Senior, you wouldn't want to end up like Malfoy, would you?

Sean felt dizzy, his brain congested with rage.

For a moment, he didn't know if Ethan was seriously answering his question or just messing with him.

"Second."

Ethan's voice continued.

He extended a second finger, and a chill suddenly rose in his cobalt-blue eyes.

"Why do you think I wouldn't fight back?"

As the words fell, a daunting aura erupted from Ethan!

His cobalt-blue eyes locked onto Sean, flickering with a madness beyond the ordinary!

The air around Ethan warped.

Like a refraction on a soap bubble, it shimmered with shifting, fluctuating colors, eerily strange.

The fireplace flames swayed without wind, crackling.

A pungent smell, mixing nuts and minerals, spread through the common room.

Diluting the fragrance of food.

This was a riot of magic.

Everyone felt it—their hairs stood on end, like the prelude to a thunderclap.

Even Professor Flitwick tightened his expression and instinctively grabbed his wand.

And Sean, facing this fury head-on, felt his pupils contract, his body tense, a spine-chilling sensation crawling up his back!

Sean, who had only ever buried himself in books, realized for the first time that the world wasn't just about clever tricks.

There was also the iron fist of punishment.

"—You, what are you trying to do?!" Sean shouted in panic, stammering. "This is Hogwarts!"

Sean never imagined he'd actually be threatened by an eleven- or twelve-year-old brat!

Losing face in front of ordinary students and club members!

It was a total disgrace!

More humiliating than not getting first place on an exam.

The atmosphere froze.

But the next second, Ethan suddenly laughed.

Like spring melting a frozen lake.

That pleasant smile instantly erased all trace of madness and coldness.

"Senior, why so tense? I was just joking."

Ethan raised his hand and patted the stiff Sean like a buddy, speaking slowly:

"I'm a pretty easygoing guy. Don't mess with me, and I won't mess with you."

"Senior, you don't want to end up like Mr. Malfoy, do you?"

At that name, everyone's mind conjured the image of a Little Golden Retriever, wilted like a frostbitten eggplant.

Ever since coming back from home, Malfoy had been a changed person.

No longer walking around with his nose in the air, no longer constantly picking fights with Gryffindor.

Even the recent buzz about "Harry being chosen as a Quidditch player" only made him watch from afar with envy.

No more shouting things like "This isn't fair! I'm telling my father!"

For someone's deeply ingrained personality to change so drastically in such a short time...

Everyone couldn't help but shiver, afraid to imagine what kind of blow Malfoy had suffered.

And it was all because of Ethan.

Staring at the smiling Ethan, Sean felt like his throat was being squeezed, unable to breathe.

He couldn't help but step back twice, looking at Ethan as if he were some inhuman creature.

Incomprehensible. Unacceptable.

How could someone like this exist in the world?!

Just then, Professor Flitwick's voice rang out, smoothing things over:

"Alright, alright, everyone! It's time to get some rest!"

"Mr. Vincent, would you still be willing to give us a little demonstration?" Professor Flitwick asked cautiously. "Or would you prefer to turn in early?"

"It's fine, I still have energy."

Ethan turned and pulled out his wand.

With a wave, the wand transformed into a pure, beautiful paintbrush.

"Perfect Transfiguration Spell! I must add five points for Ethan on behalf of Professor McGonagall!"

Professor Flitwick exclaimed excitedly, his eyes sparkling.

Even he or Professor McGonagall, back in their first year, had rarely mastered such a skilled and exquisite technique.

"Trust me, if she weren't worried about your safety, Professor McGonagall would have personally awarded you those points."

Next.

Ethan performed Avis for them.

Of course, it was a non-attack version.

He hadn't gone mad enough to skewer barbecue in this Common Room.

"Wow—"

The students were all stunned and mesmerized, gazing at the Golden Light swirling through the air.

Golden Birds trailed long tail feathers, flapping their wings like tassels or brilliant shooting stars, circling among the crowd, as if they were in the midst of the cosmos.

Sean watched this scene with a dark expression.

He couldn't deny Ethan's magical talent, and that only made him angrier!

"He's just a poor little thief, I shouldn't get worked up over someone like him..." Sean gritted his teeth and muttered, "I'll make him see just how big the gap between us really is!"

Hearing this.

Prefect Robert and the next Prefect-in-waiting Penelope exchanged a glance.

The latter showed a hint of worry and said, "Prefect, will he be okay?"

After all, Sean was an outstanding top-tier upperclassman.

Robert smiled faintly: "When you say 'he,' who are you referring to?"

Penelope was taken aback.

Leaving behind this ambiguous remark, Robert turned and walked away.

Like the other students, he gathered around Ethan and chatted eagerly.

Leaving Penelope alone to ponder the meaning of those words.

—In the end.

Professor Flitwick awarded Ethan a total of twenty points.

Exactly offsetting the points Professor McGonagall had deducted.

Ask why? It was favoritism.

Meanwhile.

Hogwarts Headmaster's Office.

Portraits of past headmasters hung on the walls, emitting faint snores, though more than a few were pretending to sleep while actually eavesdropping.

The fiery phoenix Fawkes perched on his stand, letting out chirping cries.

"Tea, coffee, or hot milk?"

Dumbledore smiled amiably at the worried, tall, thin woman before him, his half-moon glasses twinkling as he gave a playful wink.

"I'm not here for small talk, Professor Dumbledore."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in dissatisfaction and said urgently:

"As I told you, this child Ethan Vincent... carries a kind of natural evil."

"His thinking is different from normal people. Those terrifying paintings—oh, you saw them too, didn't you, Professor Dumbledore? The ones hanging in the corridors."

"Yes, I saw them. I even stopped to admire them for quite a while."

Dumbledore said leisurely, adding one sugar cube after another to his hot milk.

"What I noticed was Mr. Vincent's superb painting skill. You saw the first one, right? I imagine it must depict a bloodthirsty Wild Giant from ancient times—tsk, tsk, so vivid."

"But!" Professor McGonagall retorted, "His paintings have gone to the extreme! They can harm others!"

Professor McGonagall still remembered that immersive, beautiful illusion.

She had seen the happy family she had always dreamed of—so warm, so within reach.

If one wasn't careful, they would sink deep into it.

At that time, what had the great White Wizard, Albus Dumbledore, seen?

Professor McGonagall didn't know.

But when she came to her senses, she found that Headmaster Dumbledore still hadn't snapped out of it for a long time—

Or rather, he was willing to stay immersed, unwilling to return to reality.