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HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 272
🕑 Added 2025-11-24 20:46:52 +0000 UTCChapter 272: Unlocking the Necronomicon! Dark Wizards: With Mr Lamp Here, This Is in the Bag—Wait, What?
Everyone froze.
Silence shattered under Hermione’s excited scream. "As expected of Ethan! He foresaw all of this and left us a contingency!"
Is… is that really it?
Harry felt something was off. "B-but where is Ethan?" he stammered. "Something this big is happening, and he still hasn’t shown up…"
It did not fit Ethan’s character at all.
Leaving aside the fact Ethan was often the source of chaos, at a time like this he ought to be standing above everyone, guiding the entire situation.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Ethan must be off handling something important," she said solemnly. "He might be working out how to defeat that monster in the sky."
At that, Luna turned to look at her.
Seeing Hermione’s utterly convinced expression, Luna tilted her head, then nodded thoughtfully. "No wonder you’re not in Ravenclaw," she murmured. The brainwashing was a bit advanced.
Harry pushed his glasses up, still dazed, and got to his feet. "R-right. Of course."
Ethan was the president of their Morning Star Club, a superman who had helped him again and again. How could he doubt Ethan’s judgement? Ethan was also a victim of the forces of evil.
Guilt washed over Harry. He called himself a fool several times in his heart.
Anyway, once Ethan appeared at the end, that would naturally prove he had nothing to do with the attack.
"Um," Luna said, "hate to interrupt, but the fight isn’t over yet."
The ignored dark wizard in front of them looked ready to explode.
"Ethan, Ethan, Ethan… damned Ethan!!!"
Barty flung his wand forward in a rage. The flames he conjured were blocked easily by that cursed black umbrella.
He had been a heartbeat away from grabbing Harry Potter, from presenting this gift to the Dark Lord—and once again, Ethan Vincent had ruined it.
His thoughts churned chaotically. Vaguely, he felt as though invisible hands were manipulating everything, and they were only moths throwing themselves into the fire, burning their own bodies to make that light shine brighter.
"Tch. Just a coward too scared to fight in person." Barty snarled.
He glared at Harry behind the umbrella. With the Dark Mark burning overhead, several dark wizards appeared at his back.
"Once I’ve got you, I’ll go kill that brat too!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light flashed. Screams and confusion swallowed the camp again.
This time, though, even Ron did not retreat.
He gripped the black umbrella tighter. A surge of courage rose in his chest, unlike anything he had ever felt.
I’m a brave Gryffindor.
Right. Let’s have him.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
High above, Ethan watched the battle and nodded. "Not bad. Ron can manage it when he really tries."
There are no cowards in the Weasley family. They only needed a push.
A "push."
"Today’s another day of good deeds," Ethan said contentedly. "Time to award myself a little gold star."
[Your performance has left everyone deeply shaken.]
[Soul attunement increased by 0.2%.]
"Only 0.2%? Hmph. Pathetic," Ethan muttered. "As expected, the higher you climb, the harder it is to move."
He glanced at the sky. "Time’s about right. I need to use this World Cup opportunity to turn a serious profit."
He would use righteous Ethan Vincent to defeat villainous Mr Lamp and reap soul attunement twice over.
Ethan downed five Invigoration Draughts in one go. His eyes flew wide, heart thudding. Blood roared; magic flooded him.
"Right," he breathed.
He closed his eyes, linking his senses to another card he had placed beforehand in the tent.
As a Ravenclaw, there was no way he would leave such a gaping, suspicious absence unattended.
New painting: Pinocchio’s Puppet—activate.
[Name: Pinocchio’s Puppet]
[Tier: Third Tier, White Rare]
[Description: Pinocchio, why is your nose so pointy?]
[Effect: Transforms into the appearance of a specified person, indistinguishable from the real thing, but cannot use that person’s abilities. An excellent tool for deception.]
[Evaluation: Not powerful, but very cheap to use.]
In the tent, a faint light glowed.
A wooden body lay on the bed, lifeless. Its dented head sported an absurdly long nose. It looked like a scrap puppet someone had discarded.
Then, as magic poured into it, its surface began to change.
Pale skin spread across the dull wood. Thick, curly black hair sprouted from its scalp. Its fingertips took on stubborn smears of paint that would never wash away.
A faint scent, half nuts and half mineral dust, drifted from it.
In a few breaths, its eyelids twitched and lifted, revealing a pair of cobalt-blue eyes.
