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HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 302
🕑 Added 2025-12-10 13:30:35 +0000 UTCChapter 302: Petrifying Barty Jr! The Best Way to Prevent Leaks Is to Improvise the Task
Memories crashed back over Barty Jr.
The unexpected Black Egg, the curse that had ridden him like a parasite, the champions taking turns to beat him senseless.
And finally, a single huge word burned itself across his mind.
Failure.
Snap.
The soft sound cracked through the dead, empty space, making him jump.
He stared up, blank and terrified.
Someone was sitting on a "stone pillar."
Mr Lamp.
Right now, Mr Lamp held a closed old book in one hand. On the cover, an eye was painted so vividly it seemed to move, scarlet and shot through with what looked like raised, pulsing veins.
It radiated such a sense of doom that Barty Jr flinched away on instinct.
A dim, ghostly green light burned behind Mr Lamp’s back. The shadow it cast spilled forward and swallowed him, leaving only the pure white mask with its featureless face and twin black holes where eyes should be.
They stared down at Barty like a god watching an ant.
Cold. Empty. Inhuman.
"You failed."
Mr Lamp’s voice was calm and clear behind the mask.
There was no trace of anger in it.
Barty still felt his robes stick to his back with sudden sweat.
"I‑it was that brat," he snarled, hatred burning in his eyes. "If he had not added new rules at the last second, I would never have been brought down by a mere cursed fog."
He had been so close. So close to killing Ethan.
He could not understand it.
He prepared every angle, covered every variable, and still, each time, he was one step behind. As if Ethan were reading the future.
Impossible.
"Give me another chance," Barty shouted. "Next time, in the final task, I will succeed."
His desperate roar bounced around the chamber like the cry of a trapped beast.
Then silence fell again.
Barty stared at the motionless white mask, cold sweat sliding down his temple.
At last, the verdict came.
"Voldemort is very disappointed in you."
The words hit like a thunderbolt.
All colour drained from Barty’s face.
Mr Lamp—Ethan, of course—was lying.
There was no way he had gone to report in and come back in that little time.
As for what to do with Barty Jr, he already had his own excellent ideas.
"I went to some trouble to get you into the task," Ethan said lazily. "To slip you into the place of Delacour’s sister. All you had to do was pick your moment and cast a single Killing Curse."
"It should have been foolproof."
"But you failed."
Barty shook, eyes bulging. "N‑no…"
"Given that," Ethan went on, "the Dark Lord considers you to have no further value."
"Nonono!"
Barty howled, bloodshot veins creeping across his eyes.
He stumbled backwards, eyes darting madly around the chamber for an exit.
"I need to see the Dark Lord. Let me see him. He will not abandon me!"
Tsk. Loyal lapdogs, grovelling right up to the end.
Ethan shook his head.
Barty looked like a headless fly.
"Do not worry," Ethan said kindly, lips curling. "Even garbage and scraps can be put to use. I will squeeze every last drop of value from you."
"This body of yours will make an excellent flowerpot."
Perfect for growing one of the key ingredients of the Ghoul’s Resonance Elixir: "the spotted mushroom that grows from flesh saturated with Dark magic."
And whose flesh was more thoroughly soaked in Dark magic than Barty Jr’s?
It was a gift dropped into his hands at exactly the right moment.
Ethan was already thinking he really ought to write a nice little book one day: One Hundred and Eight Uses for a Dark Wizard.
"I have never heard of that mushroom," he mused, "but the Restricted Section at Hogwarts should have something on it."
"Then Neville can take over. Another new strain. Neville will be delighted."
He smiled, eyes moon‑shaped.
He had even planned Barty’s "post‑life care."
"What… what are you talking about?" Barty stammered.
He stared at Mr Lamp’s obvious good mood and felt like he was listening to some alien species speak a different language.
Cold crept up his spine.
Ethan clapped his hands lightly. "All right. Time is up."
"Time for you to go."
Barty’s eyes went wide.
Then he gritted his teeth and bolted.
If he could not Apparate, then he still had to be inside Hogwarts.
If he stayed within the school, then Mr Lamp would be under Dumbledore’s constraints too, just like him.
Never in his life had Barty imagined he would one day pin his hopes on the great white wizard.
Something hissed behind him.
A dry scrape, like scales sliding over rough stone.
Cold seeped into his bones.
He turned.
Two huge, vertical, yellow eyes stared down at him from the darkness.
