windkaze
patreon
[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 57: Newbie Gift Pack: Unlock the Summoning Flow!
🕑 Added 2025-08-09 23:02:32 +0000 UTCThe School Infirmary was a grim tableau of groaning students and scattered "corpses," or so it seemed to Professor Quirrell as he surveyed the chaos. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard. Ethan Vincent, that wretched boy, was undeniably gifted in the Dark Arts—a talent Quirrell both loathed and envied. If not for Ethan’s interference, Quirrell’s plan would have gone off without a hitch. Harry Potter would have plummeted from his broom during the Quidditch match, a fatal accident perfectly orchestrated. It was foolproof! Or so he’d thought.
Quirrell’s teeth ground together, his mind seething with the urge to unleash ten Cruciatus Curses right into Ethan’s smug, handsome face. The boy’s penchant for terrible jokes only made him more infuriating—his humor was as sharp as a hex and twice as unsettling.
“Don’t disappoint me…” The low, sinister voice of Lord Voldemort slithered through Quirrell’s mind, a cold lash against his frayed nerves.
He shuddered violently. “Yes, yes, Master…” he replied silently, forcing down the bitterness that churned within him.
He had to play the part—pretend to be magnanimous, forgive Ethan’s transgressions, and even invest time, energy, and knowledge into the boy’s twisted pursuits. Those sinister paintings Ethan obsessed over? Quirrell was expected to support and guide him in their creation. The thought made his blood boil.
“Are you alright, Professor Quirrell?” Professor McGonagall’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, her brow furrowed with concern. “Your face… you look unwell.”
Quirrell’s features had twisted into a grimace, as if he were in the throes of some internal torment. He stiffened, then forced a strained laugh. “It’s, it’s just an old injury flaring up. Nothing to worry about, haha!”
McGonagall’s eyes sharpened with purpose. “Speaking of which, don’t forget to give Ethan a proper punishment. He needs to understand the gravity of attacking a professor.”
Quirrell’s mind was a buzzing haze, barely registering her words. He nodded absently, his thoughts elsewhere. McGonagall, taking his nod as agreement, assumed he had a plan to discipline the boy and steer him back to the right path. Satisfied, she turned to tend to the injured students.
Beside Quirrell’s bed lay Sean Mike, unconscious and battered from the tryouts. Quirrell’s stomach churned with a sudden, dreadful premonition. Would this infirmary become a revolving door for Ethan’s victims? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
Monday, Ravenclaw Dormitory
“I still can’t believe you passed the tryouts!” Michael Corner exclaimed, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he gaped at Ethan.
Ethan, already dressed and pristine, sat at his desk, quill scratching rhythmically against parchment as he penned a letter. His desk, once sparse, now brimmed with curiosities: a neat row of books arranged alphabetically, a soft artificial hand that twitched and waved on its own (Ethan used it to hold his quill), rolling eyeballs, dancing figurines, and a telescope that revealed only inky blackness when peered into. Michael couldn’t fathom why Ethan was so enamored with these oddities, spending hours tinkering with them. Even Gobstones, with their foul-smelling spray, seemed more entertaining.
“Just lucky,” Ethan said, pausing to review his letter with a leisurely drawl.
Michael blinked. “Lucky? I heard everyone else ended up in the infirmary! And that chaotic scene from the tryouts? Only you could pull that off.”
Ethan’s lips twitched. “Hmm. The rumors are saying I transformed into a great demon, the final boss, and wiped out the competition to secure my spot. Sounds… intriguing.”
Michael groaned inwardly. Please, no. Hogwarts’ reputation would crumble if Ethan kept this up. Still, he couldn’t deny the thrill of watching Ethan wreak havoc. The idea of the first-year prodigy shocking the other houses was almost too delicious to imagine.
He grinned. “Ethan, my dear Feel free to give me any commands”
“Let’s paint together,” Ethan replied, his tone deceptively casual.
Michael’s face fell. “Sir, please, spare me! QAQ”
“Heh, shrimp-headed fool,” Ethan scoffed, turning to hand his letter to his owl, Carrot. In just two months, Carrot had transformed from a fluffy, naive bird into a muscular, imposing creature. Its gaze was fierce, its wings broad and powerful. With a mighty flap, it soared out the window, swatting aside a hapless pigeon in its path.
Michael stared, dumbfounded. Even the owl had adopted Ethan’s intense aura.
“Alright, let’s grab breakfast,” Ethan said, standing. “We’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning. I wish Professor Snape could teach it forever.”
“Ugh, no way,” Michael groaned.
“Better than that useless Quirrell,” Ethan shot back. “I don’t know why Hogwarts keeps him around.”
Anthony Goldstein, their other roommate, pushed up his glasses indignantly. “I think it’s fine,” he said. “At least exams will be easier.”
“We’re Ravenclaws,” Michael countered with a lazy smile. “We should be aiming for first or second place.”
“My knowledge isn’t about boring ABCs,” Ethan interjected, waving a hand. “It’s about—oh, good morning, Padma! You’re positively radiant today~”
“Shame of the house!” Padma muttered, rolling her eyes.
The group’s banter shifted to a heated debate about whether they’d ever face real Dark Wizards. Ethan’s mind, however, drifted elsewhere. Before his eyes, glowing blue text materialized: “Newbie Gift Pack Activated.”
This was the reward he’d unlocked after the tryouts. “Current Gallery has collected extraordinary paintings: ‘Always’ (sent out), ‘Broomstick Rash,’ ‘The Portal,’ ‘Eris’s Call,’ ‘Door in the Eye.’”
“Due to your excellent performance, you have begun spreading your great art to the world. You are specially granted an S-rank Newbie Gift Pack: Living Painting Technique!”
Knowledge flooded his mind, as if downloaded directly into his brain. The process for creating Living Paintings was intricate: a canvas woven from the purest Unicorn hair, soaked in moonstone powder solution and tanned slowly. Each stroke required magic-infused pigments, demanding Ethan channel his magic with every brushstroke—a daunting, laborious task. The process also involved complex spells, memory threads of the painted subject, and specific fragrances to enhance the magic.
Every Living Painting was unique, a vessel for the soul’s essence, preserving the memories of the departed or the thoughts of the living. As Ethan reflected on the countless paintings adorning Hogwarts’ walls, a profound awe stirred within him. These were more than decorations—they were the living history of the wizarding world, passed down through generations.
Curiously, the Living Painting technique shared a kinship with Horcruxes, both rooted in soul magic. Yet where Horcruxes brought ruin, Living Paintings offered solace. Magic itself was neutral; its morality depended on the wielder.
This conviction fueled Ethan’s belief that Hogwarts should teach the Dark Arts outright. The revolving door of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors was a joke—how could students, even in their sixth or seventh years, fail to master a simple Expelliarmus? Learning the Dark Arts would equip them to counter curses proactively. Why fear Death Eaters when you could hit them with an Imperio?
The idea sparked a new ambition: Summoning Cards. With the Living Painting technique, Ethan could create cards that summoned creatures to overwhelm his enemies. Ten opponents? No problem—he’d summon monsters to strike directly. The more he thought about it, the more brilliant it seemed.
But theory was one thing; practice was another. He needed a professor bold enough to teach him the intricate spells required. His eyes gleamed with anticipation. Who would be worthy of this honor?
With that thought, Ethan and his companions stepped into the Great Hall, the promise of new magic crackling in his mind like a spell waiting to be cast.
