"Whew…"
Ethan let out a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling completely drained.
But despite the physical exhaustion, the satisfaction of completing such an extraordinary piece outweighed everything.
The crimson paint flowed across the paper, and Ethan leaned in, inhaling the metallic, iron-rich scent.
Maybe it really was animal-based paint—the image looked unsettlingly real.
"I can't wait to see the next issue of The Quibbler," he muttered, carefully rolling up the finished artwork and tying it securely, along with a reply letter, to the owl's leg.
"Thanks for this," he said, rubbing the owl's round little head.
The bird let out a pleased trill and flapped its gray-blue wings, soaring into the sky.
Ethan watched until it was just a dot in the distance, then turned his attention to the text hovering in his system interface.
This was the first time he'd ever completed a painting with an actual magical effect.
"When used, the image causes a mild rash to appear at the point of contact..."
"Doesn't seem all that powerful," Ethan mused, his eyes gleaming with curiosity, "but it says the artwork can be further upgraded if combined with certain spells."
Fusing magic with paintings—it reminded him of alchemy, or those "living portraits" at Hogwarts.
After all, pure drawing alone couldn't bring such vivid results.
It was like part of the artist's soul had been embedded into the image.
Ethan had no clear idea how to replicate it yet.
He decided to start with something simpler: previewing his school textbooks.
In the original story, Hermione—who came from a Muggle background—had already mastered several spells just by studying in advance.
No reason he couldn't do the same.
"I'll save the deeper research for after I get to Hogwarts."
Just then, his schoolbooks arrived by owl post.
Ethan picked up Standard Book of Spells: Grade One and flopped onto his creaky old couch, completely absorbed within minutes.
He couldn't understand how so many young witches and wizards could resist reading such fascinating material.
The driven student in his soul—his inner overachiever—was ablaze.
....
Some time later.
The Daily Prophet Headquarters
Rita Skeeter strutted into the building, her hips swaying in that shiny green silk suit of hers.
Her short blonde curls framed a comically large forehead, and her bright red lips looked sharp enough to bite someone in half.
Her pencil-thin eyebrows were raised as usual, eyes darting around with mischief and calculation. Her quick, gleaming gaze seemed to scan the air itself for drama.
Today was the release day of The Quibbler's new issue.
Not that Rita gave it any thought.
Please. What even was The Quibbler?
Nothing but a cesspool of absurd fantasies and crackpot nonsense, run by a bunch of idiots and lunatics.
The articles in The Quibbler couldn't compare to a single strand of Rita Skeeter's meticulously crafted scandals.
After all, making things up still required skill, didn't it?
Smirking to herself, she brainstormed what juicy fiction she'd fabricate next.
The Chosen One should be starting school soon—maybe it was time for a heart-wrenching expose about his parents' tragic deaths?
Title it "The Savior You Don't Know: What Really Happened That Night"...
Or maybe she could dig into that street-rat kid who sold that creepy painting the other day.
Spin a tale about his reckless behavior, the squalor of Spinner's End, and throw in some subtle jabs at ex-Death-Eater-turned-teacher, Snape…
Oh yes. This could be gold.
Rita's eyes gleamed with anticipation, her red tongue licking her lips as her enchanted quill trembled at her side, eager to write.
Just then—
She noticed a group of her colleagues huddled around a table, faces tense as they muttered in hushed voices.
Rita's eyes narrowed. She sauntered over and leaned dramatically across the table.
"What's going on?" she demanded. "What's all this fuss about?"
The group exchanged glances.
Finally, someone passed her a magazine. "Take a look at the latest issue of The Quibbler..."
"The Quibbler?" Rita scoffed, arching an eyebrow. "What kind of nonsense have those crackpots cooked up this time?"
She took the magazine lazily—and then glanced at the page.
In the next instant, a wave of nausea hit her.
A surge of metallic red paint seemed to drip off the page, nearly lifelike. Clusters of angry boils and pustules dotted raw, meat-like skin—some of them burst open, oozing blood and pus.
The distorted lines of the image screamed silent agony.
"Prolonged broom riding can cause an infection known as 'Broom Rash.' It begins around the buttocks and slowly spreads upward…"
"Aaaahhh—!!!"
Rita let out a shriek so horrifying that even she was startled to realize it had come from her own throat.
At the same time, she became acutely aware that she was scratching herself frantically in front of everyone—arms, legs, and especially her rear.
Red welts were already blooming across her pale skin.
"..."
Silence.
Everyone stared at her, and her face flushed as red as her lipstick.
"W-what kind of cursed filth is this?!" she screeched in a mix of outrage and humiliation. "No respectable publication should allow this kind of thing to exist in the public eye—"
She stopped mid-rant.
Oh. Right.
This was The Quibbler.
Never mind, then.
More awkward silence.
Her coworkers eyed her with mock concern and thinly-veiled amusement. 'Serves the old hag right for once,' they thought.
Rita gritted her teeth.
To be humiliated by a painting—this was a disgrace beyond words!
Her eyes locked back onto the image, involuntarily shivering again. Finally, she spotted a signature in the corner of the artwork.
"Ethan Vincent…"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Isn't that the same brat who violated the Statute of Secrecy not long ago?"
Rita's mind raced.
Perfect. Her next article would be all about him. Frame him as some twisted little menace.
And with him heading off to Hogwarts soon, she'd just hint at how dangerous he might be… After all, who would want a student arriving with a reputation for dark arts?
Rita Skeeter, you brilliant woman. You've done it again.
....
Ministry of Magic
"RITA SKEETER, YOU BLOODY IDIOT!!"
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, slammed the newspaper onto his desk.
Right there in bold letters:
[Justice vs. Evil?! The Chosen One vs. The Dark Artist!]
The accompanying article detailed The Quibbler's controversial illustration in graphic depth.
As a result, that issue had sold like wildfire.
In fact, it was dangerously close to matching The Daily Prophet's circulation numbers.
After all—nothing drew readers like scandal, shock, and curiosity.
What? Looking at that drawing might drive you insane? Even better—gotta see it for myself!
The school year had already been a logistical nightmare with the Chosen One enrolling.
Now there was another one—this "Ethan"—making headlines too.
"That woman causes more chaos than You-Know-Who," Fudge growled. "Send a letter to The Daily Prophet! Demand disciplinary action for this reckless report!"
Aides nodded and began drafting the letter.
Fudge eyed the painting on the page again. Even in cheap black-and-white newsprint, it gave him goosebumps.
What a cursed little freak…
Hogwarts was going to be full of interesting students this year.
And since the kid's artwork had been published in a wizarding magazine—technically a legitimate one—there wasn't much Fudge could do.
"Fine. Just keep monitoring the boy's activities. The rest… leave it to Hogwarts."
Surely nothing serious would come of it.
…Right?
Fudge turned to gaze out the window at the cloudless blue sky and took a deep breath, feeling slightly better.
No matter what happened—
The darkest days were behind them.
Surely… peace was ahead for the wizarding world.