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[HP:Failed Art Student]-Chapter 38: I Kept a Part of the Underworld, and Then I Realized It Was Halloween

Added 2025-08-02 16:08:06 +0000 UTC

A deathly silence descended upon the Great Hall.

All eyes were fixed on Ethan Vincent, as if a thousand trolls were thundering through their minds.

Surprise? No, this was pure shock!

By Merlin’s red long johns, what in the name of magic had just happened?

Fred and George Weasley leapt onto their chairs, craning their necks to gape at Professor Quirrell, who lay sprawled on his back, motionless on the floor. Their eyes gleamed with dawning comprehension, as if they were piecing together the puzzle of a lifetime.

Elegant—utterly, breathtakingly elegant!

If Ethan gave the word, they’d swarm him and crown him the undisputed “King of Pranks at Hogwarts.” Were it not for the stifling atmosphere, Dumbledore’s beard might have twitched in amusement. The twins were ready to drop to their knees and chant, “Long live Ethan Vincent!”

“Mr. Vincent, what have you done?” Professor McGonagall staggered to her feet, oblivious to the wine glass she’d knocked over in her shock.

She was bewildered, her mind reeling.

How could Ethan, always so well-mannered, have done something so outrageous?

Ethan blinked, his expression the picture of innocence. “I just wanted to give everyone a little Halloween surprise,” he said brightly. “I set up an art exhibition in the corridor—quite charming, really. The final painting had a teleportation effect.”

He paused, his grin widening. “But I kept a touch of the macabre, you know, to remind everyone it’s Halloween.”

If it had been anyone else who’d collapsed like that, Ethan would have owned up to his mistake—admitted he’d botched the Levitation Charm and caused real harm. But Quirrell? Oh, that was different. It was fine. In fact, it was the perfect test of his fusion painting’s power. Even a Dark Wizard like Quirrell, with that peculiar extra brain of his, couldn’t resist it.

【Fusion Painting: A Dream of Nanke】
【Grade: First Tier · Golden Legend】
【Description: A dream of Nanke must eventually wake, a fleeting life is but an empty dream】
【Effect: Conjures an illusion that makes the viewer forget their memories, bask in glory and wealth, and attain their heart’s deepest desires. But at the final moment, just as triumph seems certain, they plummet through a door back to reality】
【Evaluation: An utterly malicious creation, born from the minds of those who dwell in the underworld】

Malicious? Ethan scoffed inwardly. The system’s judgment was clearly biased. He’d designed this as an anti-addiction measure, a way to snap people out of their obsession with illusions. If anything, it was considerate!

Across the hall, Professor McGonagall looked like she might faint. In her decades of teaching, she’d dealt with her share of mischief-makers—Fred and George being prime examples. But a prank of this caliber? Never. She couldn’t fathom how Ethan Vincent had reduced a dignified professor, an adult wizard, to such a state.

She wasn’t afraid of naughty students. She was terrified of students who were both naughty and brilliant.

【Your painting has left an indelible mark on everyone, searing itself into their minds!】
【Soul Fusion increased by 4%】
【32% → 36%】

As the blue text flashed before his eyes, Ethan felt a surge of power coursing through him, like molten lava searing his veins. He was tempered steel, his bloodline and soul shattering their restraints, surging forth in waves of raw energy.

Merlin’s beard, what a rush!

Ethan’s lips curled into a trembling smile. His wand began to quiver violently, resonating with the magic pulsing within him. This time, he knew—he could do it. His wand could transform into the perfect paintbrush, molded to his will.

A thick droplet of red oozed from the wand’s tip, splashing onto the floor. It smelled of rust, like blood and tears, and sizzled as it corroded a small dent in the stone.

On the staff table, Dumbledore finally stirred. His face grave, he descended the platform in two swift strides, crouching beside Quirrell. With a flick of his wand, he cast a spell. Above, the dark door in the ceiling silently vanished, as if it had never existed.

But glimpsing that door was like peering into the world’s hidden truth. Even if the hall looked unchanged, no one’s mindset would ever be the same.

“I can never eat chicken legs in this Great Hall again!” Ron Weasley wailed, on the verge of tears. In a fit of defiance, he shoved another drumstick into his mouth.

