Secret Letters

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Lucius Malfoy, his tailored robes impeccable as ever, practically waltzed into Ethan's office. Lockhart's stories of Ethan's greed had him prepared to pay a hefty price for his misplaced letter. To his surprise, Ethan tossed it on the desk, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

"This yours, Lucius?"

Malfoy blinked, momentarily off-balance. He'd steeled himself for a protracted negotiation, a significant chunk of gold changing hands. Yet, Ethan seemed uninterested in such crude tactics.

"Hmm," Lucius mumbled, gathering his composure. He scanned the letter, a sliver of something – suspicion or perhaps a flicker of respect – crossing his face.

"Everything appears to be in order, Mr. Ethan."

Ethan's smile remained enigmatic.

"Indeed, Lucius. Did you find everything you were looking for?"

The question hung heavy in the air. Lucius meticulously re-examined the letter, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine. Relief flooded him upon confirming its contents.

"Thank you, Ethan," he muttered, the words gruff but laced with a hint of gratitude – a rare display from the usually arrogant Malfoy. With a curt nod, he exited, leaving a trail of unanswered questions in his wake.

The following hours were a whirlwind. One by one, patriarchs of pure-blood families showed up in Ethan's office, anxiety warring with entitlement on their faces. Each retrieved a "misplaced" letter with a forced smile, prominent figures in the Ministry's intricate dance of power. They'd recognized the significance of the letters when Barty Crouch's downfall became public knowledge.

Ethan returned each letter with a practiced smile, a calculated gamble. He understood the double-edged sword he wielded. These secrets could grant him influence but also make him a target. The steady stream of visitors finally dwindled to a single, unwelcome knock.

Umbridge, contorted in a grotesque mask of forced cheer, entered. The same atrocious pink cardigan adorned her toad-like form, a monument to bad taste.

"Ethan, a moment of your time?" she chirped, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"Certainly, Dolores," Ethan replied, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes."

It seems I've misplaced a few letters in Mr. Crouch's office," Umbridge began, her voice adopting a conspiratorial tone.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind returning them?" She winked at him, a gesture that sent a wave of nausea through Ethan. Umbridge, he knew, was a master manipulator. She'd likely already inquired about the letters. Her confidence stemmed from the assumption that Ethan, like her, reveled in exploiting leverage.

"Unfortunately, Dolores," Ethan said, spreading his hands in mock helplessness,

"Minister Fudge has requested that I hand over all the recovered letters. I'm afraid yours aren't among them."

A kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across Umbridge's face – disbelief, fury, and a tightly controlled fear. She was a skilled practitioner of emotional manipulation, but for the first time, she seemed genuinely rattled.

"But… but those letters…" she stammered, her voice cracking. She pointed a stubby finger towards a single, lonely letter on the table, the sole survivor of the previous retrieval frenzy.

Ethan's smile widened, a silent challenge replacing amusement. The real game, it seemed, had just begun. The solitary letter on the table held the key to Umbridge's hidden agenda and, potentially, the key to exposing a far more sinister plot.

Umbridge's face contorted into a mask of forced cheer as she entered Ethan's office. The same atrocious pink cardigan clung to her toad-like form, a monument to bad taste that did little to hide the tremor in her hands.

Ethan shrugged, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

"Perhaps they weren't as important as you thought, Dolores."

The color drained from Umbridge's face. The carefully constructed facade of authority crumbled, revealing a desperate woman clinging to the vestiges of her power. In a move that surprised even Ethan, Umbridge lunged for the drawer where he kept the recovered letters. Panic and desperation fueled her movements, starkly contrasting her calculated demeanor.

Ethan's hand shot out, his reflexes lightning fast. He grasped Umbridge's wrist with a steely grip, stopping her cold. The air crackled with a sudden tension, a silent duel of wills.

"Dolores," Ethan said, his voice low and dangerous,

"Need I remind you where we are? Violence will not solve your problems here."

Umbridge's face flushed crimson, a mixture of shame and defiance. For a fleeting moment, a surge of reckless defiance coursed through her. In her desperate bid to salvage her future, she considered the unthinkable. A well-placed Petrification spell, a swift Obliviate, and the problem would be eliminated. But then, as quickly as the thought arose, it vanished.

Ethan's icy gaze held a chilling familiarity, a reminder of the ruthless reputation that preceded him – "The Butcher of Knockturn Alley." The reason, however reluctantly, returned to Umbridge.

With a defeated sigh, she slumped back in the chair, her shoulders slumped in defeat. The air of superiority had been thoroughly extinguished.

"Just give me back the letter, Ethan," she rasped, her voice devoid of cloying sweetness. Ethan, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the single letter left on the table, the lone survivor of the previous retrieval frenzy. It held the key to Umbridge's hidden agenda and, potentially, the key to exposing a far more sinister plot.

"The situation has changed, Dolores," Ethan finally said, his voice devoid of amusement.

"The contents of that letter are no longer the concern. We have a much bigger game to play now."