[My dearest, best friend Luna,]
[I'm willing.]
As he recalled the sight of the owl carrying his letter, growing smaller as it flew away into the blue sky,
Ethan couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from lifting.
It was the first time he'd ever looked forward to Christmas so much.
But by his reckoning, it was still more than two months away.
And Halloween came in between.
Ethan planned to hold his first small art exhibition at Hogwarts on Halloween.
However, he hadn't told anyone about it yet.
He planned to slip his paintings in among the existing Living Paintings and hang them on walls where people would pass by.
A little surprise for those walking past, and a little extra flavor for Halloween.
Who would be lucky enough to find them?
Ethan's lips curled into a smile as he carried his art supplies and strode lightly down the corridor.
This afternoon, he was going to repaint [Gate of Opening].
The students around him hurriedly made way. Wherever he went, the corridor fell silent.
They stared at him with a mixture of awe and fear.
Some even surreptitiously pulled out their wands, as if Ethan might suddenly lose his mind and start firing curses at them one by one.
—Ever since the night Snape punished Malfoy,
Ethan had become famous all over again.
It was the start of term, and Slytherin's hourglass had suddenly lost twenty points. That was bound to be noticed.
It didn't take much asking around to find out what had happened.
A certain platinum-haired young master had crossed paths with a terrifyingly well-connected monster, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't win.
What stirred things up all over again was a Howling Letter Malfoy received at lunch today.
A Howling Letter!
The deep-red envelope floated in midair, and Malfoy's father, Lucius, spoke in a low voice full of fury that rang throughout the Great Hall:
[Your foolish suspicions are nothing but an excuse. The dignity of the Malfoy family must not be trampled on. Defend it!]
Ethan didn't know what it meant, but Draco Malfoy clearly did.
Because once the voice fell silent, Malfoy's face, already red with humiliation, turned deathly pale.
Beside him, the ugly-looking Pansy Parkinson desperately rubbed his back, as if Malfoy would pass out if she stopped for even a moment.
She kept her head lowered, saying something as though trying to encourage him.
At the Gryffindor table,
Ron's mouth fell open. He didn't even notice the half-eaten sandwich dropping out of it. (Hermione moved her plate away in disgust.)
"Merlin's fattest pair of underpants," Ron muttered. "A Howling Letter, for Draco Malfoy?"
"Pinch me, Harry! I'm not dreaming, am I—ow!"
Seamus Finnigan gave Ron a wicked grin and pinched him hard.
"Cut it out."
Ron smacked Seamus, his eyes shining as he said to Harry,
"It's a holiday! It's a holiday! I'm writing to my dad right now to tell him the good news!"
"Hmph. When we run into Malfoy's dad, we've got to give him a good ribbing! Heh heh heh~"
Harry laughed, too.
Nothing was more satisfying than seeing Malfoy get a good dressing-down.
And Ethan was the reason it had happened.
It reminded Harry of his first Potions Class.
It had been a disaster at first.
Professor Snape had been like a greasy, sinister bat, bombarding him with questions that could have killed him.
"I don't know, Professor."
Just as Harry was about to lose his temper and snap back at Snape, asking why he wasn't making Hermione answer, he suddenly remembered what Ethan had once told him—
[If a teacher gives you a hard time, stare him down with your green eyes.]
It didn't make any sense.
But somehow, Harry followed the advice anyway.
He pressed his lips together, opened his eyes as wide as he could, and stared straight at Professor Snape.
He stared until his eyes felt sore and turned red.
Then,
something unbelievable happened.
The big bat, who'd been so aggressive just moments before, suddenly seemed to get stuck. He stared at Harry, mouth hanging open.
Several seconds later,
Professor Snape abruptly swept his robes around and strode back to the lectern. In a hoarse voice, he said:
"...For Mr. Potter's honesty, two points to Gryffindor."
Harry: ???
Gryffindor, Slytherin: ???
W-what?!
Professor Snape had awarded points to Gryffindor?
And for a ridiculous reason like "honesty"??
Professor Snape, had you been hit with the Imperius Curse?!
Harry cried out in his heart: Ethan, you're a genius!!!
Even if Ethan slapped Dumbledore off the Headmaster's chair one day and announced that he was taking over Hogwarts, Harry thought he'd be able to accept it calmly.
...Uh, he might still be a little shocked.
"Hey, mate, what are you thinking about?"
Ron's voice brought Harry back to the present.
"Come on, we've got our first Flying Class in a bit!"
"I'm telling you, once I was riding my old broom at home and nearly hit a Muggle airplane..."