And he remembered exactly what kind of cold‑blooded creature made that sound.
A snake.
And that "stone pillar" Mr Lamp sat on was not stone at all.
It was the massive, coiled body of a basilisk.
Crack.
His limbs froze. His skin, his flesh, his bones turned to stone from the inside out.
"M‑Master, plea…"
The last few words crumbled away.
The statue that had been Barty Jr toppled to the floor with a heavy thud.
"Well done, Little Green."
Ethan patted the basilisk’s cool, scaly head and was rewarded with a very enthusiastic nuzzle.
He hopped down from the great body and promptly cast Drying and Warming Charms on the seat of his trousers.
Behind every glorious image, there was always a less glamorous angle.
He nudged the Barty‑shaped statue with his toe and examined the terror twisted into its stone features.
Barty was not dead.
Killing him now would be far too quick, far too artless.
Neville’s parents deserved better.
Besides, the spotted mushroom needed living flesh. It would draw Dark magic and life force up as its nourishment.
"Heave‑ho."
Ethan manhandled the petrified Barty into his trusty leather bag.
The interior, expanded by magic, could swallow almost anything. It was perfect for the travelling collector of "artworks."
"That is that," he said, brushing imaginary sweat from his brow. "Neville can handle the mushroom farming."
"The Ministry will help gather the rest of the ingredients. They will be delighted to."
Connections made everything easier.
Whether they were truly delighted was none of his concern.
"Hehehe."
He set off down the stone corridor, smiling with saintly innocence.
"In a few months, when the term ends, it will be time for the final task," he thought.
"Voldemort plans to use Harry to resurrect himself then."
"And I will alter his resurrection."
A shadow flashed in his eyes.
"The conditions for the Crucible of Souls ritual are already more than half complete."
"Voldemort is the evil soul. The Lamp’s brightness has reached 'Bright'."
"Repairing the damaged Wayward Realm can be left to the Ministry."
"That leaves only one last requirement: painting a third‑tier violet epic."
And the key lay with Dumbledore’s sister, Ariana.
"Tonight, in my sleep, I will go back to the Hidden Place and look for her," Ethan decided.
"Then figure out how to use the new painting to adjust the content of the final task."
What?
The task proposal was already filed?
This was not "last‑minute changes."
This was "a surprise bonus."
"Good. Everything’s planned."
He tapped his fist into his palm, eyes curving.
"Just one more thing. Dealing with the little bug that followed me."
His blue eyes narrowed.
From behind the white mask, his gaze went straight to a nondescript little beetle crouched in a corner.
The magic leaking off it was nothing like an insect’s.
The beetle froze when their eyes met.
It clung to the stone, hoping stillness would save it.
But the footsteps down the corridor came closer and closer.
He really is coming for me.
He has seen through my disguise.
Unregistered Animagus, sneaking into forbidden places in beetle form, tailing people. A Daily Prophet reporter who would do anything for a scandal.
Rita Skeeter.
Her soul practically flew out of her body.
She wanted a juicy story. She had not imagined it would be this juicy.
The famed new saviour, Ethan Vincent, was Mr Lamp, the one who had declared he would end the world.
And he was working with the Dark Lord.
In that instant, Rita finally understood the old warning.
Some secrets are better left unknown.
She shot into the air with a buzz, wings straining as she fled.
There was an entrance. There had to be an exit.
If she could just—
She darted through rough‑hewn stone tunnels, over carpets of old white bones, until she reached the sealed mouth of an ancient drain.
Then she stopped, stunned.
Right.
She had come in through Ethan’s portal.
In a space where Apparition was blocked, he could stroll in and out at will.
There was no "exit."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The unhurried footsteps drew nearer.
Rita shifted back to human form and collapsed on the floor, staring in horror down the corridor.
A tall figure appeared, taking off the white mask and shrugging out of a black robe.
Dark curls, cobalt eyes, handsome features.
If not for the damp stone walls, she might have thought she was at some elegant banquet.
Ethan, aged up with potion, stopped in front of her limp body.
Only then did it truly hit her.
This underground chamber was a jar.
And she was the insect he had lured inside.
"A‑ah… ah…"
Her red lips shook.
Her usually immaculate hair and robes were a mess.
At last she forced a wobbly smile.
"I will resign," she whispered. "Is that… acceptable?"
Ethan smiled faintly.
"All Is Forgotten (Obliviate)," he said.
Oh, right.
His magic was just a teensy bit strong.
She would have to bear with it.
