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[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 43: Ethan's Ambitions Soar Beyond the Ordinary
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 22:17:12 +0000 UTCThe words hung in the air like a spell gone awry.
A collective gasp rippled through the Ravenclaw common room, sharp and sudden, as if the very walls had inhaled in shock. Students stared, wide-eyed, at Sean and Ethan, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. Senior students shook their heads, murmuring regrets under their breath.
Hiss—!
This was the society, the pinnacle of prestige every Hogwarts student coveted: the Round Table Council. Membership was more than a badge—it was a golden key, a whispered promise of influence and power. Rumor had it that every member of the Council went on to become a titan in the Ministry of Magic. It was an exclusive circle, unapologetically elite, a network that bound its members tighter than any charm. Even Slytherins, with their cunning alliances, sought favor with its ranks.
But the Council had rules, unspoken yet ironclad. Lower-year students were rarely considered, their knowledge and experience deemed insufficient for such hallowed company. Cho Chang, a second-year, had been the rare exception this term, her admission a marvel whispered about in the halls.
And yet, here was Sean, one of the Council’s two vice presidents, extending an invitation to Ethan Vincent—a first-year who’d barely been at Hogwarts for two months!
The room buzzed with astonishment. But then, they thought, was it really so surprising? Ethan had accomplished more in eight weeks than most students managed in seven years. His name was already a legend, equal parts terrifying and absurd, his dark humor and sharp wit leaving a trail of chaos and laughter.
“O Galloping Gorgon!” Michael Corner’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull, as if he’d been the one invited. He grabbed Ethan’s sleeve, tugging with desperate envy. “You’ve got first pick of any witch for the next seven years! Merlin’s beard, I’m so jealous I could hex myself!”
“…”
Ethan swatted Michael’s hand away with a flick, his expression one of exaggerated disdain. “That’s your grand ambition, is it?”
He turned, locking eyes with Sean. The senior’s gaze burned with a cocktail of contempt, resentment, and smug superiority. To Sean, offering Ethan a seat at the Round Table was an act of magnanimity, a gift to an unworthy first-year. Ethan could almost hear the unspoken sneer: “Shrimp-headed fool, you should be groveling for this.”
But Ethan hadn’t asked for it. Nor did he want it.
“Thank you for the chance to join Ravenclaw’s most illustrious society—” Ethan began, his tone deceptively polite.
Sean smirked, arms crossed, radiating arrogance. Yes, yes, his expression seemed to say. Bow to the honor we’re bestowing upon you, you ridiculous little firstie. He was already planning to toss Ethan scraps, just enough to keep him in line, while the Council’s true power remained with the seniors.
What Sean didn’t notice was the glint of pity in Captain Robert’s eyes, watching from the sidelines.
“—but I refuse,” Ethan finished, his voice calm but cutting, like a wand slicing through the air.
Sean froze. “Hmph. Fine, I’ll let you join anyway. But don’t act like a fool and—wait, refuse?”
The word hit him like a Bludger to the chest. His face contorted, shock and disbelief twisting his features until his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. For a moment, it seemed he’d never heard the word “no” in his life.
Ethan took a half-step back, his brow furrowing with mock concern. “You’re not about to say, ‘You’re the first person to reject me, I’ll remember you,’ are you? This isn’t some cheesy romance novel.”
Sean choked on his own words, his face purpling as if he’d swallowed a Puking Pastille. Merlin’s soggy socks, Ethan’s nonsense was more infuriating than a punch to the face.
Across the room, Captain Robert tilted his chin, squinting with a satisfied smirk. Finally, he thought, someone else gets to suffer Ethan’s particular brand of torment. Watching Ethan dismantle others with his sharp tongue and terrible jokes was a rare delight.
The common room fell silent, the air thick with disbelief. Being invited to the Round Table was shocking enough—but rejecting it outright? That was unthinkable.
Michael’s jaw practically hit the floor. He gaped at Ethan, stammering, “You’re turning down the chance to pick any witch for seven years?! Are you secretly betrothed or something?!”
Even Professor Flitwick, perched precariously on a table, nearly toppled over in surprise. He caught himself just in time, his tiny frame trembling with astonishment.
Sean, recovering from his verbal strangulation, felt his cheeks burn with humiliation. “How dare you!” he roared, his voice cracking with indignation. “Do you even know what the Round Table is?!”
He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “With the professor here, I’ll keep this civil. But, Mr. Vincent, you’re clueless. You didn’t just reject an invitation—you rejected your future at the Ministry of Magic!”
The threat was clear: cross the Round Table, and your path to power would be barred before you even began. Sean’s words dripped with the weight of bureaucracy, a preview of the Ministry’s tangled web of favors and vendettas.
Ethan’s eyes narrowed, his nose wrinkling as if he’d caught a whiff of something foul. Power, he thought. It reeks worse than a Troll’s armpit.
“You made two mistakes in that little speech,” Ethan said slowly, his voice carrying across the silent room. He raised a finger, calm as if he were correcting a mispronounced spell. “First, who said my goal is the Ministry of Magic?”
Sean blinked, caught off guard. “But—Ravenclaw’s always aimed for the Ministry—”
“Rubbish,” Michael muttered under his breath. “My goal’s to live like a king, drowning in Firewhisky and surrounded by beauties—ow!”
Ethan flicked his wand, casting a casual Wingardium Leviosa that sent Michael floating an inch from the fireplace, his robes dangerously close to the flames.
“Your first mistake,” Ethan continued, ignoring Michael’s yelp, “is assuming everyone shares your ambitions—or that your goals are the grandest.” He leaned forward, his voice steady but sharp. “My sights aren’t set on the Ministry. They’re set on the world.”
The word landed like a thunderclap, resonating through the common room with the weight of a struck gong.
World.
It was a simple word, but from Ethan’s lips, it carried the force of a prophecy. The students froze, their breaths catching in their throats. Professor Flitwick’s eyes glistened, his small hands clapping excitedly as he muttered, “Yes, yes!” He seemed to glimpse a golden age, a time when Ravenclaw’s eagle soared as it had in the days of the Founders.
Sean stumbled back, his face a mask of shock and fury. “You—you can’t even get into the Ministry! And you’re talking about the world?!”
Ethan nodded, his grin almost too cheerful. “You’re right. I probably won’t make it into the Ministry. Because—” He paused for effect, his eyes glinting with mischief. “There’s a good chance I’d fail the background check.”
A stunned silence followed.
Sean’s mouth opened and closed, unable to form a retort. The students exchanged glances, torn between horror and amusement.
Fail the background check? With Ethan’s record—attacking a professor in his first year, no less—it wasn’t hard to imagine him blowing up half of Hogwarts by his second. The Ministry would likely lock his file in a drawer marked “Trouble.”
Sean’s frustration was palpable, like he’d swung at Ethan and hit nothing but air.
Ethan’s grin widened, his tone dripping with mock kindness. “But don’t worry, Sean. Azkaban’s under the Ministry’s jurisdiction. If you’re so keen to work together, I can always try to get us both sent there.”
Sean sputtered, his face a mix of outrage and disbelief. “Who—who said I want to work with you?! And Azkaban? Are you insane?!”
The common room erupted into whispers, Ethan’s dark humor casting a spell of its own. He stood there, handsome and terrifying, his terrible jokes a weapon as sharp as any wand. And as the students watched, they couldn’t help but wonder: just what was Ethan Vincent planning to conquer?
