Ethan's voice rang out clearly, and the moment the words left his lips, emerald flames erupted in the fireplace. In the next instant, he vanished.
The sensation of traveling via Floo Powder was somewhat similar to Apparition—like being compressed and rushed through a pipe—but still preferable to the stomach-turning disorientation of sudden teleportation.
When his vision cleared, he found himself inside a small wooden cottage. The room was nearly empty, with only a fireplace behind him and a single table with a few chairs. The rest was barren.
A moment later, more bursts of green flame erupted in the fireplace, and Dennis Gar, Berkeley Andrew, and Don Jeff arrived in quick succession.
These men were not just any wizards; they were merchants from Knockturn Alley, specializing in transportation services. In Great Britain, they operated a network of hidden Floo-accessible cottages, allowing discrete travel for those who paid the price. While other countries charged differently and often relied on Portkeys, their system worked efficiently within the region.
Outside the hut, the cold night air greeted them as Ethan addressed his team.
"Dennis, you handle the trade as usual."
Dennis nodded. "Got it, boss."
With that, Dennis led Berkeley and Don toward the agreed meeting spot, carrying a valuable dragon egg for the exchange. Ethan, however, took a different approach.
He uncorked a vial of Polyjuice Potion and drank it in one swift gulp. A moment later, his form shifted—his features blurred, bones stretched, and muscles expanded. When the transformation settled, he had taken on the appearance of a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a towering 1.9-meter frame.
The identity? Just some random American tourist whose hair he had plucked during a trip to London. It was safer that way—if anyone suspected his real age, they might realize he was either a minor or a dwarf, neither of which would work in a transaction of this scale.
Falling back about 500 meters behind his men, Ethan trailed them toward the trade location.
When Dennis, Berkeley, and Don arrived, they found their buyer already waiting.
"Where is the dragon egg? Did you bring it?"
Quirinus Quirrell, still wrapped in his signature purple turban, reeked of garlic. Unlike his usual stammering persona at Hogwarts, here, his voice was steady and urgent. He had no time for pretenses—this transaction was critical.
He had spent every last Knut of his savings on this purchase, all to fulfill a mission given to him by none other than Voldemort himself.
The dragon egg was a key to the next step in acquiring the Philosopher's Stone. As long as he succeeded, he would gain everything—power, wealth, and immortality. Despite regretting his fateful journey to the Albanian forest, where he had fallen under Voldemort's influence, Quirrell had no choice but to press forward.
"Of course, we brought it," Dennis said smoothly. "In our business, we may charge high prices, but we value integrity above all, don't we?"
"Open the box," Quirrell ordered impatiently.
Don obeyed, revealing a gleaming black dragon egg inside—a Hesperidian Black Dragon egg, much smaller than an ostrich egg but incredibly valuable.
As Quirrell reached out, Don swiftly snapped the box shut.
"No touching before payment."
Quirrell frowned. "How do I know it's not a dead egg? Or worse, a fake?"
Dennis smirked. "That's the rule. No touching before payment. You could take the egg and Disapparate before we even blink. We're not that stupid."
Quirrell exhaled sharply, considering his options. He had planned to use the Imperius Curse to avoid paying, but there were three of them—too risky. He had no choice but to comply.
"I am Professor Quirinus Quirrell, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts!" he declared. "I give you my word that I will not break this deal."
Dennis scoffed. "Any other professor, and I might've believed you. But a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" He spat on the ground. "That position is cursed! None of you last a year without getting killed, imprisoned, or worse. You think we can collect debts from Hogwarts?"
Quirrell clenched his fists. The man had a point, but still, he had to be cautious.
"Fine. You pay first, then you confirm the goods."
Quirrell hesitated, then sighed in resignation. He retrieved a dragon-hide pouch enchanted with an undetectable extension charm—his entire fortune inside. The last of his parents' inheritance, his savings, even the money he had made selling his childhood home.
Dennis signaled to Berkeley, who accepted the pouch and poured out the gold.
"Eight thousand Galleons. All accounted for."
Don stepped forward and placed the dragon egg in Quirrell's hands.
The moment it touched his fingers, Quirrell's expression shifted. He turned it over, examining its weight, texture, and heat.
"Enough, idiot! It's real! Let's go!" Voldemort's voice hissed in his mind.
Quirrell flinched but obeyed. Clutching the egg, he turned to leave.
"Quirinus Quirrell!"
A new voice cut through the air.
Quirrell spun around, eyes widening.
"Thunder Explosion!"
Orange-red flames roared toward him, swallowing the narrow path.
"Protego Maxima!"
Quirrell's shield spell flickered to life just in time. The first barrier shattered instantly, but the second held firm under his sustained magical reinforcement.
Through the flames, Quirrell spotted a figure—tall, imposing.
A robbery.
Quirrell's mind raced. The timing was too perfect—had he been set up?
"Avada Kedavra!"
A sickly green light shot toward his attacker.
Ethan barely had time to react. He transfigured a stone into a massive shield, blocking the Killing Curse, though the sheer force shattered the defense.
Quirrell narrowed his eyes. This opponent was skilled.
"If you leave now, I'll pretend this never happened!" Quirrell offered.
Ethan smirked. "Leave the box, and maybe I'll consider it."
Quirrell growled, raising his wand, but before he could react, his body convulsed in unbearable pain.
The Cruciatus Curse.
He collapsed, writhing as agony coursed through him. His vision blurred.
"W-When did he...?"
Ethan stepped forward, retrieving the dragon egg.
Quirrell's mind barely registered the moment.
Voldemort, however, did.
"FOOL! Give me your body!"
Quirrell gasped. His limbs moved against his will. His mind was no longer his own.
Voldemort had taken control.
A dark aura burst from Quirrell's frame. His body twisted unnaturally, and his wand crackled with unstable energy.
Ethan's smirk vanished.
This just became a real fight.
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