"Was your old sow the one you talked into flying?"
"Oh, shut up, Dean!"
"Blimey, my grandmother's Remembrall is glowing again..."
Harry left the Great Hall with his friends, laughing and joking.
Soon, caught up in his anticipation of flying, he forgot all about the Howling Letter.
Not long after they left,
Ethan, who had no classes that afternoon, slowly wiped his mouth. Instead of going off to do his usual commissions,
he picked up his bundles of supplies and headed in the same direction as Harry and the others.
"Ethan, where are you going?"
Michael hurriedly swallowed the last mouthful of his juice and stood up to ask.
"Outside the castle, to paint on the lawn. One of my paintings got ruined earlier, so I'm going to repaint it with better materials."
As he spoke, Ethan raised the canvas frame in his hand, which was half as tall as he was.
"I'll come, too. Here, let me carry some!"
Michael eagerly took the art supplies from Ethan and scampered after him.
As if!
Only a fool wouldn't try to befriend someone as talented as Ethan!
My dear foster father! Don't leave me behind!!
Their other roommate, Mandy, silently pushed up her glasses and glanced at the unusually clear sky outside. She picked up her books and decided to study outdoors, too.
Mm-hmm, it definitely wasn't because she wanted to see what Ethan was up to.
Definitely not.
Outside Hogwarts Castle,
the sky was blue, the clouds were white, and lush green grass stretched across the grounds.
The lawn rippled like waves beneath their feet.
At the edge of their view, a dense, dark forest loomed.
Ethan chose a level patch of ground, set up his easel, and placed the canvas on it.
He got out his palette, turpentine, and paints, and set them down beside him.
Suddenly, Ethan felt a powerful surge of emotion.
In his previous life, he'd taken art supplies for granted. Now, he'd worked hard to earn the money to buy them.
With his mindset changed, Ethan felt a surge of passion and excitement rise from deep within him as he lifted his paintbrush.
Besides the one in his hand, he'd also bought many other paintbrushes in different sizes, thicknesses, and lengths.
They were for preparing to transform his wand into the Perfect Brush.
Although Ethan had been the first to turn a matchstick into a needle, he still couldn't transform his wand.
According to Professor McGonagall, objects containing magical materials, like wands, were much harder to transform, and the process required greater care.
A single mistake could cause irreversible damage.
What he needed to do was try out all kinds of paintbrushes and experience their advantages and disadvantages for himself.
That way, he could figure out exactly what sort of "Perfect Brush" he wanted.
He sketched out the shape in pencil, then mixed the paint with turpentine and spread on the color.
Great swaths of black covered the canvas.
Yet under Ethan's deliberate control,
the subtle shifts in shade and brushstroke made the darkness look like a formless void without up, down, left, or right—or perhaps the reverse of the real world.
Then, in the dead silence of that void, a white door slowly opened.
Ethan was completely absorbed in his painting. His eyes were wide, showing a ring of white around the irises, and he looked a little unsettling.
Not far away, Gryffindor and Slytherin were having Flying Class, and cries of "Up, up!" rang out again and again.
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had already had their lessons. Apart from a few students flying wildly off course, nothing had gone wrong.
Except for a few Quidditch fanatics, most Ravenclaws preferred to keep their feet on the ground and study.
Oh, and there were also those students who still dreamed of riding their Flying Broomsticks to the common room.
They probably wouldn't give up trying until the next batch of "victims" ended up in the Infirmary.
Every year, the little eagles tirelessly racked their brains to break through the restrictions. It was practically a house tradition.
On the lawn, the weather was bright and clear.
The atmosphere should have been relaxed and pleasant.
But Michael and Mandy slowly felt a cold sweat break out across their backs.
An eerie, icy aura was continuously spilling from the painting.
It was as if a Door Key were slowly taking shape, its tendrils reaching outward to drag them to some unknown shore.
And on that shore, there was no joy and no warmth, only coldness and the dead silence of the void.
Ethan, what are you doing at a school of righteous magic?!
This is way too creepy!!
Michael and Mandy exchanged a glance. They saw shock and fear in each other's eyes.
It was torture.
Finally, halfway through the Flying Class on the other side of the grounds, a sudden burst of screams rang out, and Ethan finally stopped his wicked brush.
"Done!"
Ethan exclaimed under his breath, staring intently at the painting in front of him.
A deep-blue screen of light appeared before his eyes:
[Congratulations! You have completed another extraordinary work!] ["Gate of Opening" has been upgraded to "Portal"!] [Rank: Tier 1 · Golden Legendary!]
Before you continue