windkaze
patreon
[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 31: No, I Really Didn’t Use the Imperius Curse!
🕑 Added 2025-07-28 14:03:19 +0000 UTCAs Ethan finished reading the line, a cerulean glow enveloped him, forcing his eyes shut. The primal, musky scent that had lingered faded, replaced by the familiar mustiness of dust tickling his nostrils.
When Ethan opened his eyes, he stood once more in the Trophy Room, facing the enchanted Mirror of Erised. Moonlight streamed through the window, bathing the mirror’s smooth surface in a silvery sheen, reflecting Ethan’s silhouette. The room was otherwise empty, silent but for the faint hum of magic in the air.
The spell of the Mirror of Erised lingered in Ethan’s mind, its intricate incantation etched into his memory. The cryptic symbols—possibly Ancient Runes, a subject he hadn’t yet studied—danced in his thoughts. Merely reciting the spell silently sent a rush of fiery passion through him, threatening to overwhelm his senses.
“Hoo—” Ethan exhaled slowly, steadying himself. What a potent, terrifying magic, capable of seizing one’s will and plunging them into a beguiling illusion, where reality melted away. Ethan loved it. With this spell, he could craft portraits so vivid they’d ensnare the viewer’s soul. Professor Snape would no longer suffer through dull, monochrome sketches—he could lose himself in vibrant, living art. Better yet, Ethan could recreate the Mirror of Erised itself, a divine artifact that laid bare the heart’s deepest desires.
His pulse quickened, eyes glinting with sparks of inspiration. He couldn’t wait to return to the dormitory and begin experimenting. But just then, uneven, limping footsteps echoed from beyond the door. Filch was back.
“Clean as new,” Ethan murmured, flicking his wand. Dust vanished in an instant, leaving the Trophy Room pristine.
Filch burst in, panting, his eyes widening as he took in the spotless room. “You—you used magic!” His bloodshot gaze burned with fury, his face flushing crimson. He’d failed to catch the night-prowling troublemakers, and now the Trophy Room gleamed as if mocking him. “Was this a game to you?!”
Ethan twirled his wand with a playful flourish, his expression the picture of innocence. “Magic? You’re mistaken, Mr. Filch. I scrubbed every inch of this room by hand.”
Filch’s face contorted, as if he might choke on his rage. Trembling, he bellowed, “I’ll report this to the professors! They’ll check your wand, you wicked little brat, and the school will deal with you—”
Before he could finish, a strange, melodic whisper slipped from Ethan’s lips. “Erised stra ehru…” The incantation was awkward, a tongue-twister of unfamiliar syllables, some guessed rather than known. Yet it worked. As Ethan waved his wand, motes of light, delicate as moths, swirled around Filch’s head. The caretaker’s eyes glazed over, a dopey, almost lewd smile spreading across his face.
Ethan paused, frowning. Wait. Why did this effect feel eerily similar to the Imperius Curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses? No, no—he was a good wizard!
“Do a somersault,” Ethan ventured, testing the spell.
Filch didn’t budge, lost in his blissful illusion. Ethan let out a relieved breath. Safe, then. This wasn’t some dark curse—it was a benevolent charm, a “Dream Charm” that gifted people sweet fantasies. As for the inevitable crash when they awoke to reality? Ethan shrugged. He was in the business of crafting dreams, not providing after-sales service.
“Even an incomplete spell has such power,” he mused, striding toward the door. “Imagine what a perfect replica, woven into a painting, could do.” He paused at the threshold, glancing down at Mrs. Norris, who circled Filch’s feet with anxious meows. Her pitiful cries tugged at the air.
Ethan grinned, crouching to give the wary cat a rough stroke—against the grain of her fur. “Meow!” Her indignant yowl followed him as he sauntered out of the Trophy Room, thoroughly pleased with himself.
Halfway back to the Ravenclaw dormitory, Ethan ran into the troublemakers who’d lured Filch away earlier: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Unlike Ethan’s cool composure, the trio looked rattled, as if they’d just stumbled across Professor Quirrell juggling a troll.
They collided at a corner, Ethan deftly stepping aside as the three tumbled into each other, yelping as they hit the floor. If Filch hadn’t been under the sway of the Dream Charm (definitely not the Imperius Curse), he’d have pounced from some shadowy alcove by now.
“Planning a midnight party to wake the whole castle?” Ethan asked, his tone teasing.
“No way!” Ron scrambled up, panting, his face pale as he stared at Ethan. “You won’t believe what we just saw!”
Ethan tilted his head, smirking. “Let me guess—you didn’t sneak into the forbidden corridor on the fourth floor and run into a giant three-headed dog, did you?”
The trio’s jaws dropped, their eyes wide as they gaped at him. He’d nailed it. They’d barely escaped with their lives, certain they were the first to uncover the secret of the fourth-floor corridor. Yet Ethan had tossed it out so casually.
“How—how did you know?” Ron stammered.
Ethan’s smile turned enigmatic. “A secret.”
In that moment, Ethan’s mystique loomed larger in their eyes. Truly, he was an enigma—unfathomable, unpredictable. Of course, Ethan knew because he’d read the books in his past life. Even though Draco Malfoy’s duel opponent had shifted to him, canceling Harry’s original nighttime showdown, the trio had still wandered into the forbidden corridor while evading Filch. Ethan half-wondered if Dumbledore had enchanted the castle’s staircases to herd Harry toward danger at every opportunity.
Harry pushed his glasses up, his voice a mix of nerves and excitement. “Remember that small cloth bag Hagrid took from Gringotts? The one the papers said someone tried to steal?”
Ethan nodded, leaning in with mock secrecy to match their conspiratorial air. “Mmm, I recall.”
“I think that bag is what the Cerberus is guarding!” Harry paused, then added grudgingly, “Hermione pointed out there’s a trapdoor under it—”
“Are you done?!” Hermione cut in, her head snapping up as she glared at them. “What it’s guarding, who’s trying to steal it—why does any of this matter to us? You’re breaking school rules, you know!”
She whirled on Ethan, her expression one of betrayed disappointment. “And you, Vincent!”
Ethan bowed slightly, all charm and poise. “At your service.”
Hermione faltered, then huffed. “I didn’t expect someone who studies so hard to be so… reckless!”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Is that so shocking?” Since the term began, his list of “reckless” deeds was long: hexing Draco, pummeling Draco, swindling Draco’s pocket money. Discipline wasn’t exactly his forte. Perhaps his handsome, angelic face disarmed people, making them overlook his misdeeds.
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. “Fine! I’m done with you lot. If you don’t mind, I’m going back to the dormitory to sleep!” With a toss of her bushy hair—which smacked Ron in the face—she stormed off, her footsteps echoing sharply.
Ron rubbed his stinging cheek, muttering, “No one’s stopping you! Merlin, it’s like we dragged her out here.”
Ethan chuckled, then asked, “So, why did you come out? It’s awfully late.”
Harry scratched his head, sheepish. “Er, we wanted to distract Filch for you. Figured it’d give you time to use magic so you wouldn’t have to clean those grimy trophies by hand.”
