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[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 26: New Skills: We Fusion!
🕑 Added 2025-07-26 14:56:24 +0000 UTCPansy Parkinson shot a venomous glare at Ethan Vincent and the knot of Gryffindors surrounding him. It was as if a mangy stray dog had dared to snap at her, and a wave of indignant fury surged within her chest. She whipped her head around, ready to rally her Slytherin allies to hurl curses back at these insolent, lowborn Mudbloods—let them learn the cost of crossing her!
But her confidence faltered. Her eyes swept over the pitifully thin ranks of Slytherins—barely a handful, fewer than ten. Some were already edging backward, slinking away as if hoping to vanish unnoticed.
"..."
Pansy's eyes widened in disbelief. What in Merlin’s name is happening? Where is everyone?
Only Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe remained, trembling at the forefront. Whether they were bravely holding their ground or simply too dim to flee was anyone’s guess.
A cold realization hit Pansy like a Bludger to the gut. Her face drained of color as she slowly turned to face the snarling pack of Gryffindors, their eyes glinting with barely restrained aggression. The air crackled with tension, as if the little lions might charge at any moment, ready to tear her and her housemates to shreds. The only thing holding them back was the lack of a command from him—Ethan Vincent.
When her gaze met his, those cold, cobalt-blue eyes seemed to pierce straight through her, devoid of warmth or mercy. Pansy’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, her earlier bravado evaporating like mist under the sun. Her wide eyes trembled, fear creeping across her face like a shadow.
She glanced back at the Gryffindors, their eager, menacing stares fixed on her. Reality crashed down like a collapsing dungeon wall. A belated, bone-deep dread welled up in her chest.
Ethan loomed over the quivering girl, his lips curling into a faint, unsettling smile. He narrowed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the charged atmosphere of fear and restlessness. A look of dark satisfaction flickered across his handsome face.
Slytherin? he thought. Kneel before you speak to me.
【Your painting has brought a huge impact to everyone!】
【Soul fusion increased by 3%!】
【You have comprehended a new skill: Fusion】
【The blending of flesh gives birth to new life, and the blending of paintings and pigments will also be so】
【When two extraordinary paintings merge, a new effect will be produced】
【Note: They can also be separated after fusion, unless it is a painting with specific devouring properties】
A 3% increase in soul fusion! Even the infamous "broomstick rash" incident, which had caused such a stir, had only boosted his progress by 1%. This time, he’d shattered the 30% barrier in one go. And with it came a new skill: Noble Fusion.
The concept was exhilarating—combining two extraordinary paintings to create a novel effect, their techniques intertwining like spells woven into a single, unpredictable charm. Ideas sparked in Ethan’s mind like Fiendfyre. With more magical paintings at his disposal, his arsenal of spell combinations would become a labyrinth of possibilities, leaving his enemies scrambling to keep up.
The system’s notification felt like a cool spring shower on a sweltering summer day, refreshing and invigorating. Magic surged through Ethan’s veins, vibrant and unstoppable, like bamboo shoots bursting through the earth after a spring rain.
Suddenly, his wand thrummed in his hand, resonating with the magic coursing through him. A faint scent of nuts and minerals filled the air—the unmistakable aroma of paint. Ethan’s heart quickened. Is it transforming?
He poured his magic into the wand, following the instinctual pull. Its surface seemed to liquefy, rippling like molten glass, and the space around it warped slightly, as if reality itself were bending. In his mind, Ethan envisioned a perfect paintbrush, its form elegant and precise. But something was missing—a critical spark, a final piece to complete the transformation.
Seconds later, the misty glow faded, and the wand solidified once more. The scent of paint lingered, but the transformation had stalled. Ethan opened his eyes and studied the wand. Its light brown surface gleamed, smooth and unblemished, adorned with fine horizontal ridges that seemed almost like sacred runes. It was a wand perfectly suited to a wizard of his caliber, as if it had been crafted for him alone from the moment it was made.
