Portal 2.0!

[My dearest and truest friend, Luna,]

[I do.]

Recalling the sight of the owl carrying his letter, fading into the blue sky, Ethan's lips couldn't help but curl up.

For the first time since he could remember, he was this excited for Christmas.

But counting the time, there were still over two months to go.

And in between, there was Halloween.

Ethan planned to hold his first small art exhibition at Hogwarts on Halloween.

Though he hadn't told anyone about it yet.

Ethan intended to mix his own paintings in with the existing Living Paintings, hanging them on walls where people would pass by.

A little surprise for those walking past, adding a bit of flavor to Halloween.

He wondered who would be lucky enough to spot them.

Ethan smirked, hugging his art supplies, walking briskly down the corridor.

Students parted ways for him, silence falling wherever he passed.

They stared at him with eyes mixed with respect and fear.

Some even quietly pulled out their wands, as if Ethan might suddenly lose it and start firing hexes at them one by one.

Ever since that night Snape punished Malfoy.

Ethan had become famous again.

It was still early in the term, and the Slytherin hourglass losing twenty points was pretty obvious.

A little asking around, and anyone could find out what happened.

A certain platinum-haired heir ran into a terrifyingly connected new student, a monster in strength, giving it his all but unable to win.

What stirred things up again was a Howling Letter Malfoy received during lunch today.

A Howling Letter!

The deep red envelope hovered in midair, and Malfoy's father, Lucius, spoke in a low, furious voice that echoed through the Great Hall:

"Your foolish guesses are nothing but excuses. The Malfoy family's dignity must not be trampled—defend it!"

Ethan didn't know what it meant, but Draco Malfoy clearly did.

Because after the voice faded, Malfoy's face, flushed with shame, went pale again.

Beside him, the ugly Pansy Parkinson was frantically patting his back, as if Malfoy might pass out if she were a second too late.

She kept her head down, muttering something as if trying to encourage him.

At the Gryffindor table.

Ron's mouth hung open, and he didn't even notice the half-eaten sandwich falling from his lips (Hermione grimaced and moved her plate away).

"Merlin's baggiest knickers," Ron muttered, "a Howling Letter, for Draco Malfoy?"

"Pinch me, Harry! I'm not dreaming—ow!"

Seamus Finnigan grinned and gave Ron a hard pinch.

"Knock it off."

Ron smacked Seamus, eyes gleaming, and said to Harry:

"It's Christmas come early! I'm writing to my dad right now to tell him the good news!"

"Ha, when I run into Malfoy's dad, I'll have a good laugh at him! Heh heh heh~"

Harry laughed too.

Nothing made him happier than seeing Malfoy take a big hit.

And it was all thanks to Ethan.

That reminded Harry of his first Potions Class.

It had been a disaster from the start.

Professor Snape, like some greasy, sinister bat, had grilled him with relentless questions.

"I don't know, Professor."

Just as Harry was getting angry and wanted to snap back at Snape for not calling on Hermione instead, he suddenly remembered what Ethan had told him—

[If a teacher ever gives you a hard time, stare them down with your green eyes.]

He had no idea what that meant.

But Harry still did it, as if possessed.

He pursed his lips, strained his eyes wide, and stared straight at Professor Snape.

He stared until his eyes ached and reddened.

Then.

Something unbelievable happened.

The usually aggressive bat suddenly seemed to choke, mouth open, staring back at him dumbfounded.

After a few seconds.

Professor Snape abruptly flicked his robes, strode back to the podium, and rasped:

"...For Mr. Potter's honesty, Gryffindor earns two points."

Harry: ???

Gryffindor, Slytherin: ???

Wh—what?!

Professor Snape gave points to Gryffindor?

And for a ridiculous reason like "honesty"??

Professor Snape, have you been hit with the Killing Curse?!

Harry screamed inwardly: Ethan, you're a god!!!

Even if Ethan one day slapped Dumbledore off the stage and declared that from now on Hogwarts would be run by him as headmaster, Harry felt he could accept it calmly.

...Well, maybe he'd still be a little shocked.

"Hey, mate, what are you thinking about?"

Ron's voice snapped Harry back to reality.

"Come on, we've got our first flying lesson soon!"

"I tell you, back when I rode my old broom at home, I nearly hit a Muggle airplane..."

"Is that the same old sow you blew up into the sky?"

