The master had spoken personally!
Quirrell's pupils contracted. His body tensed involuntarily as he narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Ethan.
He was handsome and well-built. Even while threatening a professor, he spoke with a kind and polite expression.
As if he were earnestly discussing something with someone.
How could the master have taken an interest in this kid? He had absolutely nothing to do with their evil forces.
That earlier argument with Malfoy had just been a squabble between children.
You could only say he was a fearless young calf.
If he really ran into a Dark Wizard, who knew how badly he would cry?
Besides, any wizard with some experience could paint a picture infused with magic—and do it better than this little brat.
The Living Paintings all over Hogwarts Castle were proof of that.
It was nothing special.
Quirrell grumbled inwardly.
Though he didn't understand, he didn't dare disobey Voldemort.
He hurriedly said:
"If, if you insist, then I'll tell you..."
From Quirrell's long-winded explanation, Ethan learned what sort of person Helga had been.
In a word: the progenitor of Dark Wizards.
She had lived in ancient Greece and was one of the earliest and most influential Dark Wizards in magical history, known as "Hellebore the Vile."
She had two major achievements:
First, she had invented and bred the Basilisk.
It hatched from a chicken egg incubated beneath a toad. Any creature that looked directly into its eyes would be petrified and die.
That's right—the thing currently holed up beneath their feet.
Summoned by Voldemort in his youth, it had caused the death of one person at Hogwarts.
Second, she had invented the Horcrux.
By splitting the soul through an evil murder, it allowed the soul to cling to life even after the body died.
It was also Voldemort's specialty.
Well, so she was basically Voldemort's mentor!
The things in her mansion were probably on a par with the Philosopher's Stone.
Either extremely precious,
or extremely dangerous,
or both.
Ethan was even more intrigued.
Dark Magic creations, forbidden beings, things that weren't allowed...
This was just too interesting.
"Heh, hehehe..."
Ethan couldn't help chuckling.
A chilling aura swept across the whole classroom.
"Why, why do I feel kind of cold..."
Ron rubbed his arms and muttered:
"It's like a Dementor's here. My dad says places with Dementors get really cold."
"But Ethan's the only one here, hahaha."
Harry gave a dry laugh in agreement, thinking to himself:
Aside from their species, there probably wasn't much difference between Ethan and a Dementor.
They were both equally creepy.
While waiting for class to end,
Ethan kept thinking about how to get to Helga's mansion.
The moss-covered piece of bark had not only taught him the complete Erised Spell, but had also told him the exact location of Helga's mansion.
It was by Lake Voster in Cumbria, in the English Lake District.
Deep inside the "Rotting Marsh," where everything was devoured and countless fungi were born.
It was surrounded by dense woods and poisonous fog, and was extremely dangerous.
The location was perfectly suited to a Dark Wizard's tastes.
"Getting there alone would be hard..."
Ethan murmured.
It wasn't just because of the difficulty. It was also more than a hundred kilometers from Hogwarts.
Even Apparition would have a hard time getting him there.
It was like an impotent man receiving a top-tier adult film: he had all the desire in the world, but couldn't do anything about it.
All he could do was scratch his head in frustration.
"I'll think about it some more." In the end, Ethan could only let out a long sigh and put his treasure-hunting plans aside for now. "I'll have to plan carefully. Maybe during summer vacation? Something might come up."
"For now, I'll focus on the Art Exhibition coming up soon."
"For my first public appearance, I have to give everyone a surprise~"
As he was thinking,
the bell rang.
Like the other students, Ethan immediately prepared to leave. He couldn't stand to spend another second in that garlic-filled classroom.
Just then,
a wave of garlic smell came closer, rushing toward Ethan like a wall.
The smell arrived before its owner.
Even Ethan, who was rarely emotional and was always gentle and friendly, couldn't help frowning in disgust.
"V-Vincent, could you wait a moment..."
Professor Quirrell approached with a forced smile, his dark purple turban practically pressed against Ethan's face.
The garlic smell mixed with a faint stench of decay was even more overwhelming than taking a deep breath of a jock's white socks in summer.
Ethan took two steps back. "Sorry, I'm allergic to garlic. I'm leaving."
With that, Ethan turned and walked away without looking back.
Want to get close to him?
Then do something about that garlic smell first!
"..."
Quirrell's smile froze again.
He watched Ethan's utterly unapologetic retreat, his eyes widening slightly as fear crept into them.
Trembling, he waited until the students had left the classroom before sinking to the floor as if he could no longer bear it. He murmured like a supplicant begging for mercy:
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, master... I'm so sorry. I'll definitely help you steal Ethan Vincent's skills..."
["Help me"? Do you think I need your help?!]
"Y-yes, 'for you,' 'for you'! Master! I'm willing to give you everything..."
[I never thought that one day I'd be forced to live inside a pathetic coward like you. Never mind. There's no need to approach that boy just yet.]
[The most important thing now is to get the Philosopher's Stone for me as soon as possible!]
"Y-yes, master!" Quirrell whispered. "I've already made my preparations. On Halloween Eve, I'll create a disturbance, and I'll take the chance to get through that Trapdoor and retrieve the Philosopher's Stone for you..."
[I hope you won't disappoint me. Otherwise, you know what will happen.]
"Y-yes..."
Quirrell hunched his back and listened as the voice in his head gradually faded. At last, he breathed a sigh of relief.
...Ethan Vincent, enjoy your triumph for a couple more days.
Quirrell's eyes darkened.
Once he successfully stole the Philosopher's Stone for his master, you and your laughable paintings would both belong to the master.
Quirrell took a deep breath and, after recovering, hurried out of the classroom.
He had to make sure the plan went off without a hitch.
Still, who could have guessed that timid, stuttering, pitiful Professor Quirrell would act on the eve of the holiday?
Perhaps that detestable Snape would suspect something...
But Snape would never guess that he, Voldemort's loyal servant, would bring a Troll into the school!
Thinking of how those foolish students and professors would panic, Quirrell couldn't help grinning.
Then,
he would savor the sight of Ethan Vincent's arrogant face twisted with fear.
While Quirrell struggled to capture a Troll and prepared for his Dark Great Enterprise,
Ethan was busy getting ready for his Art Exhibition.
One painting after another, one right after the next.
Danqing Buyu, Bigeng Buchuo.
Since Ethan really had forgotten how to get into the Room of Requirement, he painted wherever he pleased.
Mostly in his dormitory.
Although Ethan thoughtfully put his finished paintings into an Oxhide Bag enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm,
and playfully told his roommates, Michael and Mandy, that it was a Muggle-Repelling Charm he would need later,
they still, regrettably, kept their distance from Ethan.
Eventually, they started sleeping in the Common Room.
They probably just didn't want to disturb him while he was painting.
Ethan felt touched.
He decided to invite them to see the exhibition first once it was set up.
During that time, Ethan also went to visit Hagrid a few times with the Two Little Ones—Harry and Ron.
And he successfully gathered some Magical Creatures materials.
Things like unicorn hair, Colorful Beautiful Feathers, and a few genuine Dragon Scales from who knew where.
They glimmered dark green, as if starlight were streaking across them.
Ethan used them all in his paintings and Exhibition Setup.
He combined them with the Erised Spell and painted another "Golden Legendary."
Time flew by.
At last, October 31 arrived.
Halloween Eve: a night everyone was looking forward to, with countless undercurrents stirring.
Before you continue