HP: The Wizard Who Paints with Magic

"Luna, my best and dearest friend,"

"I do."

Recalling the scene of the owl carrying his reply, gradually flying away into the vast blue sky, a smile touched Ethan's lips. It was the first time in his memory that he had ever anticipated Christmas so much.

However, counting the days, there were still more than two months to go, with Halloween in between. Ethan planned to hold his first small art exhibition at Hogwarts on Halloween. He hadn't told anyone yet, intending to mix his own enchanted paintings with the existing Living Paintings, hanging them on walls where people would pass by. He wanted to give them a little surprise, to add some flavor to the holiday. Who, he wondered, would be the lucky ones?

Ethan's lips curved as he carried his art supplies and walked briskly down the corridor. The surrounding students gave way to him, and silence fell wherever he passed. They stared at him with eyes mixed with admiration and fear. Some even quietly pulled out their wands, as if Ethan might suddenly go mad and cast curses on them one by one.

Ever since Professor Snape had punished Malfoy, Ethan's fame had grown. It was still early in the term, and Slytherin's hourglass had suddenly lost twenty points, which was quite noticeable. With a little inquiry, one could find out what had happened: a certain platinum-haired young master had encountered a terrifyingly formidable individual and had been unable to defeat him.

What caused another stir was the Howler that Malfoy received during lunch today.

A deep red envelope floated in mid-air, and Lucius Malfoy's deep, angry voice echoed throughout the Great Hall: "Your foolish conjectures are mere excuses! The dignity of the House of Malfoy will not be trampled upon. You will defend it!"

Ethan didn't understand the full meaning, but Draco Malfoy clearly did. After the voice faded, his face, which had been flushed red with shame, turned deathly pale. Beside him, Pansy Parkinson was desperately patting his back, whispering words of encouragement as if he were about to faint.

At the Gryffindor table, Ron's mouth was wide open, the half-eaten sandwich falling from his lips. Hermione disgustedly moved her plate away.

"Merlin's fattest pair of underpants," Ron mumbled. "A Howler… for Draco Malfoy?"

"Pinch me, Harry! I'm not dreaming, am I? —Ow!" Seamus Finnigan grinned and pinched Ron hard.

"Stop it," Ron said, batting Seamus's hand away. His eyes gleaming, he turned to Harry. "It's a holiday! I'm going to write to Dad right now to tell him the good news! Hmph, when I see Malfoy's father next, I'll make sure to mock him thoroughly! Hehehe~"

Harry started to laugh. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing Malfoy suffer a major setback. And it was all thanks to Ethan.

This reminded Harry of their first Potions class. It had started as a disaster. Professor Snape, like a greasy, insidious bat, had interrogated him with a barrage of questions.

"I don't know, Professor."

Just as Harry was about to lose his temper and ask Snape why he didn't just ask Hermione, he suddenly remembered what Ethan had told him: "If a professor ever gives you trouble, just stare at him with those green eyes."

Though the statement was nonsensical, Harry inexplicably followed it. He pursed his lips, widened his eyes, and stared directly at Professor Snape until his eyes ached and turned red. Then, an incredible scene unfolded. The aggressive Potions Master suddenly seemed to get stuck, his mouth agape, staring blankly back at him. After several seconds, Snape abruptly flicked his sleeve, strode back to the podium, and said hoarsely, "…Due to Mr. Potter's honesty, two points to Gryffindor."

The entire class had been stunned. Professor Snape awarded points to Gryffindor? For honesty? Professor, have you been put under the Imperius Curse?!

Harry had exclaimed inwardly: Ethan is a divine being! If Ethan were to one day slap Dumbledore off his chair and declare himself Headmaster, Harry felt he could accept it calmly… though he might still be a little shocked.

"Hey, buddy, what are you thinking about?" Ron's voice brought Harry back to his senses. "Let's go, we have our first Flying Class soon! Let me tell you, one time I was riding my family's old broom and almost crashed into a Muggle airplane…"

"Did you just say you flew your family's old sow into the sky?"

"Oh—shut up, Dean!"

Harry chatted and joked with his friends as they walked out of the Great Hall, the excitement of flying soon making them forget about the Howler. Not long after they left, Ethan, who had no classes that afternoon, slowly wiped his mouth. Instead of doing odd jobs, he carried his bags and walked in the same direction.

"Ethan, where are you going?" Michael asked, quickly swallowing the last of his juice.

"To paint on the lawn. One of my previous paintings got damaged, so I'm repainting it with better materials," Ethan said, holding up a canvas frame that stood half as tall as he was.

"I'm coming too! Here, let me help you carry some!" Michael said, eagerly taking some of the art supplies. Are you kidding? Ethan is a genius; only a fool wouldn't try to make friends with him! Godfather, don't leave me behind!

Their other Housemate, Mandy Brocklehurst, pushed up her glasses speechlessly, looked at the unusually clear sky, picked up a book, and decided to go outside to study as well. She definitely wasn't trying to see what Ethan was up to. Absolutely not.

Outside Hogwarts Castle, the sky was a brilliant blue dotted with white clouds, and the lawn undulated like green waves. Ethan chose a gentle slope, set up his easel, and prepared his palette. The art supplies, which had been commonplace in his previous life, were now things he had worked hard to earn. With this new state of mind, when Ethan picked up his brush, he felt a surge of passion from the bottom of his heart.

He first sketched with a pencil, then began to lay down color. Large blocks of black covered the canvas. Under his deliberate control, the subtle variations in depth and brushstroke made the darkness look like a void, the reverse side of the real world. Then, in this deathly space, a white door slowly began to open.

Ethan was fully concentrated, his pupils wide, revealing a ring of white around the iris that made him look somewhat eerie. Not far away, Gryffindor and Slytherin were having Flying Class, their shouts of "Up, up!" echoing across the grounds.

The weather was fine, and the atmosphere should have been pleasant. But Michael and Mandy slowly broke out in cold sweats. A strange, cold aura emanated from the painting. It was as if a Portkey were gradually forming, extending its tendrils outwards, pulling them toward an unknown other side—a side with no joy, no warmth, only a cold and silent void.

Ethan, what are you making in a proper magic school?! This is too creepy! Michael and Mandy exchanged glances, seeing terror reflected in each other's eyes.

Finally, just as a sharp scream erupted from the Flying Class, Ethan stopped his wicked paintbrush.

"It's done," he whispered, staring intently at the painting.

A quiet blue light screen appeared before his eyes.

[Congratulations! You have completed another extraordinary work!]

[A Glimpse of the Great Hall has been upgraded to The Portal!]

[Grade: Tier 1 - Golden Legend!]

(End of Chapter)

***

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