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[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 42: A Sincere Invitation to Ravenclaw’s Elite
🕑 Added 2025-08-03 21:18:20 +0000 UTCEthan Vincent, flanked by Harry, Ron, and Hermione, ascended the spiral staircase toward the Ravenclaw common room, their footsteps echoing softly in the stone corridors of Hogwarts. The moment the professors’ watchful eyes faded into the distance, Ron’s restraint shattered.
“Ethan, you’re bloody brilliant!” he burst out, his voice brimming with awe. “That was a Troll! Merlin’s beard, even Dumbledore himself probably couldn’t have taken down a Troll single-handedly as a first-year!”
Ron’s mind replayed the dazzling streaks of light Ethan had conjured—flashes like shooting stars, swift and radiant. They had sliced through the Troll’s stone-like hide with precision, pinning the beast to the wall in a single, breathtaking strike.
“Beautiful. Powerful,” Ron muttered, his eyes distant with admiration. “That’s what magic’s supposed to be.”
He drifted into a daydream, picturing himself striding onto the scene like a hero from a tale, wand blazing, saving the day with a flourish. “If only I could cast spells like that… wouldn’t that be something?”
Ethan, walking a step ahead, glanced back with a casual smile. “Keep practicing, Ron. Magic rewards effort, just like painting rewards time spent with a brush.”
His words carried the weight of experience. In his past life, Ethan had toiled through countless sketchbooks and stacks of paper to hone his artistry. Now, with a wand that felt like an extension of his soul—one that could channel magic into vibrant pigments—he felt unstoppable. The Avis spell, conjuring a flock of birds, had never flowed so effortlessly. Two months of relentless practice, of worn-out paintbrushes and late nights, had paid off.
Tonight, I’m sleeping with my paintbrush under my pillow, Ethan decided, a spark of glee flickering in his eyes.
But as he watched Ron flail his arms with the enthusiasm of a windmill, a thought struck him. I might’ve stolen their moment. Harry’s absurd three-meter leap to tackle the Troll from behind was more athletic than magical, and Ron… poor Ron had missed a chance to practice his Levitation Charm.
Ethan’s expression turned serious. He was a good wizard—too good to hog the spotlight. Turning to Ron, who was still grinning like a fool, he said, “Hey, Ron, how about I teach you some spells? We could start with the Levitation Charm.”
The words hung in the air. Hermione, who had been silent, snapped her head up, her eyes blazing with interest. Ron, however, froze, his grin faltering as if Ethan had just offered to feed him to a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
Teach me spells? The Great Demon King Ethan? Ron’s mind raced. He was all talk when it came to magic—Lord Ye’s Love for Dragons, as the saying went. He loved the idea of spells but balked at the hard work. “Uh… th-that’s too much trouble for you,” he stammered, edging backward while tugging Harry along, his eyes pleading for rescue.
Harry caught the signal and cleared his throat, summoning his courage to face the smiling “Great Demon King.” “Ethan, thanks for saving us tonight,” he said earnestly. “If it weren’t for you, that Troll’s club would’ve turned us into pulp.”
His voice faltered as guilt crept in. He’d wanted to be the hero, yet he’d ended up the one protected. Worse, he’d foolishly stepped in front of Ethan, blocking his spell. His cheeks burned at the memory.
Ethan’s gaze shifted from Ron’s nervous fidgeting to Harry’s crestfallen expression. After a moment, he offered a warm smile. “No need to dwell on it, Harry. You stood in front of me, with Ron and Hermione behind you. How could I not step up?”
His smile, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through a high window, was striking—bright teeth, clear eyes, undeniably handsome.
“Brother!” Ron exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. At home, he was often overshadowed by his siblings, but Ethan made him feel seen. Harry, too, felt a lump in his throat, his eyes misting. Despite being their age, Ethan carried the steady presence of an older brother, breaking rules to rush to their aid. Beneath his odd humor and penchant for terrible jokes, his heart was kind.
“And besides,” Ethan added with a mischievous grin, “I was already planning to take down the Troll. Saving you was just a bonus.”
