1991, Spider's Alley.
Ethan finished a day's work drawing portraits on the street.
Clutching a stack of yellowed sheets with ragged edges, his small, grimy hands gripping several charcoal pencils of varying thickness, he struggled through the doorway.
Ethan kicked the door shut behind him. Its old hinges let out a strained creak.
He carefully set down the tools of his trade, then collapsed onto the grimy sofa and let out a long breath.
Before him was a narrow, bare room.
Gray-white plaster flaked from the walls. A cupboard held a battered tin can, and a chair was missing one leg.
In the corner, shards of glass glinted in the evening light. They had once belonged to a few empty beer bottles; Ethan had sold the bottles for scrap.
His cobalt-blue eyes remained fixed on the wall, where a sketch of a black-haired young man hung.
It was lifelike. A defiant light gleamed in the young man's dark eyes, as though he were about to roar in anger at any moment.
It was Ethan's face from his previous life.
In his previous life, he had been an art student who failed the entrance exams twice.
Ethan had hated those rigid exams that allowed no room for "creation."
His last memory was of a Dayun Brand truck speeding toward him after he failed for the second time.
Fortunately, he had had no parents in his previous life, so he had left nothing behind.
He had transmigrated into the body of an eleven-year-old boy living in the slums.
The unlucky kid's birth mother had long since left to find a new lover, and his father was a drunk who threw things and beat him whenever he got drunk.
But his biological father hadn't come home for over a month now.
He was probably being used as fertilizer somewhere.
Poor kitty.
"Rumble~"
His stomach growled with hunger.
Ethan pulled a soggy sandwich from his pocket. He had earned the money to buy it by drawing portraits for people.
As he chewed the strange-tasting sandwich, a thought crossed Ethan's mind, and a pale-blue screen appeared before him:
[Ethan Vincent (11)]
[Soul Fusion Degree: 25% (You haven't yet assimilated into this world, so your magic will be unstable)]
[Special Skill—Drawing: Lifelike Imagination Lv1]
[Your artwork may not be world-shattering, but it is certainly eye-catching]
[Gallery: None]
Magic!
Ethan immediately latched onto that word.
He had watched the Harry Potter series.
He wasn't an expert, but he knew the main plot and the major characters.
Spider's Alley was a place from the original story, where Professor Snape lived.
If the system said he had magic, then maybe he could get into Hogwarts.
He might even be in the same year as the Chosen One.
Ethan's mind raced with possibilities. Every day, every night, he had waited for the owl that had gotten lost in his previous life.
A month of hardship and harsh reality had worn down Ethan's sharp edges. He had gone from being outspoken to more reserved, and had learned to disguise his true feelings.
He couldn't spend his whole life rotting away in Spider's Alley, scraping together a meager income by drawing portraits for people.
He had to get out. He'd use his art to open the eyes of this decaying world!
A blazing flame of youthful idealism kindled in Ethan's eyes.
But—
"Crunch."
Ethan took a bite of the sandwich.
The waterlogged bread and rotten vegetable leaves squished together in his mouth, like a revolting mouthful of mud.
"I'd better figure out how to make money first."
Whoosh!
Reality snuffed out his little flame of youthful idealism.
Just then—
A sudden knock sounded at the door.
Ethan sprang up from the sofa, his eyes instantly turning wary.
It was already getting dark—not a good time for a visit.
Could it be those hooligans...?
Ethan slowly backed away, trying not to make a sound, and reached under the sofa for a kitchen knife.
Years of malnutrition and abuse had left this body frail.
He had all his money on him. If things went south, Ethan planned to escape through the window at once.
However—
"I know you're home, Ethan Vincent. And don't even think of trying to escape through the window like some stupid troll."
A deep, drawn-out voice came from outside the door, making Ethan think of a damp snake slowly crawling along the ground.
A troll?
Ethan froze, his eyes widening.
That wasn't an "everyday expression."
A figure came to mind.
Could it be "that person"...?
Thump, thump!
Ethan heard his heart pounding.
He swallowed, moved away from the window, walked over, and opened the door.
Before him stood a man in a black robe, with greasy, curly hair and a large hooked nose.
