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HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 285
🕑 Added 2025-12-03 19:07:03 +0000 UTCChapter 285: We Unite! Ethan’s Earth‑Shattering Insight
"Cooperate?"
The word caught the Weasley twins flat-footed.
There were three rival schools in direct competition. Even if they stood on the same battlefield, the scores were tallied by team. Not tripping the others up would already be generous.
Cooperation was a foreign concept.
Yet when they saw the bright, determined look in Harry’s eyes, the twins glanced at each other, bared identical rows of white teeth, snapped off a salute, and whooped:
"At your command, captain!"
"Initiate Plan B. Win through teamwork!"
"Let’s knock that black dragon flat together!"
Up in the stands, Gryffindor’s commentator Lee Jordan shouted himself hoarse, practically ready to swallow his own microphone.
"Blimey, this is dire! Flattened by a big move right out of the gate. What will the three schools try next?"
The crowd leaned forward, hearts in their throats.
Whispers fizzed across the tiers:
"Has Ethan made this task too hard?"
"It’s spectacular, but if no one can beat it, what’s the point?"
"Maybe Ethan thinks everyone else is the same species as he is…"
On the judges’ dais, Madame Maxime’s face turned the colour of liver as she stared at her girls scattered like fallen petals.
She slammed the rail. "This kind of contest is utterly meaningless."
Karkaroff stroked his goatee and gazed down at his trapped star pupil without speaking, but his expression left no doubt where he stood.
Ludo Bagman wiped his brow and muttered, "Told you putting a student in charge was never going to work…"
"Now, now, patience," Dumbledore said, all genial smiles. A keen light flashed behind the half-moon spectacles. "Anyone who can craft a curative for werewolves is unlikely to be reckless."
A pity. He would have preferred Ethan in Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw, with all its prodigies.
While opinions flew, the focus of them all—Ethan—watched the arena without blinking.
"Come on," he murmured. "When danger outstrips anything an individual can endure, what will you do?"
He wanted to use this task to test a hypothesis.
Something in the smoke made his eyes light. His mouth curved.
"Look! Hogwarts’ champions are on the move!" Lee Jordan bellowed overhead. "They’re heading—Merlin’s pants, they’re heading toward Durmstrang’s champions! Are they kicking them while they’re down—"
"Lee Jordan."
"A joke, Professor McGonagall."
Lee squinted into the haze, then gaped. "They’re pulling Durmstrang’s champions to their feet. I want to shake Viktor Krum’s hand too—"
"Final warning."
"Sorry, Professor. It will not happen again."
He rubbed the back of his head, pulled a face, drew a breath, and roared:
"Hogwarts’ champions are seeking cooperation with the other schools!"
"Seeking cooperation" echoed around the stands through the Sonorus charm, rolling over the general hubbub.
Two seconds later, the place exploded.
"Cooperate? Are they mad?" Madame Maxime stared. "This is a competition."
Karkaroff’s eyes widened. The sight on the field had caught him off guard. He did not immediately agree, though. He thought for a beat, then said, face sombre:
"No. In a situation like this, it is the best choice."
"Better to join forces and survive the crisis than die separately."
He flicked a glance at Dumbledore, but that old fox betrayed nothing. With a sigh, Karkaroff looked back at the black-haired boy in the arena.
If this had all been calculated from the start…
Was "Win Together" the boy’s real intent?
So magnanimous.
Heat crept up Karkaroff’s neck. He felt as if his own shadows had been scorched by light.
"Hmph. The brat does deserve that ‘new saviour’ title."
The "new saviour" in question, Ethan, watched the three schools begin to confer and felt his heart surge.
Success. His hypothesis held.
When faced with an immense crisis, even those divided by interests will come together.
"In other words," he breathed, eyes shining, "so long as I create a crisis big enough, I can bring peace and unity to the world, yes?"
Genius. He was a genius.
"Carry on," he said, flicking his hand toward the dragon and licking a canine in excitement. "We must repay their effort with our own."
"Attack."
The dragon’s roar shook the air like a battle horn. It raised its lightning spears, and the world went dim, all power concentrating into the scarlet bolts that stood against the sky.
Hair-raising.
This time, though, the champions changed tactics.
"I will draw its attention," Krum called, lifting his wand. "Get the brooms."
"We will cover you," Fleur rasped as she and her teammates dragged themselves upright, filthy and furious.
The Thunderlance drove down again. Scarlet lightning flooded the arena in an eye-blink.
Gasps rattled the stands. Neville stuffed his fist into his mouth and froze.
A beat later, three figures burst from the boiling dust.
Hogwarts’ trio.
A translucent shield shimmered over them. Thanks to Beauxbatons’ support charms, they had weathered the strike. Across the pitch, walls of stone reared up—the product of Durmstrang transfiguration—adding solid cover against the lightning’s sweep.
"Go!" the twins shouted, tumbling under the dragon’s belly.
They snatched up the fallen brooms. A flick of a wand sent Harry’s Firebolt whipping straight into his hand.
"Yes!" Harry barked, vaulting astride. In an instant, he was gone, like a fish in water.
"They have the brooms!"
"Come on, Hogwarts! You can do it!"
Drums thundered again, a heartbeat for the crowd. Flags streamed. Cheers crashed over the arena like a tide.
There was nothing more thrilling than a turnabout from the brink.
Take it back. This was not a pointless contest. This was the best kind of contest.
"Not bad," Madame Maxime muttered, marking Fleur’s joined-casting with a firm stroke and a proud curl of her lip. Unexpected, yes—but welcome.
Ethan Vincent truly did have some talent.
He was also very handsome.
Fleur seemed to care about him, too. Perhaps—
Ideas sparked and spun behind her eyes.
Out on the field, the black dragon’s low growl vibrated in the bones. Its blood-red gaze locked onto the three insects rising toward it.
Up close, the pressure hit even harder. It wanted to freeze them in place.
Bang.
A spell smacked the dragon’s foreclaw and burst in flame.
Viktor Krum.
It barely scratched the scales, but the dragon’s eye flicked toward the sting.
"Nice!" the twins whooped. Harry could not help admiring the precision. To hit a moving claw at full tilt—that was a world-class Seeker.
Krum’s face did not change as he moved his wand. He had meant to aim for the eye. No matter. Drawing aggro would do.
"Keep firing," he ordered. "Give Hogwarts an opening."
"Yes."
Charity had nothing to do with it. He was saving strength for the true fight—beating the dragon, then facing Ethan.
Spells hammered the dragon, maddening as flies. It snarled and thrashed, claws furrowing stone, earth cracking in sprays.
"It is too fast," Harry shouted. "At this rate, we will be swatted first."
He stared at the weak point tucked just under the jaw. They had to stop it from moving.
"Oi, we've got a plan," the twins said together.
"We'll hit it with Incarcerous," they chorused. "Tie that thing down."
"Impossible," Harry snapped. "It’ll never hold."
"But if we pour everything into one rope and loop it just above the neck—maybe," they said.
"You’ll be swatted out of the sky," Harry shot back.
"Don’t worry about us, Harry." They grinned the same fierce grin. "We’re Beaters. No one’s knocking us out of the sky."
"All right, then. One heartbeat. Show 'em how a Gryffindor Seeker flies."
They shot forward like twin arrows, golden ropes of magic strung between their wands.
Wind shrieked over their faces. Pure, electric thrill flooded them.
Ethan, you never run out of surprises.
Even at home, written off as never doing anything sensible, they had found a place to prove their worth.
"Watch your champions, Ethan," they thought. "Let the Morning Star Club’s name ring around the world."
