HP: The Wizard Who Paints with Magic

The name echoed across the lawn, and Vincent Crabbe turned a ghastly shade of white. He trembled violently, his bulky frame shaking like a tower of jelly. "I… I… I don't want to!" he shrieked, stumbling backward and falling to the ground with a heavy thud. He kicked his legs frantically, scrambling away from the disembodied fist that still hovered in the air, a silent, impossible threat.

What in Merlin's name was that dark magic? They were first-years who had just learned the Levitation Charm, and Ethan was fighting as if he'd taken advanced studies at Azkaban.

The duel was over before it had truly begun, and the result left both Slytherins and Gryffindors speechless. A collective, unspoken question hung in the charged air: It was a wizard's duel… so what was with the punch? It was like showing up to a game of rock-paper-scissors only for your opponent to pull out a cannon.

Only Ethan's two Ravenclaw companions looked entirely unsurprised. Michael, with blades of grass still stuck in his hair, folded his arms and shot the Slytherins a cool, provocative smirk. At the same time, his eyes scanned the green-trimmed robes, searching for any pretty girls. Beside him, Mandy calmly pushed up her glasses, her gaze falling with disdain on Malfoy, who was still on the ground, his wails now muffled by the grass.

What a fool, she thought. He should have known better. After this, Malfoy would be lucky to lift his head in the corridors again.

"Sorry, Harry," Ethan said, turning to his second with an expression of mild regret. "It seems you didn't get a chance to play."

Harry, shaking off his shock, quickly replied, "N-no problem! That was… amazing, Ethan." He felt a secret wave of relief. He wasn't even sure what spell Malfoy had tried to cast and had no desire to make a fool of himself in front of the whole school. For the first time, Harry felt a sliver of pity for his rival. Just go home, Malfoy. This isn't your league.

"Well then," Ethan announced, raising his voice just enough to carry across the lawn. A small smile played on his lips. "This duel is concluded. Thank you all for a… pleasant experience."

He had stretched his muscles and successfully tested the combat applications of The Portal. A win-win, really.

His words, however, landed like acid on the Slytherins. Pleasant? This was blatant mockery. Malfoy had been annihilated before he could even complete a single spell. To call that humiliation "pleasant" was the ultimate insult. The Slytherins' gazes, already cold, shifted toward the whimpering Malfoy with open contempt. He had charged in without understanding his opponent's strength and dragged them all down with him.

In truth, Malfoy was the most wronged of all. He had come for a duel of wands, not a brawl with a magical pugilist. Who could have prepared for that?

Pansy Parkinson, kneeling beside the groaning Malfoy, looked as though she might crush him under her own weight in her distress. She didn't know any healing spells and couldn't drag him to the infirmary alone. Seeing the cold glares from her housemates, her anxiety curdled into rage, which she aimed squarely at Ethan.

"You! You think this is over?!" she roared, her voice shrill with fury. "I'm telling you, you're finished! The House of Malfoy will not let this stand! His father is a school governor! With one word, he can have you expelled! You'll be sent back to the gutter where you belong, you filthy Mudblood! Someone like you, who has to work like a House-elf just to be here, doesn't deserve to go to school with us!"

"What did you say?!" Ron exploded, his face flushing crimson as if she'd struck a nerve. He clenched his fists, ready to charge, but Ethan's hand shot out, blocking his path with surprising strength.

Ethan faced Pansy, his cobalt-blue eyes devoid of any threat. He was perfectly calm, yet under his steady gaze, Pansy shivered, a flicker of fear cutting through her anger.

"Firstly," Ethan began, his voice quiet but carrying clearly to every ear, "my name is Ethan Vincent, not 'Mudblood.' Secondly, I don't consider 'House-elf work' an insult. On the contrary, it's their tireless care that has allowed some wizards to become giant, helpless babies, unwilling to lift a finger for themselves."

Pansy's face went slack, stunned by the subtle mockery. Just as she opened her mouth to scream again, Ethan's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

"Just think about it!" He raised his arm, his dark hair catching the breeze, his entire posture radiating an unexpected authority. The placid surface of his eyes rippled, revealing a turbulent depth. A sudden, surging passion filled his chest. It was time to awaken these sheltered pure-bloods to the real world.

Following his instinct, he addressed the entire crowd, his voice impassioned. "Labor ought to be the most glorious thing! In ancient times, if the Four Founders had only spoken pretty words and never acted, Hogwarts wouldn't exist. We wouldn't be standing here today! So why is it that now, earning a living with one's own two hands is considered laughable? A reason for scorn?!"

As his words sank in, all eyes turned to Pansy and the still-crying Malfoy. Scrutinizing whispers spread through the crowd. Pansy panicked. This wasn't right. She was supposed to be the one shaming him, not the other way around.

Ethan gave her no time to recover. His voice, though young, struck like a hammer on an anvil. "The reason is that the wealth they possess was not earned through labor."

"During Voldemort's reign, our families sacrificed so much. We lost so much. But look around! What is the current situation of those who truly deserve to be punished?!"

Suddenly, the atmosphere crackled. The gazes of the students grew sharp. Several Slytherins turned pale, and a few quietly began to slip away from the edges of the crowd. Goyle and Crabbe, not understanding the specifics but sensing the dangerous shift, huddled together, wishing the ground would swallow them whole.

"Shut up!" Pansy shrieked, a wild desperation in her eyes. "Someone make him shut up!"

"Yes," Ethan interjected smoothly, his timing perfect. "We have no way of knowing the full truth, do we? Because everyone who tried to speak out was 'shut up.'" He threw her own words back at her. "Let me be direct. Their fortunes were plundered from us!"

He took a step forward, his voice ringing with conviction. "Who among us isn't fighting to make a life? Who can say their family's struggles are because they are lazy?!"

In the crowd, Ron nodded vigorously, his blood surging. He stared at Ethan, his eyes wide with awe. That's right, he thought. Why should the traitors who sided with You-Know-Who get to look down on us?

He wasn't the only one. A fire ignited in the eyes of the Gryffindor students. They stared at the Slytherins with a newfound heat. These were the children of cowards and collaborators who had hidden during the war, only to emerge and sneer at the families who had stood for justice.

The air grew thick with a volatile, explosive tension. It felt as if, with a single command from Ethan, the Gryffindors would pounce and teach the Slytherins the true power of the working people.

(End of Chapter)

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