That night, the last day of the third-year term.
The Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets.
Ethan lay on the sofa with his head pillowed on Luna's lap, legs crossed and dangling over the armrest in an utterly relaxed sprawl.
The term would end tomorrow; the whole castle was buzzing with excitent. Only in this hidden underground chamber could he find a little quiet.
[Enter the Gallery?]
Yes.
He answered in silence, feeling Luna's fingers idly comb through his fringe as his consciousness sank downwards.
[You have entered the Gallery.]
[Here, you may view all extraordinary paintings created so far.]
Ethan opened his eyes.
A pure white space stretched around him. Bright canvases hung on walls so pale they were almost indistinguishable from the background.
The first piece was the Lily sketch he had given Professor Snape.
"Always" was engraved in gilt letters on the plaque below.
Next ca Portal, seemingly opening into another dinsion, and The Call of the Mirror of Erised, blazing with dazzling radiance.
Ethan's fingertips brushed each fra in turn, and his mories slipped back over the three years since he had arrived in the wizarding world.
"With here, the magical world will wake up again," he murmured, a small fla of determination kindling in his eyes. "I really do want to see the day my art sweeps across the world."
Let this rotten magical society taste the shock of a fine Arts Student.
He had already taken the first step. He had shown everyone the brilliant side of Ethan Vincent—the boy who judged Peter Pettigrew and invented a cure for werewolves.
"No, what do you an by 'brilliant side'? Both sides are brilliant," he corrected himself, shaking his head and tossing the thought away.
[Mid-Tier Grand Reward unopened. Open now?]
"Mhm."
[You have obtained: the Cracked Wayward Mirror.]
[Description: A broken mirror. In the intact panes, light is reflected; the cracks reveal only darkness. One thing it will never reflect is your own face.]
[Use: Standing before the mirror forcibly enhances your magical sight, letting you see things normally invisible.]
[But is that truly a good thing?]
[Hint: You may repair the mirror using other materials.]
A cracked hand mirror appeared in his hand. Its original owner seed to have been so noble lady; the handle and oval fra were beautifully ornate.
The glass itself, however, was shattered.
The mont he looked into it, pain stabbed his eyes. It felt as if molten rock were being poured into his sockets. The room wavered.
The white walls swelled with pulsating crimson flesh and questing tendrils. When one brushed his ankle, he could feel it—clammy, slick, and cold.
So, what you see exists.
Interest flared. Ethan gazed fondly at the writhing tentacles.
Unfortunately, a warning flashed up in red.
[Warning! Magic is nearing critical instability! Adjust imdiately!]
He sighed internally. He had wanted to watch a little longer.
With effort, he forced his fingers to uncurl and let the mirror slip from his hand.
Clack.
It fell face down on the floor.
Only then did the "hallucinations" slowly recede. He closed his eyes, easing the ache behind them. A trickle of blood ran from his nose.
"My magical sight is already higher than normal, and that thing nearly punted into another dinsion."
He smiled. "Still… fun, isn't it?"
He wiped the blood away without concern.
Others would certainly be curious to see what could not normally be seen.
He was a generous man with a kind heart, after all. He would never keep sothing this delightful to himself.
He bent to pick up the Cracked Wayward Mirror again, quite pleased with this part of the mid-tier reward.
"Combined with so of the other paintings… it will make a wonderful 'art piece' that brings people laughter and joy."
The rough outline was already taking shape in his mind.
The Necronomicon had indeed opened to a new chapter.
[I did not expect you to truly break fate and create a werewolf cure potion…]
Mr Black's handwriting surfaced on the page, steeped in feeling.
[You will surely rewrite more destinies in the future. For that, you will need help. Strong help.]
[And I can help you.]
[You healed my precious daughter. I will not be stingy with my gratitude.]
As the words faded, cuts opened across the paper and thick, near-black blood began to drip, as if real skin had been slashed.
Within those deepening wounds, sothing crimson pushed forth—a heart.
[You have obtained extraordinary material: Hairy Heart.]
[A certain book of fairy tales tells a story of love twisted into a curse.]
[This heart is similar in nature.]
[Use: It contains powerful life force and can be used in a third-tier painting to grant it extraordinary power.]
On the torn page, Mr Black's script appeared again, weaker than before, the ink fading.
[Take it. This is my last possession. The Necronomicon has drunk enough blood. You will have to uncover the rest yourself…]
[Good luck, genius from the future.]
When Ethan lifted the heart free, a sigh of release ca from the book.
He looked up and saw a wisp of soul tear loose from the binding, float upward, and vanish.
Mr Black had moved on.
"Hairy Heart…"
Ethan stroked the shrivelled, fur-covered organ. It felt like a soft red stone in his hand, and there was an undeniable temptation to squeeze it just to see what would happen.
This heart might let him paint figures even more vicious than before—Jack the Ripper, the woman in the rain, Bluebeard…
Hm?
Sothing that did not quite fit seed to have slipped into that list.
He licked his lips, eyes full of anticipation.
"With the Wayward Mirror and the Hairy Heart, Mr Lamp's early preparations are basically done."
"The later content of the Necronomicon is still sealed. Now that the Goblin War is over… perhaps Voldemort can give a chance to harvest blood on a large scale."
He thought of all those marvellous ritual magics.
It might be possible to twist the ritual from the end of the Triwizard Tournant—the very one Voldemort used, tossing ingredients into a cauldron to resurrect himself—and turn it into a rite that benefitted Ethan instead.
That would be very entertaining.
Just imagining the look on Voldemort's face when all his careful planning backfired made Ethan's fingers itch.
"First, new paintings. Then the Riddle House," he decided. "Ti to give Voldemort a very big surprise."
The next day, the Hogwarts Express puffed steam and whistled as it prepared to depart.
On the platform, Professor Lupin stopped Ethan with a smile. "Do you rember the thank-you gift I promised you before? Sorry it took so long. It's finally ready."
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