.
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