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[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 27: Ethan Must Have Been Provoked
🕑 Added 2025-07-26 14:56:32 +0000 UTCDraco Malfoy’s face burned as he met Professor McGonagall’s stern gaze, but her expression softened, just as he’d feared.
“Fighting between students is strictly forbidden,” she declared. “I’m afraid Ravenclaw will lose five points, and you, Mr. Vincent, will serve additional detention.”
“But—” Malfoy began, only to be cut off.
Professor McGonagall’s tone sharpened, her eyes narrowing as she fixed him with a glare. “I believe Professor Snape has already warned you, Mr. Malfoy, about provoking others. Since you instigated this duel, you must face the consequences.”
After all, Ethan Vincent was typically diligent, studious, and impeccably polite. Striking a fellow student so brutally? It had to be an accident. The more Professor McGonagall dwelled on it, the more her frustration simmered. The Malfoy family’s upbringing, she thought, left much to be desired.
“Slytherin will lose ten points,” she continued, “and I will be informing your father.” She paused, her voice firm. “Furthermore, you will thank Mr. Vincent for healing your injuries despite your history. And you will swear never to provoke another student again.”
Malfoy stood speechless, his jaw tight.
Thank Ethan?
He glanced at Ethan’s infuriatingly innocent face, a single thought echoing in his mind: Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.
Where was justice? Where was reason?
Yet under Professor McGonagall’s piercing stare, he had no choice but to relent.
“Th-thank you, Vincent,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his freshly healed wounds seeming to throb anew.
“I swear I won’t provoke you again.”
As the words left his mouth, a strange relief washed over him. This whole debacle stemmed from his father’s blistering Howler, demanding he prove himself. Now, thoroughly defeated, it was over. If his father dared ask, “Why didn’t you find the reason for your loss against Vincent?” Malfoy would suggest he challenge Ethan to a “glorious warrior’s duel” himself. He was certain no wizard could fully counter Ethan’s bizarre technique—not yet, at least.
“Very good,” Professor McGonagall said, her tone softening as she turned to Ethan. “Mr. Vincent, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, follow me.”
“Yes, Professor,” Ethan replied, his voice meek. No trace remained of the boy who, mere minutes ago, had delivered a devastating blow to his peer.
Growing up an orphan in the rough-and-tumble Spinner’s End demanded real skill, and Ethan had it in spades. This outcome aligned perfectly with his plans. He had no desire to spark a full-blown conflict—not yet. Professor McGonagall’s intervention was impeccably timed. These young wizards needed to grow, to learn. And Ethan? He needed to sow a seed in their hearts—a seed of doubt, of defiance.
A faint smile curved his lips as he trailed behind Professor McGonagall, who was still berating Malfoy. He played the part of the model student, head bowed, as if he rarely erred. Behind him, the sun stretched his shadow long across Hogwarts’ verdant lawns.
Meanwhile, atop Hogwarts’ tallest tower, a group of older Ravenclaw students observed the scene’s conclusion. They’d witnessed the entire duel and couldn’t help but marvel at Ethan’s performance.
Prefect Robert Hilliard sighed in admiration. “He didn’t just win the duel—he earned respect.”
“That move of his was brilliant,” he added, still puzzling over Ethan’s technique. It resembled Apparition, yet no first-year should wield such magic. “A genius. A true genius. Even I couldn’t have pulled that off in my first year.”
Penelope Clearwater, her long sideburns framing her face and her eyes bright with excitement, chimed in. “Should we invite him to our club? Only the sharpest Ravenclaws make the cut, and Ethan’s clearly one of them!”
A dissenting voice cut through, low and dour. “He’s just a first-year.”
Robert and Penelope turned to see Sean Mike, a tall, gaunt young man with the pallor of a chronic bookworm and perpetual shadows under his eyes. His expression was sharp, almost venomous.
“We don’t recruit juniors,” Sean continued. “They’re too immature. Cho Chang, that second-year who joined this year, was already an exception.” He frowned, gazing down at Ethan on the lawn as if he were something repulsive. “Besides, a guy who wins with tricks and a silver tongue doesn’t belong.”
Penelope’s lips pursed in defiance. “That’s just your bias! Ethan’s stronger than some of the older students—and at least he doesn’t judge people without reason.”
Sean’s eyes narrowed, locking onto hers. The air between them crackled with tension.
“Enough,” Robert interjected, raising a hand. “Disagreement fuels discussion, but let’s not fracture the group.” After all, they’d likely be colleagues at the Ministry of Magic someday.
“Fine,” Sean relented, his tone begrudging. “I’ll agree to an observation period for Ethan. If he does something extraordinary again, we’ll consider him for the team.”
Penelope nodded. “Deal.”
Beside them, Robert, who was bound for the Ministry next year, watched their spat with a fond, almost paternal smile. So naive, he thought. Arguing over whether Ethan was worthy, when the real question was whether Ethan would even want to join them.
He recalled the first time someone had slammed a door in his face—an experience these two needed to feel for themselves. Heh heh heh.
Turning back to the lawn, Robert watched Ethan disappear into Hogwarts’ halls, a pang of regret in his chest. Graduating soon meant he’d miss the chaos this boy was bound to unleash.
Flying Class ended abruptly.
Slytherins slunk away, faces dark with shame. They’d likely find Hufflepuffs gawking at the Great Hall’s hourglass, astonished their house wasn’t in last place for once. Gryffindors, meanwhile, seemed restless, itching for a proper fight that never came.
“Why didn’t Malfoy get detention?” Ron Weasley grumbled. “Ethan didn’t do anything wrong!”
Seamus Finnigan shrugged. “Maybe because he’s already got detention with Snape?”
Ron paused, then nodded. “Fair point.”
His gaze drifted to Ethan, walking away with Professor McGonagall. Envy and admiration flickered in his eyes. He imagined himself in Ethan’s place, standing tall, rallying others with fiery passion.
Word of Ethan’s feat spread like wildfire through Hogwarts. As he strode down the corridors, young wizards still gave him a wide berth, but their glances now held respect. He’d crushed Slytherin’s pride with a single elbow, plunging their house points to rock bottom.
Too awesome.
More Ravenclaws began to flock around him, drawn to his charisma. This sparked a crisis in Michael Corner, his roommate. One night, Michael stood at the foot of Ethan’s bed, his voice trembling with mock despair. “Am I still your number one, mate?”
Ethan flashed a wicked grin and, with a flourish, cast a silent Stupefy.
The world fell blissfully quiet.
