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[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 49: The Trials Begin! Ethan's New Card
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 23:47:00 +0000 UTCIn the hushed expanse of the Hogwarts library, the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and whispered plans.
"Blow them all up with a blast!" Ron suggested, his voice a mix of enthusiasm and recklessness.
"No, that’d only rile them up," Hermione countered, her tone sharp as she flipped through the pages of a hefty tome. "A hypnotic spell would be better—oh! I think I’ve seen one somewhere!"
Harry, scratching his head, ventured, "Could I just zoom over on my broomstick?"
Ethan Vincent, with a patient smile, shook his head. "No props allowed in this competition, Harry. It’s a test of academic prowess, not Quidditch."
"Not even a flying spell?" Harry pressed.
Ethan chuckled darkly, his cobalt eyes glinting with a mix of menace and mirth. "We’re in a primeval forest, Harry. Unless the monkeys suddenly decide to prioritize hygiene, they won’t be summoning brooms. And no, a flying broom isn’t the same as your gran’s sweeping broom."
"Oh… right," Harry mumbled, dazed by Ethan’s rapid-fire explanation.
Ever since the trio learned Ethan was preparing for the Secret Realm Hunting Challenge, they’d rallied to his side, spending every spare moment in the library scouring for strategies to tackle the giant purple toads.
"Look, Ethan!" Hermione shoved a book toward him, her finger jabbing at a complex incantation. "This is a powerful hypnotic spell. You could team up with others to cast it and lull all the toads to sleep."
"That’s a solid plan," Ethan said, studying the intricate spell with a serious frown. "Just one hitch—no one’s likely to team up with me."
Hermione blinked, stunned. "Why not? Isn’t this competition about unity?"
She’d done her research. The Secret Realm Hunting Challenge didn’t mandate specific team formations, but students typically grouped by school, collaborating to secure victory and glory. Hogwarts professors even evaluated teamwork skills. So why would Ethan be left out?
Ethan’s lips curled into a wry grin, his handsome features tinged with a chilling edge. "To them, I’m the one destined to crash and burn. No need to waste effort on a lost cause."
Hermione froze, her clever mind, usually fixated on scoring top marks, stumbling over this social slight. After a moment, she ducked her head, flipping through the book to mask her embarrassment. "Look at this," she muttered, "an introduction to the giant purple toad. They’re docile when undisturbed, but if provoked, they attack in swarms, relentless until the intruder’s obliterated. Normally, they only target threats, but if enraged, they’ll lash out at everything. Incredibly dangerous…"
Ethan, already familiar with the toads’ behavior, propped his chin in his hand, thoughts drifting. His current plan hinged on using a portal to bypass the outer toad defenses and slip into their cave. But the cave housed its own guardians, including their king—a monstrous toad, five or six meters tall. Wound the king, and the entire colony would erupt into a frenzy, like the final boss of a deadly game.
The challenge’s goal was to retrieve the most valuable item from the cave’s nest. Timing was critical: the first to enter could claim the finest treasures, while latecomers might be left with warped silver spoons or shattered pottery. Securing a prized item guaranteed selection; otherwise, it came down to the professors’ judgment.
"I can’t leave it to the professors," Ethan mused. "As a first-year, they’d never pick me. I have to grab the treasure first. A portal’s the key, but it’s too straightforward…"
Harry’s muttering broke his reverie. "If only we knew exactly where the treasure was… Ethan could just portal in, snatch it, and be done without stepping foot in the lair."
Ethan’s grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes. He opened his mouth to explain that his portal spell required a visible range of thirty meters—then froze. A bolt of inspiration struck, slicing through his tangled thoughts like lightning.
Bang!
Ethan shot to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. The trio flinched, huddling together, eyes wide with alarm as they stared at him.
"Yes… why didn’t I think of that?" Ethan muttered, his gaze unfocused. "Within my line of sight… since my eyes can’t detach and roam on their own, why not create a new perspective?"
A new painting. A new card. A way to shatter the limits of his portal spell.
Inspiration surged like wildfire.
Ethan whipped around, his pupils dilated, a manic grin spreading across his face. "Harry, you’re a bloody genius!"
Harry shrank back, pinned against his chair, looking utterly defenseless. Ethan’s face loomed close—too close, like a gleeful Gargamel about to pounce. Harry forced a weak smile. "Uh… thanks?"
"Who’s making that racket in the library?" Madam Pince’s voice cut through the air as she stormed over. For once, Harry welcomed her scolding—until she spotted Ethan. Her stern expression melted into concern. "Oh, Mr. Vincent? Are you alright?"
"I’m fine, Madam Pince. Thank you," Ethan replied, flashing a charming smile that could’ve disarmed a dragon.
"Good, good~" Madam Pince beamed, her usually dour face softening in a way that left the trio gobsmacked. But the moment she turned to Ron, her glare returned. "Weasley, read your book properly or get out!"
Ron yanked a book closer, burying his face in it, muttering under his breath.
Once Madam Pince retreated, Ethan’s eyes gleamed with fervor. "Right, my friends! Help me find a spell to expand my vision. It’s time to shake up the world!"
The trio, though baffled by the leap from vision spells to world-shaking, caught his enthusiasm. Books piled up, pages rustled, and quills scratched furiously. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows and tracing delicate patterns of frost, framing the four figures in a fleeting, unforgettable tableau.
The night of the tryouts arrived. At 10 p.m., under the strict curfew, no spectators gathered—only contestants and professors stood by the shimmering Black Lake. Ethan, bundled in a thick robe, stood at the cliff’s edge, clutching a new rectangular card. He studied it with a fixation that bordered on obsession, turning it over in his hands, utterly captivated.
He trudged across the rough gravel along the lake, head bowed, until a sneering voice broke his focus. "Well, look who’s here!"
Ethan paused, lifting his gaze slowly. Sean Mike, a senior still smarting from Ethan’s rejection of his club invitation, stood with arms crossed, glaring down with smug contempt, as if ready to break into a mocking dance.
Ethan spoke, his voice syncing perfectly with Sean’s: "Isn’t this the famous artist Ethan Vincent? Overestimating himself by showing up for the tryouts. Here to entertain us all?"
The words overlapped, eerily identical.
"Sorry, mate, I overheard your little rehearsal in the common room," Ethan said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. "You really need to work on those lines. They’re not landing."
Sean’s face flushed crimson, visible even in the moonlight. Humiliation burned in his eyes as he glared at Ethan, teeth gritted. This slick-talking first-year was about to learn what Ravenclaw’s true strength looked like. Sean vowed to make him the laughingstock of the selection.
