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[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 35: I Held an Art Exhibition, Guess Who Was Invited?
🕑 Added 2025-07-30 17:27:58 +0000 UTCIt was Halloween Eve at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Silver moonlight spilled across the windowsills, casting an ethereal glow.
Pumpkin lanterns lined the corridors, their flickering flames cackling mischievously at passing students.
Ethan Vincent stood in the grand entrance hall on the ground floor, the distant hum of chatter and clinking cutlery drifting from the Great Hall nearby.
The hall itself was vast, large enough to swallow an entire house, its ceiling soaring impossibly high. Glowing green candles floated above, their light mingling with decorative cobwebs and tiny, darting bats that swooped through the air. Where suits of armor once stood, menacing skeletons now grinned, and pale, translucent phantoms glided silently through the stone walls.
At that moment, the entire school was gathered in the Great Hall, savoring a festive dinner.
It was the perfect opportunity for Ethan to set up his art exhibition.
He chose a secluded stretch of corridor branching off from the underground staircase. This area had fewer Living Portraits, making it ideal for blending his own creations among them.
“Hey, young man,” called a kindly voice from a portrait. An old woman in a wheelchair gazed at him, her eyes warm. “Why aren’t you at the feast? What are you up to here?”
“I’m hanging my paintings to spice up Halloween,” Ethan replied with a disarming grin, flicking his wand to levitate his artwork onto the wall.
“Oh, you’re an artist! What a delightful boy!” The old woman clasped her hands, her gaze softening with affection. “Hang one next to me, dear, so I can properly admire your work—”
Her voice cut off abruptly.
Her eyes locked onto the painting now hanging beside her, as Ethan had obliged her request.
It was grotesque. Terrifying.
The canvas depicted a monstrous figure, neither fully human nor beast. Thick, matted brown hair hung in clumps over its face. Its skin, bloated and sagging, seemed to slump over its bones, as though it were a patchwork of living flesh rather than a cohesive being.
And those eyes.
They burned with madness and chaos, a furious glint flickering within them.
The creature was crammed into the frame, as if the canvas were a flimsy cage barely containing its bulk. At any moment, it might rip through the fabric, shatter the frame, and lunge forward, its murky teeth snapping at fresh prey.
The old woman’s breath hitched. In her trance, she swore she could hear a drum-like heartbeat and smell the hot, rancid breath wafting from the painting.
“This is my dear friend,” Ethan said cheerfully, gazing at his creation with fond nostalgia. “I call it Loyal Hagrid.”
To achieve the effect, he’d used chicken blood—sourced from just outside Hagrid’s hut. The result was perfection. Ethan inhaled deeply, savoring the sharp, metallic tang of blood that lingered in the air.
This painting was the ideal opener for his exhibition, guaranteed to stir the soul.
He still didn’t understand why Hagrid had gone quiet when he’d shown him the piece. The groundskeeper, usually so chatty, had clammed up entirely. The next day, he’d even trimmed his famously wild hair.
Guess he’s finally hit the age where he cares about his looks, Ethan mused with a smirk.
“—AHHH!”
A piercing scream shattered his thoughts.
He glanced up to see the old woman leap from her wheelchair, scrambling with surprising agility into a neighboring portrait. She vanished in a blur of painted skirts.
“Very spirited. Excellent,” Ethan said, nodding approvingly. He hoped she’d keep screaming like that—it really set the mood.
Humming a jaunty tune, he continued arranging his paintings along the corridor.
The Third Umbilical Cord.
Dim Moonlight Path.
Feeding Ghoul.
Roaring Creeper.
Gradually, the corridor fell into an eerie silence. The Living Portraits stood empty, their occupants vanished to parts unknown. Even the moonlight seemed to take on a bloody, crimson hue.
At the corridor’s end, Ethan hung his two proudest works: The Portal and Eris’s Call.
【Name: Eris’s Call】
【Type: Conceptual Painting】
【Grade: First Tier · Golden Legend】
【Description: “Embrace me, enter me.”】
【Effect: Enthralls the viewer, drawing them into their deepest desires as if living within a vivid illusion. If not broken free in time, they will be lost forever in the dream, their sense of self erased.】
【Warning! This card is dangerous, please use with caution.】
【When you tour the gallery, you can view this painting on the wall.】
【Current number of artworks in the gallery: 4】
【Newbie Gift Pack opening progress: 4/5】
This was the second Golden Legend card Ethan had created, woven with the magic of the Erised spell. The painting shimmered with a golden glow, formless yet radiant, like a blinding sun that enveloped all who gazed upon it. Just looking at it sent a dizzying heat through the body, as if nothing else in the world existed but its brilliance.
“Hmm.” Ethan blinked, shaking his head to clear the haze.
That was close—he’d nearly been ensnared himself.
This painting was dangerous. Too dangerous.
What to do?
He only wanted others to appreciate his art, not cause any accidents. How could someone as pure and kind as him bear to put others at risk? This was Hogwarts, after all.
Suddenly, inspiration struck.
Noble Fusion!
His newly mastered skill had been waiting for its moment.
“Fuse The Portal with Eris’s Call,” Ethan commanded, channeling his magic into the two paintings. The canvases pulsed, their paints bulging and stretching like living tendons. Slowly, they merged, blending into a single, seamless work.
Ethan studied the new painting’s effect description, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
This was it.
The fused artwork could lure viewers into their deepest dreams, only to deliver a sharp jolt back to reality at the critical moment—an anti-addiction system, as he called it, not a fatal blow.
Satisfied, he hung the final piece. According to the fusion card’s effect, he still needed to set up the portal’s exit in the Great Hall to complete the surprise.
Imagining the reactions to come, Ethan’s lips curled into a wicked grin.
“I wonder who’ll be the lucky first to admire my exhibition…” he murmured, striding eagerly toward the Great Hall.
His shadow stretched long and thin under the blood-red moonlight.
…
Moments after Ethan departed, a figure stumbled out from the staircase leading to the basement, panting heavily.
It was Professor Quirrell, his face pale and twitching with nervous energy.
“Heh… heh heh…”
Quirrell’s laughter was shaky but triumphant. He’d done it. The troll was loose in the underground classroom. Now, all he had to do was feign panic, burst into the Great Hall with the news, and slip away to the fourth floor while everyone was distracted. The trapdoor—and the prize beyond it—awaited.
“The master will reward me handsomely…” he muttered, his voice trembling with anticipation as he stepped onto the staircase.
Then, a bone-chilling cold swept over him.
The corridor ahead had transformed. It was dark, twisted, and utterly silent, as if the gates of hell had yawned open. The air was thick with the stench of blood, coiling around him like invisible tentacles, tugging him toward an unseen abyss.
Quirrell froze, swallowing hard.
A primal fear clawed up his spine, raising goosebumps. His heart pounded, his pupils shrinking in panic.
What in Merlin’s name is happening?
Had someone beaten him to it and massacred Hogwarts?
