Spider's Alley.
[Your artwork is beginning to have a slight influence!] [ Soul Fusion Degree increased!] [26%→27%]
As the system announced it,
Ethan felt a warm current pour down from his head, flowing through his limbs and nourishing his body.
"My Soul Fusion Degree went up again!"
Ethan exclaimed in delight, gazing at his palm as though he could see magic surging from it.
On the table lay the latest issues of The Quibbler and The Daily Prophet.
"Who said Rita the reporter was no good? Rita the reporter is just wonderful!"
Ethan especially liked the article she had written about him, "Justice vs. Evil." She had even brought in the celebrity Harry Potter.
The words and phrases she'd used were spot-on, too.
Things like "a hidden aura of darkness," "could affect a person's mental state," and "everyone should be on their guard."
She'd praised him so much that Ethan was almost embarrassed.
"She really appreciates my art, after all. Heh~"
Ethan thought shyly and proudly.
So, to thank her for the article,
Ethan had specially drawn a little picture in the same style and sent it to Miss Rita by owl, using Luna's owl.
He'd eagerly waited for a reply.
But unexpectedly, before he heard back, he learned from the newspaper
that Miss Rita had suddenly fallen ill, was confined to bed, and had taken a week off.
What a shame~
At that moment,
Ethan saw the system's message saying "Soul Fusion Degree increased," and a new idea suddenly flashed through his mind.
"Could my Soul Fusion Degree be related to how well-known I am in this world?!"
"Or, more precisely, my [artistic reputation]?"
It made sense.
The last time his Soul Fusion Degree had increased was when Snape admired his portrait of Lily.
Snape alone had raised it by 1%, the same as this time.
"The more important someone is in this world, the greater the increase... I really do need to meet the main characters from the original story."
"Give them a tiny taste of the shock a failed art student can deliver."
Ethan's gaze shifted to the newspaper clipping on the wall.
In the illustration, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's castle stood on a cliff in the rain.
A bolt of lightning, like nothing the world had ever seen, streaked across the night sky.
The Chosen One and Hogwarts...
Heh heh heh, I can hardly wait.
Ethan licked his lips and put on an evil, "plan successful" grin.
As it happened, after all this time spent studying,
he was nearly ready to create his first piece combining "magic + painting."
Meanwhile,
at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey,
Harry Potter lay on his bed, surrounded by broken toys, when he suddenly sneezed for no apparent reason.
"Mm, who's thinking about me...?"
Harry mumbled groggily, rolling over. Since he didn't get The Daily Prophet, he had no idea what had happened.
Soon, he drifted peacefully back to sleep.
In his dream, he was riding a flying motorcycle, wand in hand, racing through Hogwarts.
The wizarding world. I can't wait.
September 1.
King's Cross Station, London.
The clock in the main hall had only reached half past ten.
Ethan was already standing between platforms 9 and 10, dragging a mountain of luggage behind him.
If he were catching a plane, Ethan might really have arrived several hours early.
His luggage seemed to be piled heavily on the trolley, and a few older girls came over to ask if he needed help.
Ethan politely declined each time.
It wasn't that he wanted to manage on his own. He'd cast the Levitation Charm on all his luggage.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
It was the spell Ethan remembered best from the original story.
As the first spell taught to young wizards in Charms Class, it naturally wasn't too difficult for him.
Studying on his own, Ethan had quickly learned it.
Besides that, he'd successfully cast several other commonly used basic spells from the first few chapters of Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.
It wasn't that hard.
Ethan thought as he slipped a hand into his pocket and touched his wand.
He'd even managed to incorporate one of the spells into a painting.
That had earned him his first "blue, rare" card.
One level higher than "white, uncommon."
Pushing his weightless luggage, Ethan took a deep breath in front of the brick partition, then charged straight through!
"Whoosh!"
A brief darkness, and a cold rush of air past his ears.
The next instant, sunlight and a clamor of voices surged toward him like a tide.
"Choo—"
The train hissed steam, and the smell of coal smoke mixed with Pumpkin Pasties filled his nostrils.