"Oh—shut up! Dean!"

"Merlin, the memory ball my gran sent me is glowing again..."

Harry bantered with his friends as they walked out of the Great Hall.

Soon, swept up in anticipation of flying, he forgot all about the Howling Letter.

Not long after they left.

Ethan, who had no classes that afternoon, wiped his mouth leisurely. Instead of heading off to do his usual commissions like always.

He carried a large bundle of things and walked in the same direction as Harry and the others.

"Ethan, where are you going?"

Michael hurriedly swallowed his last gulp of juice, stood up, and asked.

"To the lawn outside the castle to paint. I ruined a painting before, so I'm redoing it with better materials."

With that, Ethan lifted the half-meter-tall canvas frame in his hands.

"I'll come too. Here, let me help you carry some!"

Michael said eagerly, taking the art supplies from Ethan's hands and trotting after him.

No kidding.

With someone as talented as Ethan, only a fool wouldn't try to get close!

Godfather! Don't leave me behind!!

Their other roommate, Mandy, pushed up his glasses speechlessly, glanced at the rare clear sky outside, picked up his book, and decided to study outdoors too.

Yeah, definitely not because he wanted to see what Ethan was up to.

Absolutely not.

Outside Hogwarts Castle.

Blue sky, white clouds, lush green grass.

The grass rippled like waves beneath their feet.

At the edge of the view, a dark, dense forest loomed.

Ethan chose a gentle slope, set up his easel, and placed the canvas on it.

He prepared his palette, turpentine, and paints, setting them beside him.

Suddenly, Ethan felt a surge of intense emotion.

In his past life, art supplies were commonplace, but now they were things he had to work hard to earn money to buy.

With a different state of mind, Ethan felt a surge of passion and excitement welling up from the depths of his heart as he raised his brush.

Besides the one in his hand, Ethan had also bought many brushes of various sizes, thicknesses, and lengths.

This was to prepare for transforming his wand into his most perfect brush.

Although Ethan was the first to complete the matchstick-to-needle transformation, his wand still refused to change shape.

According to Professor McGonagall, items containing magical materials like wands were more difficult to transfigure and required greater caution.

Because a single mistake could cause irreversible damage.

What he should do first was use all kinds of brushes to personally feel their strengths and weaknesses.

Thus, he could clearly understand what his desired "Perfect Brush" truly was.

First, he sketched with a pencil, then mixed turpentine with pigments to lay down the colors.

Large swaths of black spread across the canvas.

Yet under Ethan's deliberate control, the subtle variations in depth and brushstroke direction made the darkness look like a void without up, down, left, or right—or perhaps the reverse side of the real world.

Then, within that deathly stillness, a white door slowly opened.

Ethan was completely absorbed in his painting, his pupils wide, revealing a ring of white around them that looked somewhat eerie.

Not far away, Gryffindor and Slytherin were having their Flying lesson, with constant shouts of "Up, up" ringing out.

Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had already had theirs, and aside from some wobbly flying, no accidents occurred.

Except for a few Quidditch fanatics, most Ravenclaws preferred to keep their feet on the ground and study.

Oh, and those students still fantasizing about riding Flying Broomsticks into the common room.

Their attempts probably wouldn't stop until the next wave of "victims" ended up in the hospital wing.

Every year, the little eagles tirelessly racked their brains to break the restrictions—it was practically a house tradition.

On the lawn, the weather was fine and pleasant.

The atmosphere should have been relaxed and comfortable.

But Michael and Mandy were slowly breaking out in a cold sweat down their backs.

A strange, chilling aura was continuously seeping out from that painting.

Like a gradually forming Door Key, it was extending tendrils outward, trying to drag them to an unknown other side.

And that other side held no joy, no warmth—only a cold, dead void.

Ethan, what are you trying to do in a righteous magical school?!

This is way too sinister!!

Michael and Mandy exchanged glances, both seeing shock and fear in each other's eyes.

It was pure torture.

Finally, when a sudden scream erupted from the Flying lesson halfway through, Ethan set down his sinful brush.

"It's done!"

Ethan muttered under his breath, staring intently at the painting before him.

A faint blue light screen appeared in front of him:

[Congratulations! You have completed another extraordinary work!]

["Gate of Opening" has been upgraded to "Portal"!]

[Grade: Tier 1 · Golden Legendary!]