Chapter 46: New Term, New Faces, New Problems

"Wright? Wait, Ethan Wright—is that your mum up there?"

"Is that the Chloe Wright? From the Lockhart trial?"

"But I thought Ethan Wright was just our year, right?"

"That's not just someone's mum, that's, her."

Ethan didn't answer at first.

He felt the familiar dull pressure of eyes on him, curious, skeptical, fascinated. He didn't blame them. Over the summer, Chloe Wright had become a name known across the wizarding world. The witch who had brought down Gilderoy Lockhart. The woman who had dug up the truth beneath his fame, laid it bare, and watched him dragged to Azkaban in chains.

Her name had been printed everywhere, except, as Ethan had noticed, his hadn't been. At least not beyond that one irritating paragraph in Rita Skeeter's article, but it only briefly mentioned a son, not a name.

So now, the realization dawned across the table like a spreading ripple on water. Chloe Wright, the woman who exposed a fraud, had a son, their classmate.

Ethan gave a small nod to the boy beside him.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "She's my mother."

A chorus of subdued ohs and sharp whispers followed.

He didn't elaborate.

The first day of classes were here. The sky above the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall glowed a dull grey, hinting at light rain, and the bustle of students at breakfast was loud enough to drown out thought, at least almost.

Ethan sat in silence at the Ravenclaw table, quietly chewing on toast while half-listening to the low hum of excited chatter around him. He hadn't slept particularly well. His thoughts had gone in circles all night, looping between confusion and frustration at the revelation that his mother was now Hogwarts' newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Instead, he tried to focus on his schedule.

Charms first, then Transfiguration. Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch.

He dreaded it already.

But not for the reason he should have.

"Oi, Ethan," someone called from further down the table. He looked up and saw Anthony Goldstein waving. "Saw your mum at breakfast. That was wild, mate. She really is teaching DADA this year, huh?"

Ethan gave a small nod, brushing crumbs off his robes. "Yeah," he said simply.

Another Ravenclaw, leaned in from the other side. "Is she as intense at home as she was at the Lockhart trial? She looked like she was going to hex the judge at one point."

Ethan forced a tight smile. "Not really."

"Oh, but come on," someone else chimed in, Lisa Turpin, her eyes practically gleaming. "She exposed Gilderoy Lockhart! And now she's teaching here? You have to admit that's pretty cool."

"She's strict, isn't she?" Terry asked.

"She must be brilliant."

"Are you like… really good at dueling too?"

The questions came rapid-fire now, too fast to dodge. Ethan offered vague answers, short, polite, unrevealing. He didn't like attention, never had. The idea of people talking about him, speculating about his family, asking questions not because they cared, but because he had suddenly become interesting, it unsettled him.

The spotlight belonged to people like Harry Potter.

Not him.

He had liked the way things had been last year. Quiet. Focused. Being known in Ravenclaw for correct answers and diligence was fine. Academic popularity was clean, self-contained, and rarely spilled beyond the classroom.

But this?

This was messy.

He didn't miss the way some Hufflepuffs whispered when he walked past their table. He didn't miss the odd looks from older Slytherins, gauging him like a chess piece they hadn't noticed before. And worst of all, he didn't miss the way some people now smiled too easily at him, thin, artificial smiles that asked what can you offer me? without ever saying the words.

It was the same energy he had seen around Harry last year. The gawking. The fascination. The attempts to cling.

He didn't want it.

Not a single bit.

By the time he reached Charms, Ethan had already overheard two people mention him and his mother in passing. Something about "that Ravenclaw whose mum exposed Lockhart." He pretended not to notice.

Professor Flitwick greeted the class warmly, welcoming them to second year and explaining that they'd begin working on Silencing Charms. As always, he was cheerful, patient, and enthusiastic about proper wand technique. Ethan threw himself into the lesson like a lifeline.

And for a brief stretch of time, it worked.

Here, in the classroom, there was no gossip. No stares. Just the crisp arc of a wand, the pronunciation of Silencio, and the small thrill of success when a fellow student opened their mouth and found no sound came out.

He had already been able to cast it, like some people, but if this way anything to show, this year wouldn't need introductions.

But the moment class ended, it was back, even if he couldnt hear anyone else above the plethora of other students in the halls.

Transfiguration passed in much the same way, though McGonagall brooked no disruptions in her class, so Ethan at least found refuge there.

By the time Defense Against the Dark Arts came around, Ethan was socially drained.

He sat near the back of the room, already uncomfortable before the class even began.

She didn't acknowledge him as he came, and he appreciated it. She was a professional, and had standards to meet. She had tied her hair back neatly, her robes more formal than usual, and when she spoke, her voice was cool and direct, her presence immediately commanding.

He wanted to be proud to have his mother as a Hogwarts Professor. But it was just that darn curse waiting beneath the surface to strike.

So, instead of a nice and easy year, now he was worrying about his mother, even if she wasnt his real mother.

Hopefully, he wouldnt need to worry. Perhaps the curse wouldnt get her, though, that was just a small hope. He would need to watch carefully and react to whatever the curse tries to throw at her.