Crack.
The fake Ethan sat up. Even the clothing was faithfully reproduced. It was vividly, unnervingly real.
No one would suspect—no one could even imagine—that it was a puppet.
"Go," Ethan said.
High above, eyes closed, the real Ethan guided the puppet and gave his orders.
"Prepare. Tonight is the night Mr Lamp rises. The night Ethan Vincent shares the burden of the Saviour. The night chaos is proclaimed to the world."
The reason he went to such lengths to maintain two identities—one bright, one dark—was simple.
He had not finished school yet.
Naturally, he needed to remain a "model student," studying diligently at Hogwarts. The Triwizard Tournament promised to be very entertaining, after all.
At the same time, he could not let the forces of evil steal his thunder—no, could not let them run rampant unopposed. So, as Mr Lamp, he would steer the shadows.
"For a better world, truly a tireless worker," Ethan sighed.
He dabbed at imaginary tears, then turned his gaze downward to the ecstatic dark wizards below.
Light was most shocking when it burst from the deepest darkness.
First, he had to create absolute despair.
Ethan raised his hand and pointed at the ground. "Go, my exquisitely beautiful star-child. Kill them."
[…]
Star-Colour slowly lowered its colossal head.
Together, it and Ethan extended a finger, the writhing colours pouring down toward the earth.
For a moment, Ethan’s silhouette seemed to overlap with its.
On the ground, the dark wizards felt certain of victory.
They were not just clinging to a thick thigh; they were riding an express train to a new world.
"Woo-hoo! Great Mr Lamp, we will follow you forever!"
"We are your most loyal believers!"
"The Dark Lord is nothing! He’s only fit to carry your shoes!"
They yelled themselves hoarse, some collapsing to their knees, weeping and laughing as they threw themselves into full prostration before the shape blotting out the sky.
Crack!
Connie tried with all her might to snap her whip, to punish their blasphemy. Her arm still refused to move.
Come on—move—
A shadow fell over her.
Her body went rigid. Her blood seemed to freeze.
She looked up.
The skull was right there, so close it filled her entire world, looming like some curious god peering down at ants, wondering what tricks they were attempting.
The blue eye set in the fractured bone stared at her, cold and dead.
"Ah… ah…" Connie’s mind went blank. A meaningless sound fell from her lips as her pupils shook. It felt as though her body and soul were both being shredded.
"You’re done for, girl," a dark wizard said with a cruel grin.
He was afraid too, but he firmly believed Mr Lamp stood on their side. That belief made him bold.
"I know your family. ‘French Rose,’ wasn’t it? Shame that pretty skin and soft flesh will be nothing but sludge in a moment, hahaha—"
His laughter cut off with a gasp.
In Connie’s stunned gaze, colours wrapped around his body. Like peeling the skin off a grape, they stripped away his colour, bit by bit.
His skin turned pure white. His features vanished.
He crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap.
Fluid seeped out.
Connie trembled, eyes bloodshot. She had no idea what had just happened. She only suddenly realised she could no longer remember the face of the man who had been jeering at her a few seconds before.
Those colours had stolen not just his appearance, but his existence itself.
Like an eraser rubbing out lines on a canvas.
The dark wizards stood rooted to the spot, faces slack.
The same thought rose in all their minds.
Wait. Weren’t we on the same side?
Why is he attacking us?
The devouring radiance gave them an answer.
"D-don’t come any closer!!!"
"I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—"
"Mr Lamp! Mr Lamp, why are you doing this?!"
One by one, they were stripped of colour, of faces, of being.
Only then did they realise, far too late, that in the eyes of the lofty Mr Lamp, they were no more than insects.
Their only worth lay in dying.
"Haha… hahahaha…"
One black wizard had collapsed, his skin leached white. His single remaining eye stared up at the unreachable shape in the sky, his voice crazed and reverent.
"Let my body become your paint… let this world become your canvas…!"
A moment later, he too was erased.
In less than a minute, nearly a hundred dark wizards had turned to a field of pallor. Like candles burnt down to stubs, they melted across the ground, pooling as pale wax streaked with blood. Those streaks gathered, seeping into Ethan’s chest.
They soaked into the Necronomicon, moistening its parched pages.
Scritch.
The later pages unfurled with a satisfied rustle.
[Congratulations! You have unlocked the next chapter of the Necronomicon: The Soul Crucible Ritual.]
Done.
Ethan’s lips curved in delighted satisfaction.