Harry and Ron blinked, their heartfelt moment snagging on his words. A bonus? It was like being told they were a side quest in Ethan’s grand adventure. Harry’s expression flattened, his earlier warmth replaced by a familiar exasperation. Classic Ethan.
Leaning closer, Ethan tilted his head, his tone teasing but earnest. “Harry, you’re awfully quiet. Shy by nature?”
Harry groaned inwardly. Just stop talking, please. He couldn’t help but think: anyone who could truly befriend Ethan—close, real friends—would need either the patience of a saint or a personality as delightfully unhinged as his. Maybe both.
As they reached a fork in the corridor, Ethan paused. “Good night, you three. Hope you enjoyed this Halloween. Sweet dreams.” With a wave, he turned and climbed the stairs toward Ravenclaw Tower.
Ron let out a long breath, watching Ethan’s figure disappear. “That was the wildest Halloween I’ve ever had. I’ll never forget it.” Between Professor Quirrell’s dramatic collapse and the Troll’s rampage, it had been a night straight out of a ghost story.
Harry nodded, his thoughts drifting. Is this what Halloween’s like in the wizarding world? It’s… intense. He also pondered what he could do for Ethan. Since the start of term, Ethan had helped him in countless ways, big and small. Harry wanted to return the favor, somehow.
Hermione, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke, her voice steady but intense. “I want to be like Ethan.”
Her eyes, usually sharp with confidence, were soft with newfound humility. Harry shivered, catching a glimpse of the same awe he’d seen in Malfoy after Ethan had thoroughly trounced him.
Ron gaped. “You’re giving up on being human?!”
Hermione’s composure shattered. She rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out. “I mean I want to learn from him,” she snapped. “To go beyond textbooks, to practice more… and maybe listen to others’ ideas.”
Her cheeks flushed as she looked down. Ethan’s Avis spell had been a revelation, a vivid reminder of the chasm between her skills and his. Two months ago, his Evanesco on the train had impressed her, but it had felt achievable. Now? His progress was staggering, his talent almost intimidating. Yet it also ignited a fire in her. She didn’t just want to catch up—she needed to.
“I can’t surpass him,” she admitted, biting her lip, “but I’ll work to keep pace.”
Ron scratched his head, watching her fervor with unease. What was that Muggle term Dean mentioned? Oh, right—virus. Ethan was like a contagious spark, spreading ambition wherever he went.
In the Ravenclaw common room, Ethan stepped through the enchanted doorway with ease, his wand still humming faintly from the night’s excitement. The room, usually abuzz with chatter, fell silent as heads turned. Eyes followed him—some awed, some wary. Tonight, Ethan Vincent was the undeniable star.
Ravenclaw’s greatest oddity, a first-year already carving a legend. Whether that legend would shine or darken, no one could say.
“Look who’s here!” Professor Flitwick’s voice cut through the hush, his small frame practically bouncing with pride. “I was just telling everyone about your triumph over the Troll! They’re dying to see you show off again!”
He paused, a twinkle in his eye. “But first, someone wants a word with you.”
Flitwick stepped aside, revealing a gaunt young man Ethan didn’t recognize. Pale, almost skeletal, with dark circles under his eyes, he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
Michael Corner, ever the gossip, sidled up and whispered, “That’s Sean Mike, Vice President of Ravenclaw’s top club. Top student every year!”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hmm.”
“Wait!” Michael gasped, clutching Ethan’s sleeve. “He’s coming over! They never take first-years—this can’t be happening!”
Ethan met the senior’s gaze as Sean stopped before him, his expression grim. Before Sean could speak, Ethan flashed a grin. “Senior, you didn’t lose a bet and have to confess your love to me, did you? Sorry, I’ll have to pass.”
Sean’s jaw twitched, his carefully maintained composure crumbling. He looked ready to storm off, but a pointed glance from Prefect Robert kept him rooted. Forcing a strained smile, he extended a hand. “I, Sean Mike, officially invite you, Ethan Vincent, to join Ravenclaw’s elite society—the Round Table Council.”
