HP: The Wizard Who Paints with Magic

Malfoy's triumphant smile froze on his face. He widened his eyes, unable to believe what he had just heard, and instinctively retorted, "Professor, I… I must have misheard."

"You did not mishear, Mr. Malfoy." Professor Snape's icy voice shattered his last illusion. He said mercilessly, in front of everyone, "How many more times must I say it? Due to your crude, troll-like behavior, Slytherin will have ten points deducted! Insulting classmates—is this the etiquette your father taught you? What have you learned? I think I should report your recent, terrible performance to Lucius."

The words fell into a dead silence that filled the office and the corridor beyond.

Malfoy was utterly stunned, frozen in place. His cronies were no exception, looking at each other in bewilderment. They dared not breathe, feeling as if three large question marks had appeared above their heads. They had guessed the outcome—Professor Snape severely disciplining a student. But they had not guessed the process—the one being disciplined was not Ethan, but their leader, Draco Malfoy.

Standing on the cold stone floor, Malfoy felt dizzy. The air in the dungeons seemed to suddenly become thick and suffocating, making it hard for him to breathe. Since birth, no one had ever cursed him so directly, and in front of his classmates, no less. Realizing this, Malfoy's pale face flushed instantly. He wished he could go back a few minutes in time and slap himself for insisting on bringing his friends. Ethan was right. He really was trying to do me a favor.

"But, but—" Malfoy's bodyguard, Crabbe, stammered, "Malfoy was the one insulted, wasn't he? Why are you protecting this Mudblood—"

Oh, wow. Another expert? Hearing the forbidden word, Ethan looked admiringly at the clueless oaf. Perhaps Crabbe had just let it slip, accustomed to using the word "Mudblood" to refer to him in private. But to say it in front of Snape…

Ethan rolled his eyes, his gaze falling on the professor. As expected, Snape's face had turned as black as a cauldron.

Snap.

The fireplace extinguished on cue, possibly snuffed out by Snape's own magical outburst.

"Never, ever, say that word in my presence—!!!" A low, yet deafening voice echoed through the room as a strong, cold wind blew through the office.

Crabbe was scared stiff, and the other Slytherins were pale, not daring to utter a sound. They had never seen their Head of House so angry.

"Slytherin, ten more points deducted, for your stupidity!" Snape snarled. "Malfoy, Crabbe! Detention, starting tomorrow night, for two weeks! Now, get out!"

With Snape's roar, Malfoy and his companions were thrown out like trash swept away by a hurricane.

Bang!

The door slammed shut behind them.

Ethan slowly turned his head and saw Malfoy, head down, fists clenched, not saying a word. Ethan bent down, leaning close, his cobalt-blue eyes staring intently at the other boy.

He whispered, "Are you really crying?"

Malfoy abruptly pushed Ethan away, biting his lip, his eyes clearly red-rimmed. He didn't understand. It was the first time he had been so insulted, and he had suffered lifelong public humiliation. Two layers of disgrace overlapped in a situation that should have been a sure victory. Why did it turn out like this? Why, in the end, was he the one being severely punished? A two-week detention package right at the start of the year—Malfoy couldn't imagine what his father would say.

Crabbe chuckled foolishly. "It's alright, Malfoy! You still have me!"

Go to hell, Malfoy thought. He looked up at Ethan, who wore a concerned "Are you okay?" expression. Those curved cobalt-blue eyes seemed to be mocking him, delivering the ultimate insult.

Ethan Vincent! How did this Mudblood do it? Could it be that he was pretending to be weak? On the surface, he was just an orphan, but in reality, did he have stronger connections than the Malfoys? He must have some hold over Professor Snape. The more Malfoy thought about it, the more he felt this was the case. He suddenly understood. No wonder Ethan had the audacity to humiliate the noble House of Malfoy; it turned out he had backing.

Malfoy bit his lip, becoming deeply wary. After a while, he said hoarsely, "So that's it. I didn't expect you to be so deeply hidden, Vincent."

Ethan blinked. Hidden what? Had he discovered that I used Lily as leverage? This kid Malfoy knows quite a lot of inside information, probably from his dad. Thinking of this, Ethan nodded. "That's right. You actually found out."

Indeed. Malfoy's eyes lit up. Ethan really has backing!

"We'll see about this," Malfoy gritted his teeth, gave Ethan one last deep look, then turned and strode away. Goyle and Crabbe quickly followed.

As for the other cronies, they exchanged glances, and one let out a low chuckle. Glancing at Ethan, he teased, "You're quite something, kid, bullying the great Malfoy like that. Tell us, how did you do it?" The way they looked at Ethan suggested an intention to befriend him. After all, Ethan was a Ravenclaw. Although his status was a bit low, and he might even be a Mudblood, giving a little something, doing a favor—there was no loss.

Upon hearing this, Ethan slowly curved his lips into a smile. The temperature in the corridor seemed to suddenly drop. Half of his face was hidden in shadow, his stark white teeth illuminated by the candlelight. His cobalt-blue eyes, watching them, emitted a chilling coldness, like a beast peeking out from a dark abyss.

"Do you really want to know?"

Two seconds later, several figures were fleeing in panic down the corridor.

Ethan stood alone, innocently watching their retreating figures, thinking, I didn't do anything. Why did they run? I just wanted to discuss the great art of painting with them~

Ethan hummed a tune and hurried toward the Ravenclaw common room. He was already impatient to record the inspiration he had gained tonight. Tomorrow morning, he would go to the Owlery, send a letter, buy a new batch of painting materials, and repaint One-Look Open Door.

Luna, oh Luna. It's such a pity you're not at Hogwarts this year. You have no idea how much excitement you're missing!

My dearest friend Ethan,

I have read your letter at least five times, and I truly wish I could fly to Hogwarts right now and attend school with you. Unfortunately, I am not old enough yet. Besides, if I weren't here, the Dirigible Plums at our doorstep would all fly away again, and Dad hasn't fully mastered how to take care of them.

Seeing you enthusiastically help so many people, especially helping a Professor recall his beautiful childhood memories, I once again feel that my first impression of you was not wrong. When I first saw you, I knew what a good little wizard you were! Your insights into Goblins are simply brilliant.

Speaking of your classes, I see you are troubled by how to transform your wand into a perfect paintbrush. Hmm, I think perhaps you could try bathing in moonlight at night? You know, moonlight can reflect the deepest desires of one's heart.

Attached is the manuscript for the next issue of The Quibbler.

Yours sincerely,

Luna

P.S. If you have no other plans, would you be willing to come to our house for Christmas this year? My father and I are both very much looking forward to your arrival; we can have a roasted Dirigible Plum fish feast together. Waiting for your reply.

(End of Chapter)

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