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HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 254
🕑 Added 2025-11-13 20:12:36 +0000 UTCChapter 254: Announcement Day Nears! The Final Step of the Werewolf Potion!
Ethan drifted for a moment, then smiled. “Of course. That’s only natural.”
No one fit the idea of a “pure soul” better than Luna. If moonflowers were to wither at her touch, then the flowers themselves lacked judgment.
Luna gathered enough moonflowers, cradling an armful of white blooms. The sight imprinted itself in Ethan’s mind and stirred a spark of inspiration.
[Congratulations!]
[You obtained Inspiration: Moonlit Maiden]
[More veiled than moonlight, more radiant than moonlight, more steadfast than moonlight.]
[You obtained a rare material: Moonflower]
[A tender blossom that only a pure heart may touch, rebloomed through a chain of miracles into your hands.]
[It bears unmatched powers of protection and healing, an indispensable ingredient for the werewolf cure.]
Moonflowers, secured.
Joy flitted through Ethan. Luna tucked the flowers carefully into a box designed for rare materials, then skipped out of the field. Mud speckled her feet; when her shoes got wet, she slipped them off. She had always liked walking barefoot, feeling the pulse of the earth through her soles.
Ethan took the box. The instant his fingers touched it, a surge of magic flooded through him, like driving a strong tonic into a parched body—life rushing back all at once.
“No wonder even a Kelpie would be drawn here,” he said with a nod. “This is truly extraordinary.”
He looked up at Luna, eyes bright. “This trip was thanks to you.”
Luna tipped her chin and said lightly, “See? I was helpful. Next time, do not forget to bring me.”
“Next time—grk,” Ethan began, only to have Luna unceremoniously pop something into his mouth. He swallowed on reflex. A hint of bitter herb rode a lingering sweetness over his tongue.
“What did you feed me?” he asked, smacking his lips.
Luna beamed at him, silently mouthing a few words before skipping along under his surprised gaze.
Ethan arched a brow and shook his head with a quiet laugh. As if realizing it for the first time, he thought: she truly was one of the girls—and the sharpest of them at that.
“Ahem. Spare a thought for a lonely old bachelor,” Sirius drawled, hands in his pockets. He stiffened the instant Ethan’s twin-cobalt gaze touched him and slowly pulled his hands free. Right. Ethan’s gentleness was not for everyone.
Master, I am your pet, remember?
Hoofbeats thudded fast in the distance, tangled with rough shouts.
“Centaurs,” Ethan said as his eyes flashed. “They must have been drawn by my overwhelming artistic aura.”
Or by the sudden swell of evil in the Forest, Sirius thought.
Ethan would have liked to debate great art with these “primitive artists” of the Forbidden Forest, but the fragile flowers in his arms took priority. He opened a portal and, out of kindness, conjured a coffin and laid the dazed Neville inside. Luna filled the interior with bright carnivorous blooms bearing needle teeth.
Sirius’s temples throbbed. A match made in heaven. No wonder she could keep up with Ethan.
“Next time,” Ethan called wistfully toward the hoofbeats, waving. He, Luna, and Sirius hefted the coffin together and stepped through the portal.
They had barely gone when a group of centaurs burst from the dark trees.
“Who is there?!” roared Bane, black-bearded and grim, hooves rearing as he drew a longbow. His eyes cut left and right like blades. He clicked his tongue a moment later. “Damn it. They got away.”
The thought of what had just defiled their forest filled him with a heavy anger. Not like the unicorn killer in the first year. This was thicker, more twisted, more terrifying. It felt like the abyss had fixed its stare on you.
They searched the area. A protective barrier kept them from the moonflowers, which only stoked their ire. Firenze shook his head almost imperceptibly and looked up into the spattered stars.
“A comet in the west,” he murmured. “The sky is changing.”
With the moonflowers in hand, research on the cure for lycanthropy roared to life. Using the Morning Star Club as the core, Ethan launched a “research initiative” and named it the Lunar Eclipse Project. Even Harry, who had no interest in Potions, joined with enthusiasm. After all, it was to help people like Professor Lupin.
Months flew by.
The end of the term loomed. Less than a week remained before the appointed day of announcement. Newspapers counted down daily, splashing ink over Ethan’s “fantastical” promise.
“He may be talented, but there is no way a child will solve what stumps Potions masters.”
“Youthful arrogance, that is all. I used to be the same way…”
“What scent do you think Ethan likes? Oh, do not laugh!”
People waited eagerly for the day, though almost none believed he could truly brew a werewolf cure.
And Ethan’s group had, in truth, hit a wall.
In the Morning Star Club’s activity room, Neville peered at another ruined cauldron and whispered, “We only have one moonflower left.”
The Weasley twins, already resigned, offered, “We could always add fireworks. Blow the werewolf bloodline to bits.”
Hermione, frantic, rasped through her notes, head plunged into dense inked lines. Her hair sprang into wilder frizz as she muttered, “It makes no sense. On paper, Shrivelfig added here should react with moonflower. How did it fail?”
She bit her lip hard. For months, they had poured themselves into this “impossible” potion. Ethan, more than anyone, had worked like a true Potions Master, knowing every component down to the marrow.
Announcement Day was at hand. How could they fail now?
She glanced toward the black-haired boy sitting alone on the sofa. Ethan sat with his fingers steepled before his nose. Taller than ever, he leaned back and did not move or speak for a long time. If not for the faint tremor in his eyes, one might have thought him vacant.
His mind was roaring. Again and again, he ran through the entire brewing process, assembling structures in his head like molecules snapping into place.
Something was still missing. One decisive ingredient.
What was it—
A hoarse, gentle voice sounded, close as a whisper at his ear.
