windkaze
patreon
[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 19: Brother, You're a Bit Too Extreme
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 10:25:28 +0000 UTCAfter Charms class, it was time for lunch.
A sea of red and blue robes surged down from the upper floors, punctuated by occasional yelps as the staircases shifted unexpectedly.
“There’s got to be some kind of pattern to how these staircases move,” Ethan’s other dorm mate, Anthony Goldstein., said seriously, pushing up his glasses.
He was a scrawny boy with glasses as thick as bottle caps, a half-blood wizard.
“Maybe,” Michael replied absently, flashing a smile at every girl who passed by.
“Do you guys know Cho Chang, the second-year?” he continued, his face lighting up with a dreamy expression. “She’s really pretty, and I heard she’s super into Quidditch. That’s rare, isn’t it?”
Anthony rolled his eyes dramatically, while Ethan let out a noncommittal “hmph” from his nose.
The path to the Great Hall was packed, not just because it was between classes, but because the infamous Harry Potter was nearby. Every passerby craned their neck to gawk at him, some even stopping dead in their tracks to stare at his forehead.
Michael sighed enviously. “I wish I had Harry Potter’s fame. Look, all the girls are staring at him.”
“If you look closely, you’ll see all the boys are staring too,” Ethan pointed out, correcting Michael’s assumption.
Michael: “…Alright, fine.”
He’d given up hope of having a normal conversation with Ethan.
Soon, the group came to a halt as the crowd ahead ground to a standstill. Apparently, a group of students, heedless of the chaos they were causing, insisted on chatting with Harry.
Ethan gazed down at the deep void beneath the staircase, murmuring, “I wonder what would happen if someone fell off these stairs.”
Michael shivered.
To prevent his friend from turning into a staircase serial killer over a missed lunch, Michael raised his wand, fired off two loud bangs, and shouted, “Move it, people, move it!”
It barely made a dent. His voice was quickly drowned out by the clamor.
“We’ll just have to wait,”Anthony said, pushing up his glasses with a hint of irritation. “I was hoping to finish lunch and get to the library to work on my essay.”
Ethan blinked, also eager to get through. It wasn’t just hunger—though he was definitely feeling it. He wanted to check the new professor’s commissions posted in the Great Hall. If he got there late, the good ones might be snatched up.
How to clear the way…
A spark of inspiration flashed in Ethan’s mind. “I’ve got an idea.”
He cleared his throat lightly.
Seeing Ethan’s confident demeanor, Michael suddenly had a bad feeling. “Wait—”
“I’ve got broom rash,” Ethan muttered, his voice low and sinister, like a pebble dropped into a lake, sending ripples outward.
The noise stopped.
Every head turned, eyes wide with horror, fixed on Ethan and his friends. The gruesome image from that infamous illustration flashed through their minds. A faint, metallic tang of blood seemed to linger in the air.
Then—
The crowd scattered like roaches!
“Don’t come near me!”
“Get out of my way!”
“Who the hell just grabbed my arse in the chaos?!”
In mere moments, the path ahead was clear. No one dared block it now.
Only Harry and his friends remained, disheveled and bewildered, staring up at Ethan on the staircase.
Ethan smiled down at them, his expression warm and friendly. His cobalt-blue eyes sparkled like starlight, deep and radiant. Sunlight streamed through the window behind him, casting a golden glow over his figure, as if he were an angel descending to save the masses.
Amid the stunned gazes, Ethan spoke softly: “You’re welcome.”
Harry: “…”
Are you a bit too extreme?
Michael slowly raised a hand to cover his face, groaning inwardly in despair. Sure, he wanted to get through quickly, but not by making everyone flee from them like they were the plague!
Merlin’s beard, his reputation, his chances with the girls at school…
Ethan was oblivious to his friend’s mental anguish. Satisfied, he thought to himself: Another good deed done today. He’d saved the poor, helpless Chosen One from a mob and prevented a potential falling or trampling accident. Honestly, what a kind, warm-hearted wizard he was.
Nodding in self-approval, Ethan stepped forward, descending the now-empty staircase under the indescribable gazes of others, heading smoothly to the Great Hall.
The Great Hall was alive with noise. The aroma of food was mouthwatering, enough to make anyone’s stomach growl. The professors sat at the high table, their presence a subtle deterrent against the students’ more chaotic impulses. Without them, the roof might’ve been blasted off by now.
Ethan spotted the Weasley twins, sneaking fart cushions under seats. A loud bang echoed, followed by a puff of black smoke rising from the Gryffindor table. A few young boys, their faces now soot-streaked, glanced at each other and burst into giggles.
Youth… Ethan mused fondly.
His eyes scanned the room and landed on a new bulletin board by the wall, surrounded by a crowd of students. That had to be the “work-study” program Professor Flitwick mentioned.
Ethan’s eyes lit up. Swallowing hard, he forced himself past the tempting spread of lunch on the long tables and joined the crowd by the board.
Students from every house and year were gathered, though most first- and second-years were just there for the spectacle. Only the older students were seriously considering which commissions to take—after all, these were practical experiences that could shape their post-graduation paths.
The crowd was so dense, and the taller upperclassmen blocked Ethan’s view completely. Politely, he said, “Excuse me, could you let me through?”
The student in front turned with an annoyed scowl. “Hold on, what’s the rush—uh?! Ethan?!”
The moment Ethan’s name was uttered, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, leaving him alone at the board.
Up at the staff table, Professor McGonagall’s eyebrow twitched. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Ethan was bullying the others… but she had no proof. They’d cleared the way for him willingly, hadn’t they?
“…Professor Snape,” McGonagall said, her sharp gaze turning to the hook-nosed man beside her. “I recall you reporting, after your visit to Knockturn Alley, that Ethan’s personality was unremarkable, no different from anyone else.”
Sorted into Azkaban at the Sorting Ceremony, suspected of intimidating classmates behind closed doors—unremarkable? The boy was a walking problem!
Snape said nothing, averting his gaze and sipping his water as if he hadn’t heard. His teeth, however, ground together audibly.
Thanks to Ethan, he’d been summoned by Dumbledore multiple times. And now, the boy was tangled up with Malfoy. Worst of all, Ethan knew his deepest secret and had painted him a portrait unlike any other in existence.
How to punish him reasonably…
Snape’s dark eyes fixed on Ethan, a malicious smirk curling his lips. An idea struck him. Rising, he strode toward the boy.
