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HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 273
🕑 Added 2025-11-24 20:47:50 +0000 UTCChapter 273: New Ritual – Cauldron-Stewed Old Voldy! Saviour Ethan Takes the Stage!
The Necronomicon, its black cover slick with seeping blood, flew from Ethan’s arms.
Its pages rifled open with a clatter and stopped on a brand-new chapter.
[Soul Crucible Ritual: An evil rite that burns the lives of others to flood oneself with power.]
[Method: Cast the sacrificial subject into a boiling cauldron and chant the incantation.]
[Effect: If successful, you will gain an almost inexhaustible source of magic.]
Endless magic?
Ethan’s breath caught at the words. A fierce craving surged up inside him.
Painting magic was powerful, but its magic consumption was far beyond ordinary spells. Now that he had advanced to Third Tier, his reserves were even more inadequate. Without the remoulding of his body that came with becoming an Enlightened One, any ordinary wizard would have been sucked dry just letting Star-Colour peek its head through.
"If this Soul Crucible Ritual succeeds," Ethan whispered, "I’ll have a constant well of magic."
Necronomicon, you really do drop the good stuff.
He hungrily read on.
[Conditions for the ritual—]
[① Lamp brightness must reach “Bright”. Current brightness: Dawn.]
[② Complete extraordinary tool: Cracked Wayward Mirror (must be repaired).]
[③ One Third Tier Purple Epic painting.]
[④ Extraordinary fuel: a single richly evil soul is ideal.]
The string of conditions made Ethan’s eyes swim.
"As expected of a ritual that can solve the magic problem in one go. Complicated," he muttered.
Lamp brightness meant reputation. With both his Mr Lamp and Triwizard Tournament organiser identities, that condition did not seem too hard.
Next was repairing the Wayward Mirror and creating a Third Tier Purple Epic painting.
"Those two want the same thing," Ethan thought. "Both need extraordinary materials. Hm… there might be something useful buried in the Hidden Places. And the Ministry still owes me a nice scrap of wool."
Finally, the sacrifice.
The moment he saw "a single richly evil soul," a candidate sprang to mind.
Naturally, their ever-obliging volunteer, Lord Voldemort.
"Conveniently, Voldemort’s final ‘resurrection ritual’ also needs a big cauldron and him tossed in as the main ingredient," Ethan mused. "What a coincidence."
He could hijack the rite at the final moment, turning Voldemort’s grand return into his own "magic amplification plan."
A lovely Voldy hotpot.
"Kekekeke… Voldemort, can’t wait to see your face when you realise what’s going on," Ethan said, grinning like a textbook villain. "It’ll be priceless."
Then he reconsidered.
By the time Voldemort discovered his most loyal ally was a mole, he would probably already be in the pot. There would not be much of a face left to read.
Shame.
Ethan flicked his hand, contentedly putting away the Necronomicon. He looked down at the brightly lit camp below. "Time to finish this debut properly," he murmured. "One last scene."
"To the camp we go."
[…]
High above, Star-Colour’s trailing splendour swayed slowly, casting shifting colours across the sky. Its hideous, pincer-jawed head turned toward the blazing camp.
In the camp, wizards stared up in horror at the skull now facing them, like a mirage painted across the heavens. The scene defied human understanding, crushing them with fear.
"Is… is this the end of the world…?"
"Merlin, why are you just watching?!"
"I only just paid off my house, Merlin help me…"
Sirius lashed another unconscious dark wizard with ropes, then looked up at the descending monster, face grave.
Is Azkaban actually safer than this?
Hermione collapsed bonelessly to the ground, widening eyes reflecting the spreading colours. "Ethan… where are you…" she sobbed.
Even Ron and Harry had let their grudges evaporate, slinging arms over each other’s shoulders like brothers on a gallows.
Luna, too, lifted her head, staring at the oncoming behemoth. Blue eyes shimmered.
"How beautiful," she breathed after a long moment.
"Look at that body, like planets in orbit… and that gemstone-blue eye hidden in the skull…" Her pale cheeks flushed. Her chest rose and fell, heart pounding like a drum.
It made her dizzy.
Luna reached out as if to touch the lovely reflection. A strand of colour obediently wound itself around her white, slender fingers.
She smiled, sweet and soft. "It’s wonderful that I met Ethan."
First came the sobbing. Then came the dead silence.
Apparition would not work. Legs felt heavy as lead. Everyone could only stand there, frozen, waiting for the end.
Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, shook like a leaf, nearly fainting on the spot.
Was this not supposed to be peacetime?
Where in Merlin’s name had this monster come from?
He thought of Ethan’s Triwizard proposal and finally realised how far ahead the boy had been planning. If the wizarding world was going to face an enemy like this in the future, then Ethan’s Tournament content had not been excessive at all.
On the outskirts of the camp, Connie Rosier stood among toppled dark wizards, barely managing to stay upright. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed silently.
If there is any god listening… please save us.
In the next instant—
A piercing cry ripped across the sky.
Connie’s eyes flew open.
What she saw next would stay with her for the rest of her life.
From the dense tide of colour, a jag of gold split forth, like a spear tearing the darkness. A massive golden bird spread its dazzling wings and hurled itself straight at the monster.
Boom.
The explosion that followed rolled out like the universe’s first detonation. Shards of starlight rained down. A roaring shockwave blasted toward the ground, whipping Connie’s pinned-up hair free and snapping at her robes. Dust stung her eyes.
Wh-what just happened?!
She squinted into the storm, heart pounding as if it knew something before her mind did.
In the camp, a lone figure stepped forward.
He stood atop a high platform of collapsed tents, black hair flying, wand in hand, golden light coiling around him. He faced the horror in the sky—and the puppeteer behind it—head-on.
Ethan Vincent.
Connie’s throat closed. She dropped to her knees as tears of joy spilled down her face.
"I knew it," she choked out. "I knew the hero of the wizarding world, Ethan Vincent, would come to save us!"
And it was not just her.
In that moment, Ethan’s figure burned bright in every eye.
"Ethan! Ethan’s here!" Hermione cried, releasing a ragged breath and bursting into tears behind her hands.
Harry stared at the upright figure, and the last scraps of doubt in his heart crumbled to dust.
Of course, Ethan was not the one attacking everyone.
He had been thinking too much.
Ethan himself was here, in the flesh.
