Failed Art Student Seeks New Employment

1991, Spider's Alley.

Ethan Vincent finished his day of setting up a stall to draw.

Clutching a stack of yellowed paper with jagged edges, his grimy little hands gripped several charcoal pencils of varying thicknesses as he struggled to step through the doorway.

Ethan kicked the door shut with his heel, the old hinges letting out an unbearable creak behind him.

He carefully placed his tools of the trade onto the table before collapsing onto the grease-stained sofa, letting out a long sigh of relief.

Before his eyes lay a narrow and crude room.

Peeling, off-white plaster, a cabinet holding tattered cans, and a chair missing a leg.

In the corner, shards of glass glinted in the evening twilight; they had once belonged to several empty beer bottles that Ethan had sold off as scrap.

His cobalt blue eyes stared fixedly at the wall, where a sketch of a young man with black hair hung.

It was Lifelike Imagination, the dark eyes shining with a cynical light, as if they were about to roar out loud the very next second.

This was what Ethan looked like in his past life.

In that life, he had been an art student who failed the entrance exam twice.

Ethan had hated those rigid exams that forbade "creativity."

The last thing he remembered was the Dayun Brand truck speeding toward him after his second failure.

Fortunately, he had been an orphan in his past life, so he had no attachments.

He had transmigrated into an 11-year-old child living in the slums.

The poor kid's biological mother had long since run off with a new lover, and his father was a drunkard who would smash and beat him whenever he was intoxicated.

However, this biological father hadn't been home for over a month now.

He was probably fertilizer somewhere by now.

Good riddance.

"Gurgle~"

His stomach let out a hungry growl.

Ethan fished a soggy sandwich from his pocket, bought with the money he had earned from drawing for others.

As he gnawed on the strange-tasting sandwich, Ethan focused his mind, and a pale blue screen appeared before him:

[Ethan Vincent (11 years old)]
[Soul Fusion Degree: 25% (You have yet to fully integrate into this world; your magic will be unstable as a result)]
[Special Skill—Painting: Lifelike Imagination Lv1]
[Your paintings may not be world-shaking, but they are enough to attract attention]
[Gallery: None]

Magic!

Ethan keenly noted the word.

He had read the Harry Potter series.

Although he wasn't an expert, he knew the main plot and the major characters.

Spider's Alley was a location from the original work, the place where Professor Snape lived.

If the system indicated he had magic, then perhaps he could get into Hogwarts.

He seemed to be in the same year as The Chosen One, too.

Ethan's mind raced with thoughts, hoping day and night for that owl that had gotten lost in his previous life.

The hardships and practical problems of the past month had worn down Ethan's edges—he had gone from being sharp and exposed to becoming more reserved, learning how to disguise himself.

He couldn't rot in Spider's Alley his whole life, earning a meager wage by drawing portraits for others.

He had to get out, and with his art, make this rotten world open its eyes!

A fierce, chuunibyou flame ignited in Ethan's eyes.

However—

"Crunch."

Ethan took a bite of the sandwich.

The water-soaked bread mixed with rotten lettuce leaves, mashing in his mouth like mud, nauseatingly foul.

"Better figure out how to make some money first."

Whoosh!

The chuunibyou flame was extinguished by reality.

Just then.

A series of thumping knocks suddenly echoed against the door.

Ethan leaped up from the sofa, his eyes instantly turning vigilant.

The sky had already darkened; it was hardly an appropriate time for a visit.

Could it be those thugs?

Ethan retreated slowly, trying his best not to make a sound, while one hand reached under the sofa to fish out a kitchen knife.

Due to years of malnutrition and violence, this body was extremely frail.

He carried all his money on him, and Ethan planned to flee through the window the moment the situation turned unfavorable.

However.

"I know you are home, Ethan Vincent. And do not entertain the delusion of escaping through the window like a foolish troll."

A low, drawling voice sounded from outside the door, reminding Ethan of a damp snake slowly slithering across the ground.

Troll?

Ethan's movements froze, his eyes widening.

That was hardly a "common expression."

A figure surfaced in his mind.

Could it be... "that man"...

Thump-thump, thump-thump!

Ethan heard his own heart pounding violently.

He swallowed hard, slowly moved away from the window, walked up, and opened the door.

Coming into view was a man wearing black robes, with greasy, curly hair and a large, hooked nose.

He looked exactly like a black bat.