Under Dumbledore’s magic, Quirrell stirred, his consciousness flickering back. He lifted his head, dazed, a streak of blood beneath his nose. His eyes darted around, then widened in dawning horror.

“No… this can’t be real… It was fake? No, no!” The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, once an exemplary student, broke down in front of the entire hall, sobbing uncontrollably. His body shook, nails clawing at the floor in anguish and regret, like an addict in withdrawal.

A chilling aura radiated from him. His wretched state made everyone shudder, imagining the torment Ethan had inflicted.

Too terrifying. Too dreadful.

Dumbledore’s expression grew solemn. He’d been watching Ethan closely, but he hadn’t anticipated a stunt of this magnitude. He cast calming spells repeatedly, and only after several minutes did Quirrell’s trembling subside. Yet the raw fear in his eyes lingered.

My master… he’ll kill me… Quirrell bit down hard, blood filling his mouth.

Ethan Vincent!

He’d fallen into that brat’s trap, right in front of Dumbledore. For a fleeting moment, Quirrell wondered if Ethan had seen through his disguise and was colluding with the headmaster. But Dumbledore’s concerned, searching gaze reassured him—his true identity remained hidden.

He exhaled, relieved. His master wouldn’t kill him. Not yet.

After all, even the headmaster and professors hadn’t pierced his facade. How could a first-year student possibly suspect anything?

So… it was just bad luck?

Quirrell’s face paled further. He’d never loathed anyone so fiercely. He was on the verge of losing his mind, itching to cast the Cruciatus Curse on that wretched boy right in front of Dumbledore.

What kind of twisted, malevolent magic was this? To weave a dream so vivid, so real, only to rip it away, plunging the victim into cold reality. The prize within his grasp had slipped through his fingers, and he’d nearly lost himself to madness.

Quirrell couldn’t help but think Ethan was more suited to be a Dark Wizard than he was.

Pure evil.

No—impossible. He had to pull himself together and get back on track.

“Are you alright, Professor Quirrell? What happened?” Dumbledore’s voice was steady but probing.

“Out—outside—Vincent’s painting…” Quirrell’s eyes lit up, seizing his chance. With his last ounce of strength, he shrieked, “The troll! The troll is in the dungeons! I—I thought I should tell you…”

His voice faded, but the Great Hall remained eerily calm. The students exchanged glances, still reeling from “Quirrell’s collapse,” “Ethan tried to murder a professor,” and “Was this all a Halloween prank?”

After such a shock, a troll seemed… trivial.

Quirrell: …

Ethan, you vile little—

His plan had crumbled spectacularly, a humiliating defeat. Publicly disgraced and facing Voldemort’s wrath, Quirrell’s anger overwhelmed him. Blood sprayed from his mouth, his face ghostly white, and he collapsed, utterly broken.

Despite the chaos, a troll was still a threat worth addressing. Dumbledore directed several professors to escort Quirrell to the infirmary, then turned to the stunned students. “Prefects, lead your house back to your common rooms.”

The students rose in a rustle of robes, still dazed. But once the shock wore off, this Halloween would undoubtedly be the most unforgettable they’d ever experienced.

“First-years, follow me,” called Ravenclaw Prefect Robert Hilliard. His gaze lingered on Ethan, complex emotions flickering in his eyes. He exchanged a look with Penelope Clearwater, the prefect-in-training beside him.

“Well, Sean? Still think Ethan’s not good enough?” Penelope teased, smirking. “I’d say he’s more than qualified for our club.”

Sean Mike, who’d always opposed Ethan’s inclusion in Ravenclaw’s elite club, adjusted his glasses with a scowl. “I don’t see any change in him,” he sneered. “Still the same old tricks, just nastier. He fooled a professor—Quirrell, no less! He’ll be expelled before he ever joins.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. “You’re just jealous, Sean! Jealous that Ethan’s pulling off feats like this in his first year!”

Sean flushed, caught off guard. “That’s not magic!” he snapped, stubborn. “Unless he proves his strength, I won’t acknowledge him—”

A sudden idea sparked in Sean’s mind, and a sly, malicious grin spread across his face. “If he can defeat that troll,” he said, “then I’ll agree to let him join the club. How’s that?”