Ethan opened his eyes. Before him was an iron sign hanging from the station's arched roof—
"Platform 9¾."
Owls of all kinds flapped across the air, while a deep-red steam engine rested on the tracks, its polished body glinting in the sunlight.
Since Ethan had arrived early, there weren't many people on the platform yet.
Children his age ran past him, laughing and playing. Older students gathered to share their summer adventures, while parents stood nearby, giving their children last-minute reminders and saying goodbye.
An indescribable feeling welled up inside Ethan.
It was as if this were the moment he'd truly entered the world of magic.
Ethan looked back and saw a faint ripple of magic connecting the platform to the Muggle world.
—"Home is behind you; the whole world lies ahead"!
Just as Ethan was reflecting on the moment, a drawn-out voice sounded from behind him:
"Oh, you're the one who drew the illustrations in The Quibbler, right?"
Ethan turned and saw a gleaming blond head and an unbearably smug face.
—Draco Malfoy.
Another major character from the original story.
Maybe he could help Ethan raise his Soul Fusion Degree.
With that in mind, Ethan smiled.
"That's right, I'm Ethan Vincent. I didn't realize I was already so famous. How embarrassing~"
Ethan gave a shy little scholar's smile and covered his mouth.
Malfoy: "..."
How could anyone be more conceited than him?!
"Heh, you're imagining things."
Malfoy rolled his eyes dramatically and curled one side of his mouth in a sneer.
"I know you only because your arrest warrant was posted at the Ministry of Magic for ages."
"And my father happens to have a few connections at the Ministry, so he knows a thing or two about what goes on behind the scenes."
As he spoke, Malfoy proudly puffed out his chest and looked down at Ethan.
"If Dumbledore hadn't protected you, you'd have been arrested long ago. Anyway, I've seen your paintings. There's nothing special about them. They're perfectly ordinary."
"..."
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
You can insult my character, but you can't insult my art.
Ethan's smile grew ever more amiable as he politely said,
"You've got a booger in your nostril."
?!!
Malfoy's haughty head snapped downward. He covered his nostrils, his pale face turning bright red.
Now he was in a real bind.
Maybe Ethan was only bluffing. But what if there really was a little snack in his nose? Was he supposed to dig it out in front of everyone?
A noble Malfoy would never do something so vulgar!
Malfoy snapped, "You filthy Mudblood—"
Ethan suddenly raised a hand, cutting off Malfoy's tirade, and said,
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Draco Malfoy. I've heard so much about you."
"..."
Malfoy froze, staring blankly at Ethan, who had taken the initiative to be friendly, as though he were looking at a one-hundred-percent purebred Troll.
Could it be a trap?
But Malfoy stared at him for ages and couldn't spot anything suspicious about that hand, which was lightly smeared with paint.
...Heh, as expected, he'd fallen at the feet of the Malfoy family name.
Otherwise, if he hadn't admired him for a long time, how would he know his name?
He hadn't even introduced himself just now!
Once he'd figured it out, Malfoy grew confident again.
The truth was, he'd approached Ethan because his father had advised him to.
Besides Potter, the so-called Chosen One, he could also try making contact with this "eccentric artist."
[He can guide magic and paint enchanted pictures... This eleven-year-old boy may be worth befriending.]
His father Lucius's haughty words rang in his ears.
"Hmph, at least you know who's really worth befriending."
Malfoy curled up the corner of his mouth. Keeping one hand over his nose, he lowered the other and shook Ethan's outstretched hand.
The instant their hands touched,
a sudden stab of pain shot through Malfoy's palm, as though it had been pricked by a cluster of tiny needles.
Then came an itch like ants crawling over his skin.
Hm?
Malfoy frowned and casually looked up, straight into Ethan's cobalt-blue eyes.
Ethan Vincent.
The young painter whose sinister artwork had set both The Quibbler and The Daily Prophet ablaze, and who had landed on the Ministry of Magic's dangerous persons list twice.
He was smiling at Malfoy with a cold, delighted expression—the same look a doctor might give a little white mouse on an operating table.
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