Ethan leisurely followed behind the professors and students, walking toward Hogwarts Castle standing in the darkness. Climbing the long stone steps, entering through the heavy, tall oak doors.
Since Ethan was the only one among everyone who didn't need to go to the hospital wing, he quickly parted ways with the group and headed alone to the Ravenclaw common room at the top of the tower.
Before parting, Professor Snape approached him. His hair was disheveled, his robes torn, and slime covered his entire body and face like troll snot.
He did have some Knockturn Alley flair.
Ethan evaluated internally. But ultimately didn't say it out loud. He was afraid of losing fifty points next Potions class for stirring the cauldron with his right hand.
"What is it, Professor Snape?"
Ethan looked up, showing a pure smile as if he hadn't seen anything.
Professor Snape bent down close to Ethan. Like a hissing snake, he slowly spoke with his large hooked nose facing Ethan:
"You'd better pray you've memorized your Potions textbook from cover to cover without missing a single word, Mr. Vincent... Oh, and that includes the upper-year textbooks."
"Otherwise, Ravenclaw might not maintain its leading position. You wouldn't want other professors to know what you did to other students during the assessment, would you?"
"..."
Ethan blinked and opened his mouth: "Lily—"
"Enough, shut up!"
Professor Snape's expression changed. His finger trembled, almost instinctively reaching toward his chest.
...This damn brat.
Snape narrowed his eyes, looking at Ethan's clean little face. He really wanted to splash a potion on him and make this arrogant brat's face break out in boils.
But undeniably, there was Ethan's extremely high talent. In his Potions class, even though he racked his brains trying to find fault with Ethan, he couldn't pick out a single flaw. Every finished product submitted after class was of "perfect" quality.
Not to mention Ethan's unique talent in the Dark Arts. Look—before even starting school, he could paint prohibited items that scared those idiots at the Ministry out of their wits. After starting school, it was one painting after another. He practically turned all of Hogwarts into his experimental ground!
So what if he hurt other students and stole trophies? Snape even admired Ethan's methods—ruthless enough. It would just be better if he didn't accidentally injure others.
"...Every student selected for the challenge has the right to choose a guidance teacher," Snape hissed.
"Perhaps you think your house's Professor Flitwick is already excellent enough... But in spells, you ultimately cannot compete with upper-year students who have studied several more years... Therefore, you need some new methods."
"Something that can give you a presentable skill within two months."
Like Potions, or some harmless Dark Arts.
"And I," Professor Snape puffed out his chest slightly, "might be able to give you a few pointers while teaching Slytherin house students."
So choose him, choose him.
Ethan paused, understanding Professor Snape's implication: He didn't have time. That made sense—after all, he still had Slytherin's selected students to manage. What a tactful way of putting it.
Indeed, beneath Snape's greasy, hard exterior was a soft heart.
Ethan nodded firmly: "I understand. Thank you, Professor."
I won't bother you by asking.
Hearing this, Snape nodded with satisfaction. Hmph. Even an evil little artist with the brain circuits of a wild giant should understand such an obvious hint, right?
Relieved, Professor Snape smugly swished his robes and strode away. In his mind, he was already fantasizing about Ethan defeating students from other schools under his guidance.
Ethan watched the figures disappear around the corner. Withdrawing his gaze, he cheerfully used portals to teleport himself section by section to the high Ravenclaw tower.
...The reason he hadn't developed muscles for physical persuasion despite climbing stairs for so long seemed to be found.
...
Meanwhile, in the hospital wing.
In the silence, a sound like rodents gnawing came rustling from between the beds.
"I will do it, will do it... please, please Master... ah!"
Suppressed screams came, the bed frame creaking as if someone was rolling on it, unable to bear the pain.
[Useless! To think I must depend on such useless trash—what a disgrace...]
"Sorry, sorry Master..."
[Although you still haven't managed to kill Harry Potter or get me the Philosopher's Stone... at least there's been a new harvest...]
[Ethan Vincent—that child has great potential, superior to you by countless times!]
[Go contact him, use your true abilities to teach him. That child won't mind... Whether knowledge, money, or secret channels known only to Dark wizards, you must support that child without reservation...]
"Yes, yes, Master..."
[Ancient wizards carved runic symbols to create powerful enchantments and amplify their spellwork. Now replaced by simpler spells, this technique has almost been lost except among specific scholars...]
[And Ethan Vincent integrating incantations and models into paintings coincidentally echoes ancient magic circles.]
[I have a premonition that this craft will set off a storm in the wizarding world...]
[Don't disappoint me again—you know the consequences, Quirrell...]
"Yes, yes Master!"
Just then, noisy footsteps sounded, and the door was pushed open with a bang. A fishy smell from the lake bottom surged in, the hospital wing lights snapped on, and the originally spacious room was suddenly crowded with people.
"Madam Pomfrey! Quick, this child has fainted!"
Professor McGonagall called anxiously, turning her head to see Professor Quirrell collapsed on a nearby bed. She was startled, quickly recovering: "Oh, good evening, Professor Quirrell. How is your recovery? Sorry, the selection just ended, and it's a bit chaotic now."
"I'm f-f-fine!"
Quirrell stammered, forcing a smile. "I can be d-discharged tomorrow. Thank you for your c-concern..." His eyes were red as if he'd just been crying.
"How are these s-students?"
Quirrell asked curiously, looking at the grimacing students. One was most severely injured—leg broken, a large bump on his forehead, covered in blood, looking quite frightening.
Quirrell had asked casually to change the subject. But unexpectedly, Professor McGonagall's face darkened: "I don't want to suspect my own students. But I'm afraid Mr. Vincent had a hand in this."
Quirrell was stunned: "Mr. Vincent? Ethan Vincent?"
"Yes."
Professor McGonagall nodded. "According to Professor Snape, he saw Ethan somehow set up a portal at long distance, shooting arrows to anger the Toad King, causing the colony to rage."
Long-distance portal setup...
A flash of surprise crossed Quirrell's eyes. Only about a week had passed since Halloween, and Ethan's skills had improved again... Given time, what kind of sinister thing would he grow into?!
[Chapter Complete]
***
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