windkaze
patreon
[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 53: Ethan Vincent, the Smirking Scoundrel, Claims the Spoils
🕑 Added 2025-08-07 23:15:40 +0000 UTC"What's happening?! An earthquake?!" "The ground—it's shaking!" "No joke, the whole cave's trembling—Argh!"
Screams erupted, chaos spiraling through the cavern like a wildfire.
Gemma Farley, the first Slytherin Prefect to breach the entrance, stood rooted at the cave's mouth. Her eyes widened, pupils narrowing as she stared into the shadowy depths. Is this... the Toad King stirring?
In a flash, realization hit her. She whipped her head around, catching sight of crimson eyes glinting across the once-dark lake. They locked onto the intruders with predatory focus—the toad swarm had gone utterly feral.
"Run! Get to the Professors!" Gemma's voice cut through the panic, steady despite her racing heart. Her wand slashed through the air, conjuring a sheet of ice that froze the toads’ lashing tongues mid-strike. What in Merlin’s name happened deep in that cave?
The Professors, equally baffled, shared her question.
"Why have the toads gone mad?!" one shouted. "That roar... could the Toad King be wounded?" "Impossible! Snape’s guarding the heart of the nest!" "Focus—save the students first! Protego!"
The Professors surged into action, wands blazing as they stormed the cave. Professor Flitwick flicked his wand, summoning a towering mud wall from the lakebed to cage the frenzied toads.
Amid the chaos, Professor McGonagall’s gaze darted to the cliff’s edge. In the frenzy, everyone had overlooked the lone first-year applicant, Ethan Vincent, still standing motionless at the starting point.
Ethan hadn’t budged an inch.
He stood like a statue, or perhaps a spectator at a grim theater, observing the pandemonium with unnerving calm. The dim night cloaked most of his form in shadow, his face unreadable in the darkness. A chill crept up McGonagall’s spine. Her instincts screamed that this disaster was tied to Ethan.
But how? His portal spell could only manifest within his line of sight. Everyone knew that. If he hadn’t moved, he couldn’t have done anything... could he?
A piercing scream snapped her back to reality. Shaking off her suspicions, McGonagall threw herself into the rescue effort. Snape’s in the cave. It’ll be fine.
Deep within the cavern, Severus Snape was questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. Even his years as a double agent, dancing on the knife’s edge under Voldemort’s gaze, paled in comparison to this nightmare.
"Help! Somebody—help!" "Ribbit—CROAK!" "Urgh!"
Snape’s wand slashed through the air, a crimson spell crackling as it deflected a bullet-fast toad tongue. The tongue slammed into the cave wall, dislodging heavy stalactites that crashed to the ground. Screams echoed, painting the scene like a vision of hell.
The Toad King was a protected creature. Killing it would mean a hefty fine.
"Damn it all!" Snape hissed, casting a calming charm while retreating. His hair clung to his forehead like damp seaweed, his usual composure fraying.
But he wasn’t the unluckiest soul in the cave.
"My leg! MY LEG!"
Ravenclaw’s golden boy, Sean Mike, lay sprawled on the ground, one leg twisted at a grotesque angle, his back littered with shattered stalactite fragments. Every breath rasped like sandpaper, his eyes swollen and red from the toads’ toxic mucus. Tears and snot streamed down his face, blurring his vision.
He didn’t understand. Moments ago, victory was in his grasp—he’d claimed the trophy, success shimmering on the horizon. Then, with one enraged roar, it all crumbled.
The pain of losing everything after tasting triumph was worse than never having it at all. Why? Why did this happen? Had he crossed some devil?
"Help... please..." Sean groaned, reaching desperately toward Penelope Clearwater ahead of him. His other hand clung to his prize—a gleaming obsidian ring, its intricate carvings and dark gemstone captivating him from the moment he saw it.
Penelope, however, froze. She slumped to the ground, trembling, her eyes fixed on something horrific: an eyeball on Sean’s back. It was real. Not a hallucination. An actual, living eyeball, staring from his flesh.
Her mind, clouded by the poisonous mist, couldn’t process it. How could an eyeball grow on someone’s back?
Then, with a wet gurgle, the eyeball turned and locked onto her.
Penelope’s blood turned to ice. She stared, paralyzed, as the bloodshot, pitch-black orb seemed to smile at her.
A door materialized beneath her.
Before she could scream, Penelope plummeted through, her face frozen in terror.
"No! NO!" Sean wailed, watching his last hope vanish. Despair clawed at him. Was this how he’d die? In some absurd accident?
No. Snape was still here. Snape would save him. If he could just hold on, he might still pass the trial and claim victory.
Hope flickered in Sean’s chest. He gripped the obsidian ring tighter, its dark gem gleaming like a starless night. Forgetting spells in his panic, he clawed at the ground, dragging himself forward with raw survival instinct.
But then, his vision darkened.
A pale, small hand emerged from the shadows. It waved at him, almost playfully.
What...?
Before Sean could process it, the hand darted down and seized the ring.
No! Sean’s body tensed, his grip tightening. This was his last hope—he wouldn’t let it go!
As if sensing his defiance, the hand released the ring and retreated.
Sean exhaled, a manic grin spreading across his face. No one can take my trophy.
Then the hand returned, casually lifting a bowl-sized stone.
Sean’s smile vanished. "No—don’t—!"
Thud.
The stone smashed into his forehead. Sean collapsed, limp, as the world faded.
The hand dropped the bloodied stone, plucked the obsidian ring, and vanished into a portal.
Snape, witnessing it all, stood speechless.
Ethan Vincent.
Somehow, that infernal boy had opened a portal here, snatched the Ravenclaw’s trophy without moving a step, and bludgeoned his classmate with a brick for good measure.
Snape’s rage boiled over. Combined with a glancing blow from the Toad King, he spat a mouthful of blood.
Ethan, Ethan, ETHAN!
He’d known the boy was trouble, a walking calamity with a penchant for bad jokes and worse deeds. This smug Ravenclaw must have provoked him—probably with some ill-fated taunt. Snape had only mocked Ethan lightly, as always, and yet he was caught in the crossfire!
The Toad King roared ahead, students lay scattered behind, and Snape could only scream inwardly: Ethan, take me with you!
