HP: The Wizard Who Paints with Magic

Despite his instincts screaming at him to turn and run, under the urgent waves of compulsion in his mind, Quirrell still suppressed his unease and crept forward on tiptoe.

On the walls, all the previously noisy moving portraits had vanished, leaving only empty backgrounds—as if someone had been mad enough to cast the Killing Curse on the paintings themselves.

Moonlight shifted silently, casting his shadow in strange angles. Quirrell glanced carelessly and saw a monstrous creature with bared fangs and claws lunging at him with a bloody maw! Those wide, staring eyes blazed with thunderous fury!

Quirrell: !!!

His heart skipped a beat. He stumbled back two steps and instinctively raised his wand—

"Avada Kedavra!"

BANG!

A brilliant green light flashed, striking the monster's head directly. However, "its" expression remained unchanged, only leaving a charred hole where the curse had hit.

Only then did Quirrell realize this seemed to be... probably... maybe... a painting?

"..."

Damn it. He knew exactly who was responsible for this wickedness.

[FOOL!]

A thunderous roar exploded in his mind, accompanied by waves of knife-like agony.

[Do you want to attract every professor in the school?!]

"S-sorry, Master!" Quirrell bent over in panic and pain, trembling uncontrollably.

[Hurry to the Great Hall! These are just paintings!]

"Y-yes!"

Quirrell gripped his wand tightly, a flash of murderous intent in his eyes. Ethan Vincent... once he'd squeezed all the value from that brat, he would personally kill him.

Knowing these were just paintings, Quirrell's heart settled slightly—actually, it didn't.

Even after being hit by the Killing Curse, that door-guardian-like savage seemed to still glare furiously at him from behind, ready to tear him in half the moment he let his guard down.

Tap, tap.

Footsteps echoed in the deathly silent corridor. Quirrell kept looking left and right. In the shadows cast by stone pillars and walls, it seemed like countless eyes were hidden, watching him unblinkingly.

What kind of insane mind could paint such terrifying pictures?!

On the walls were monsters with skin like gray-white rubber, so realistic it was as if Ethan had once been one of them. The expressions, the detailed craftsmanship—even Quirrell, who had faced such creatures directly, felt chilled to the bone.

...Hogwarts should really investigate Ethan's background!

The smell of blood flowed like a river, those crimson pigments seeming to stick together, forming a bloody web that trapped Quirrell tightly.

His breathing grew heavier, cold sweat sticky on his back, his steps heavy as lead. The more he tried not to notice those eerie paintings, the more his gaze was irresistibly drawn to them.

In his mind, there was even a hallucinatory buzzing.

Click, tap, creak creak...

Damn it! Ethan, aren't you being a bit too extreme?!

Quirrell couldn't imagine what would happen if it wasn't him but any random student who saw these bizarre paintings in the corridor—they might be scared insane on the spot.

That brat should go straight to Azkaban! Stop plaguing Hogwarts!

The Dark wizard Quirrell screamed internally.

Looking at the corner ahead, faintly hearing the commotion from the Great Hall, his eyes lit up as he desperately quickened his pace.

—Almost there, almost there!

Just then, the moonlight shifted, illuminating a wall that had been hidden in shadow.

In an instant, Quirrell's steps faltered. His originally fierce eyes lost focus, staring ahead in confusion.

Then, slowly, slowly, Quirrell's mouth curved into a grin of wild joy.

[Fool! What are you doing?!]

Voldemort roared in the back of his head, punishing magic lashing at Quirrell's body. He trembled but felt no pain.

"The Philosopher's Stone—it's the Philosopher's Stone, Master!"

Quirrell cried out in amazement. Even as punishment left him collapsed on the ground, he still crawled forward on all fours, his chaotic eyes filled with greed and hunger.

He saw the Philosopher's Stone. That crimson gem containing powerful magic lay quietly on the windowsill ahead, reflecting magnificent moonlight. He just had to walk over and pick it up.

...No, wait, this is fake... how could it be...

But, but... could a first-year student's painting really affect the great Dark Lord's servant?

As Quirrell's rational mind battled with his desires, a shout suddenly rang out:

"Stop!"

The savior Harry Potter was lunging at him.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A green light flashed. The great savior flew out like a broken kite, rolling heavily to the ground, lifeless.

"Huff... huff..."

Quirrell breathed heavily, pupils dilated. Feeling the power surging from within his body, his doubts quickly faded from his mind.

"No, please spare me..."

Another voice came. Quirrell's eyes turned to see "Ethan" kneeling at his feet, constantly begging for mercy.

Those once proud and cold cobalt-blue eyes were now filled with terror.

Quirrell grinned wickedly and raised his wand:

"Crucio! Crucio!"

Powerful dark magic shot easily from his wand tip. "Ethan's" piercing screams echoed in his ears as he rolled on the ground in agony.

...This was exactly what Quirrell wanted. Power. The power to conquer everything!

No one would dare look down on him anymore—he was the Master's most beloved servant! Look at that Malfoy, and that Snape... none of them were as clever or loyal as him!

"Ha, hahahahaha!"

Quirrell couldn't suppress his maniacal laughter. He didn't hear Voldemort's furious shouting in the back of his head.

Now, all that remained was to present this easily obtained Philosopher's Stone to his Master.

Quirrell crawled toward that magnificent gem. The crimson radiance enveloped him like moonlit gauze, like a moth drawn to flame.

Closer, closer! Quirrell's eyes widened with excitement, holding his breath, desperately reaching out to touch that gem—to touch his future wealth and glory, his position second only to one.

Just as Quirrell was about to touch the stone—

"Whoosh!"

He suddenly plummeted into an endless abyss.

...

In the warm, bright Great Hall, Ethan was enjoying his third pumpkin pasty. The pasty wasn't very sweet, full of pumpkin flavor—thin crust with generous filling that would overflow with soft, sweet pumpkin at the first bite.

The hall was decorated magnificently. A thousand magical bats flew overhead, showering candy down on everyone below. Carved pumpkins were everywhere, and even the ghosts had dressed up nicely, chatting enthusiastically with students.

Ah, such bliss. This is how Halloween should be celebrated.

Ethan squinted his eyes contentedly, enjoying the hot food in his mouth while propping his chin and idly watching the savior Harry across from him, who had just sprayed buttered peas everywhere because of some joke the Weasley twins told.

Not knowing when Quirrell would burst in to announce there was a troll in the castle, Ethan ate quickly. By now, his belly was pleasantly round.

Poor performance. Why hadn't that guy Quirrell come yet? The feast was almost half over.

This thought flashed through Ethan's mind without much consideration. He was more concerned about the teleportation trap he'd set—ah no, the interesting little game.

Ethan looked up at the ceiling in the center of the Great Hall, a smile flickering in his eyes. He had set the exit of the teleportation portal up there.

—Who would be so lucky to experience long-distance teleportation? Making a spectacular entrance in front of everyone would certainly be very interesting.

How exciting~

(End of Chapter)

***

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