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HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 294
🕑 Added 2025-12-06 20:06:18 +0000 UTCChapter 294: Egg Protection Squad?! Dumbledore’s Most Shaken Episode Yet
The shore of the Black Lake seethed with people.
For a place rumoured to harbour a giant squid, the usually placid water had never seen such bustle.
A skin of frost glazed the dark surface, and the knife‑cold wind sent ripple after ripple racing across it.
Madame Maxime was moving down the line of Beauxbatons students, layering Warming Charms on her shivering champions. Every so often she glanced over at the solid, fur‑clad Durmstrang lads and muttered about "unfairness" and "extra points."
Then her gaze slid to the Hogwarts group.
To the "blonde elf" who was a full size smaller than everyone else.
She went silent, eyes widening. "Hogwarts really is sending that little girl in? She looks like a stiff breeze would knock her over."
Fleur gave a proud little hum through her finely sculpted nose and shot a sideways look at Luna, who stood quietly at the edge of the group.
Her fingers, knuckles red from the cold, clenched tighter around her wand.
This was not just a contest between schools.
It was a battle with Ethan Vincent.
"Since you chose that girl," Fleur murmured, "I will see just what she can do."
She said it, but in her heart she had no intention of losing.
Her mind had already begun to wander ahead, picturing herself "abducting" Ethan back to sun‑soaked, soft‑weathered France.
Living happily ever after.
"Hehe… hehe…"
Her lips curled into a grin, a strange blush colouring her cheeks under her Headmistress’s dubious stare.
Come to think of it, she had not seen her little sister all morning.
She was probably off playing somewhere.
This was Hogwarts, after all, supposedly the safest place in Britain. Nothing could possibly happen.
Beauxbatons were not the only ones doubting Hogwarts’ choices.
Even Hogwarts’ own students were stunned.
Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had stuck with their aces: Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour.
Hogwarts, on the other hand, had thrown them all a curve.
Cedric Diggory. Neville Longbottom. Luna Lovegood.
Was this some kind of mass elimination attempt?
Cedric at least was well known in Hufflepuff.
But Neville and Luna?
"Why not send Harry?" someone demanded. "Or the Weasley twins, even!"
After the First Task, the twins had proved they could do more than make trouble.
"We’re doomed. Neville’s the most famous coward in Gryffindor, and Luna’s always off in her own world."
"This is a full freak squad."
"Winning is secondary at this point. Just do not let Hogwarts lose face."
The noise swelled.
Doubt and complaint crashed over them.
Neville, already near panic, shook even harder, face drained.
"Ignore them," Luna said quietly, voice as calm as still water. "Just do your part."
"I‑I, I—" Neville stammered.
Luna turned her head. Her blue eyes seemed to look straight through him.
He flinched.
"You do not want to disappoint Ethan, do you?" she asked, spacing each word.
Neville’s trembling stopped.
A few seconds ticked by.
Then his habitual hunch straightened, vertebra by vertebra. His mouth firmed. Sweat shone on his round face, but a new resolve burned there.
"I will not let Ethan down," he said, voice shaking but sure.
The words of a future Herbology master and Gryffindor’s sword‑wielding hero quivered in the cold air.
"Good," Luna said, eyes curving.
She lifted her head and met the sceptical stares around them.
"Night does not have to explain why it exists," she said softly. "When it falls, everyone understands."
On the other side of the stands, Rita Skeeter was already drilling holes in the arena with her stare.
The quill in her hand scratched furiously, even before the task had begun.
"A Disappointing Second Task", "Empty Hype", "The Secret Deal Between Hogwarts, Ethan Vincent, and the Ministry"… perfect.
She licked her painted lips, admiring the words.
Each one was calculated to spark outrage.
No matter what Ethan did, he could not top a dragon.
News had a shelf life.
Those who wrote in advance owned the front page.
"My, my. Looks like the headline is mine again," she purred.
This time, her work would not go in the bin.
Hopes, grudges, schemes—all of it flowed together into the ancient waters of the Black Lake, stirring centuries of silt.
A low horn sounded, deep as the lakebed.
The crowd quieted, turning to the black‑haired boy at the front.
They watched him step off the jetty.
And keep going.
On nothing at all.
Students gaped.
Several professors blinked.
Tap, tap.
Ethan rapped the ground beneath his feet with his gold‑tipped cane, the sound ringing clear.
As if on glass.
"Welcome to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament," he said, spreading his arms and looking down with bright delight on the sea of faces.
"The rules are simple."
"Within the allotted time, you must cross the Glass Bridge over the Black Lake, reach the centre, defeat the great beast, and rescue your family member."
The crowd: …
Bridge? Rescue?
There were too many explosive words in that one sentence to catch at once.
The champions traded looks along the shore.
So it was not a straight plunge into the lake after all.
Very Ethan.
His brain simply did not run on ordinary human wiring.
Fleur’s heart lurched.
She thought of her missing sister.
No. Surely not…
"There are invisible glass walkways hovering over the lake," Ethan went on.
In the stands, a grey‑bearded professor puffed up proudly. "Crafted using my Alchemy," he told his neighbour. "Marvels of modern transfiguration."
"Use your wits," Ethan said. "Find the right path and reach the centre of the lake."
At that, Luna raised her hand. "What happens if we step wrong?" she asked.
"Excellent question," Ethan said, snapping his fingers.
The crowd: …
Are they doing a routine now?
"If you step wrong," he said, "you fall. Straight into the lake."
"You can always climb back onto the bridge. Of course, the Black Lake is full of residents."
The water heaved.
Several merpeople armed with wicked tridents glided into view just below the surface, circling, snarling.
"Why are they so cross?" Draco Malfoy muttered. "They are usually tolerable."
From Slytherin’s common room beneath the lake, he had sometimes caught glimpses of them sliding past the tall windows, shadows in the murk.
Ethan tilted his head, putting on his most innocent look. "We reached an agreement. They kindly agreed to take part. They were thrilled."
An inhuman screech rose from the water.
The crowd: …did not sound thrilled.
"In short, you are still killing a monster. You just have a time limit and obstacles this round," Krum said roughly, impatience showing.
"I understand. Can we begin?"
"No rush. There is one last crucial element," Ethan said with a smile.
He turned his wrist, producing a card that swelled into a black egg the length of a forearm.
The moment the aura of that dark power washed over the shore, Dumbledore’s face changed.
The ever‑present twinkle vanished. Clear shock, even panic, flashed across his features, as if someone had reached into his chest and squeezed an old wound.
"This is a Black Egg containing an Obscurus," Ethan said, voice as clear and pleasant as ever, yet sending shivers racing up spines. "If it is broken, the darkness inside will erupt and attack everything around it without discrimination."
"Each team receives one egg."
"Any team that finishes the task with an intact Black Egg will receive extra points."
He half closed his eyes, ignoring the horrified looks from the other organisers, and stroked the egg’s cold shell, entranced.
"Ah," he sighed. "I cannot wait to see what hatches from this terror."