He was looking down at him with an annoyed and impatient gaze.

It was none other than the Potions Professor at Hogwarts, Severus Snape!

Ethan nearly shouted his name on the spot.

But the next second, he forcibly suppressed the urge, put on a guarded expression, and asked:

"Who are you?"

Professor Snape snorted through his nose and said sarcastically:

"I was unaware that the Little Genius Painter of Spider's Alley required one to clarify their identity before painting for them..."

"Severus Snape."

"Well. Now, will you let me in?"

"...It is dark out now, and I cannot see clearly, sir. If you wish for me to paint for you, I am afraid you will have to wait until tomorrow..."

Before Ethan could finish, Snape flicked his robes and strode inside.

Then.

"Whoosh!"

The room was suddenly illuminated.

The lightbulb that had been broken was now emitting a bright white glow.

Professor Snape plopped down onto the only sofa, gestured impatiently with his chin toward him, and a malicious curve appeared at the corner of his mouth:

"Paint."

"..."

Ethan paused, went to fetch his art supplies without a word, and sat down on a three-legged stool.

He asked politely:

"What would you like me to paint, sir?"

"Anything. A portrait will do; isn't that your specialty?"

Snape's lips curled, and he spoke with a hint of inexplicable mockery.

A portrait, huh...

It was indeed his specialty.

But how could an ordinary portrait leave a deep impression on the Professor?

Ethan held his charcoal pencil, his thoughts spinning.

Suddenly, a figure with red hair and green eyes leaped into his mind.

Got it!

Although he said to paint a "portrait," he didn't specify "whose portrait" to paint!

Ethan's eyes brightened as he reached a decision, feeling inspiration surging through him.

He raised his pen and immediately began scratching away at the rough white paper.

Unknowingly.

The sounds outside the house receded like a tide.

Ethan's entire focus was concentrated on the painting in his hands; he leaned forward, his body almost pressed into the work, unable to hear anything else.

He gritted his teeth, and beads of sweat rolled down his temples.

Even though he only had a vague impression of the person he was trying to depict.

At this very moment, it felt as if that person were standing right in front of him.

The brush in his hand outlined the person's intricate details, bit by bit.

This time, I can create a painting better than any before.

Ethan was clearly aware of this.

Scratch, scratch.

The only sound in the room was the friction of the pen tip.

Feeling the magic overflowing from the boy's body, Snape pursed his lips, a flash of annoyance crossing his eyes.

He had come on this trip to clean up the mess left by this fellow.

A Young Wizard who didn't even know the extent of his own abilities.

He had been selling magical artifacts to Muggles in Spider's Alley on a massive scale.

Every painting this boy drew contained magic.

It could captivate the minds of those who held them, making them stare as if bewitched.

They would even forget to eat or rest.

No wonder he felt there were far fewer people on the streets when he returned to Spider's Alley this time!

It turned out they had all been controlled by these magical items!

This was already half a step into the realm of Dark Magic, not to mention that it violated the Wizarding Secrecy Act.

The mere thought of how the Ministry of Magic would bicker over this matter gave Snape a headache.

If Dumbledore hadn't vouched for this child, he would already be sitting in a courtroom!

What made Snape even angrier was that Dumbledore had sent him to retrieve the boy simply because he also hailed from Spider's Alley!

["Severus, what an interesting twist of fate this is, hehehe~"]

Whenever he recalled Dumbledore's smiling face, veins would bulge on Snape's forehead.

He had already made up his mind.

As soon as he got the painting, he would mock and belittle the boy thoroughly.

Snape had even prepared his speech, his lips curling into a smug and sinister smirk—a look sufficient to scare away any Gryffindor.

This place also made him feel gloomy.

The dilapidated furniture, the smell of mold, and the lingering scent of alcohol...

All of it reminded Snape of his own unbearable childhood.

And that one silhouette that made his heart ache.

"Sir, it's finished."

The call of a youthful voice pulled Snape back to his senses.

Snape snapped out of it and let out a heavy huff.

Filled with malice and anticipation, he snatched the painting, the mocking words poised on the tip of his tongue, and cast a casual glance at the image.

The next second, he froze.

As if struck by a Petrifying Curse, Snape's entire body went rigid.

His Pupils widened in shock, staring in disbelief at the portrait on the paper!

It was a secret that should have been impossible to appear on the canvas, a secret buried in the deepest part of his heart—

Lily Evans!