He looked like a black bat.
He was staring down at Ethan with a bored, impatient expression.
It was Hogwarts' Potions Professor, Severus Snape!
Ethan nearly blurted out his name.
But he caught himself at the last second, put on a wary expression, and asked,
"Who are you?"
Professor Snape gave a snort through his nose and said sarcastically,
"I had no idea the Little Genius Painter of Spider's Alley insisted on knowing who people were before drawing them..."
"Severus Snape."
"Now. May I come in?"
"...It's getting dark, sir. I can't see well. If you'd like me to draw you, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until tomorrow..."
Before Ethan could finish, Snape swished his robes and strode inside.
Then—
"Swish!"
The room was suddenly flooded with light.
The broken bulb now shone with a bright white glow.
Professor Snape plopped down on the only sofa and impatiently jerked his chin at Ethan, a malicious curve tugging at his lips.
"Draw."
"..."
Ethan paused, then silently went to fetch his art supplies and sat on the three-legged stool.
He asked politely,
"What would you like me to draw, sir?"
"Anything. A portrait, perhaps. Isn't that what you're best at?"
Snape's lips moved as he spoke, his voice touched with inexplicable mockery.
A portrait...
He was good at those.
But how could an ordinary portrait leave a lasting impression on the professor?
Holding the charcoal pencil, Ethan turned the idea over in his mind.
Suddenly, a figure with red hair and green eyes sprang into his thoughts.
Got it!
He'd been asked to draw a "portrait," but nobody had said whose portrait!
Ethan's eyes lit up. He made up his mind, and inspiration seemed to rush through him.
He raised his pencil and immediately began to scratch away at the coarse white paper.
Before long—
The sounds outside faded like a receding tide.
Ethan's entire attention was fixed on the drawing in his hands. He leaned forward, nearly hunching over it, oblivious to everything else.
His teeth clenched, and sweat trickled from his temple.
He had only a vague impression of the person he was drawing.
But at that moment, it was as though she were standing right in front of him.
His hand slowly brought her delicate features to life.
This time, I can draw better than ever before.
Ethan knew it clearly.
Scratch, scratch.
The only sound in the room was the pencil moving across the paper.
Feeling magic spill from the boy, Snape pursed his lips, irritation flashing in his eyes.
He had come here to clean up this boy's mess.
A young wizard who didn't know the extent of his own abilities.
He'd been openly selling magical items to Muggles in Spider's Alley.
Every picture the boy drew contained magic.
They captured their owners' attention, making them stare at the drawings as if entranced.
Some even forgot to eat or rest.
No wonder there had been so few people on the street when he'd returned to Spider's Alley this time!
So they'd all been controlled by magical objects!
This was already bordering on Dark Magic, not to mention the violation of the Wizarding Secrecy Act.
Just thinking about the Ministry of Magic's wrangling over the matter gave Snape a headache.
If Dumbledore hadn't protected the boy, he'd already be sitting in court!
What infuriated Snape even more was that Dumbledore had sent him to fetch the boy simply because they both came from Spider's Alley.
[Severus, what a fascinating coincidence this is, heh heh heh~]
Whenever Snape recalled Dumbledore's smiling face, a vein throbbed in his forehead.
He'd made up his mind.
As soon as he got the drawing, he'd mock and belittle it mercilessly.
Snape had even prepared his speech. The smug, sinister curl of his lips was enough to scare off any Gryffindor.
This place also put him in a foul mood.
The dilapidated furniture, the mold and the lingering smell of alcohol...
They all brought back memories of his miserable childhood.
And the memory of a certain woman that made his heart ache.
"Sir, it's finished."
The boy's youthful voice pulled Snape from his thoughts.
Snape came back to himself and gave a heavy snort.
Seething with malice and anticipation, he snatched the drawing from the boy. A mocking remark poised on his tongue, he glanced at the picture.
The next second, he froze.
As though struck by the Petrifying Curse, Snape went rigid.
His eyes widened in shock as he stared in disbelief at the figure on the page!
It was the one person who should never have appeared in a drawing, the secret buried deepest in his heart—
Lily Evans!
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