“Damn it, I was this close,” Ethan muttered, a wry grin tugging at his lips.
But he wasn’t discouraged. Patience often yielded the sweetest rewards. This encounter had already been a windfall: a 3% boost in soul fusion, a wand teetering on the edge of transformation, and a new skill. Not to mention the rousing speech he’d delivered to the crowd. Malfoy, you’ve outdone yourself this time.
His gaze softened as he glanced at Draco Malfoy, who was gasping for air under Pansy’s panicked grip. Ethan’s eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and menace, a combination that made him both terrifying and oddly charismatic.
Then, a flicker of movement caught his attention—a figure hurrying toward them in the distance. Ethan raised his wand, pointing it at Malfoy and Pansy.
“Ah!” Pansy shrieked, clutching her head and squeezing her eyes shut, her grip on Malfoy tightening until he wheezed. She braced for a curse, certain Ethan was about to unleash some unspeakable magic. Regret flooded her. Why had she provoked Ethan Vincent, of all people? A madman was bad enough, but a madman with charm and wit was a nightmare.
It wasn’t the ferocity that scared her—it was his sophistication. She had no idea what kind of dark, cunning spell he might conjure. The threat of death loomed clearer than ever.
“Reparo,” Ethan said softly.
A gentle white light enveloped Malfoy, still sprawled on the ground. The swelling on his cheek faded, and the trickle of blood from his nose ceased.
“Help… help me…” Malfoy’s feeble plea, barely louder than a mosquito’s hum, trailed off as he realized the pain had vanished. Is a professor here? He cracked open his eyes, hope flaring—only to meet Ethan’s infuriatingly smug smile.
Malfoy froze. Maybe I should just pass out.
Ethan’s actions sent a ripple of shock through the crowd. Pansy, disheveled and caked in mud, slumped on the ground, her legs too weak to hold her. Her composure shattered, and she burst into tears, overwhelmed by the “Mudblood” she’d so despised.
Ron Weasley blinked, dumbfounded, then blurted, “Ethan! Why’d you heal him? We had the upper hand!”
Ethan turned, his expression mock-serious. “What are you on about, Ron? Am I some kind of brute? Friendship first, competition second.” He flashed Malfoy an innocent, almost angelic smile. “We were just having a friendly spar, weren’t we? A chance to deepen our understanding of spells and promote camaraderie.”
Malfoy stared at the puddle of his own blood on the ground, wondering if Ethan’s definition of “friendly” had been warped beyond recognition.
But the reason for Ethan’s sudden mercy became clear moments later.
“What is going on here?!” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the air as she strode toward them, her robes billowing. The remaining Slytherins scrambled to her side, cowering behind her like frightened first-years.
Her eyes narrowed at their unusual behavior. Then she spotted the blood on Malfoy’s face, and her heart sank. She knelt to check him, relief washing over her when she saw his injuries were minor. But her relief quickly gave way to fury. “Who will explain this fiasco to me right now?”
Harry Potter spoke up, his voice low. “It was Malfoy, Professor. He provoked Ethan.”
“Enough, Mr. Potter!” McGonagall snapped, her glare pinning him in place. “We’ll address your reckless broomstick stunt later. Diving from that height—you could’ve broken your neck!”
Harry shrank back, suddenly remembering his earlier rule-breaking flight. It seemed trivial compared to Ethan’s theatrics.
Then, a new voice broke the tension. “Professor McGonagall, please don’t be angry. It’s my fault.”
Ethan stepped forward, his expression a perfect blend of remorse and resolve, as if he’d steeled himself to bear the consequences. “Malfoy challenged me to a duel—my first, I might add. I may have gotten a bit carried away. But I healed his injuries right after. I’m truly sorry, Professor.”
Malfoy gaped at him, stunned. Every word was technically true, yet it painted Ethan as some contrite, misunderstood hero. A bit carried away? He’d nearly beaten Malfoy to a pulp!
