The banquet was in full swing, its vibrant energy filling the Great Hall.
Quirrell, who had been entangled in some bizarre game involving a troll, was still nowhere to be seen.
On the long tables, succulent turkeys had been stripped to gleaming bones, their golden carcasses a testament to the feast.
The young wizards slouched in their seats, faces glistening with grease, their bellies full and spirits high, basking in the afterglow of indulgence.
Headmaster Dumbledore, his purple wizard's hat adorned with fluttering bat wings, rose gracefully and approached the brass owl-shaped microphone.
With a flick of his wand, two sharp bangs echoed through the hall, and golden ribbons spiraled from the tip, dazzling the students and drawing their attention.
"Seeing you all so joyful makes my old heart feel young again," Dumbledore said, his voice warm with a chuckle. "Now, let's discuss some arrangements for the upcoming term."
"Various clubs have begun recruiting. A briefing will be held in the Great Hall next Monday. Interested students, do check the notice board."
"Hogwarts boasts a delightful array of clubs—Gobstones, the Quidditch Research Society, the Painting Club, and many more."
At the mention of the Painting Club, Ethan caught a subtle wink from Dumbledore, a twinkle in the headmaster's eye.
Hmm… intriguing.
Ethan had unveiled his art exhibition earlier that day. Perhaps he'd invite the Painting Club's head to admire his work later.
"Of course, if Hogwarts' many clubs fail to spark your interest, you're welcome to start your own—"
"Though, I regret to say, the [Toilet Bombing Club] will not be approved this year."
At the head table, the Weasley twins erupted into laughter, their mirth echoing across the hall.
Their prefect brother, Percy, shot them a withering glare, his face a storm of disapproval.
"In addition to hobby clubs, we have academic societies led by our esteemed professors."
"For instance, Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration Charm Research Society, Professor Flitwick's Charm Creation Workshop, and others."
Ethan had received a personal invitation from Professor Flitwick to join his "after-school tutoring group," as the professor called it.
But Ethan, swamped with his own schemes, had politely declined.
Rumor had it the Charm Creation Workshop was once the infamous Duelling Club.
Due to its controversial reputation, it had been rebranded into a gentler format, focusing on the intricacies of spellcraft, silent casting, and outwitting opponents.
"Hey, did you know?" Michael Corner leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "In Ravenclaw, besides Flitwick's academic group, there's an elite club!"
"They only recruit the best of the best, and they never advertise! No first- or second-years need apply!"
"Only internal members judge and select candidates. If you pass, you get an owl. It's all very hush-hush!"
Michael's eyes gleamed with yearning.
Joining that club would be the ultimate badge of cool.
Sadly, the only exception they'd ever made was for second-year Cho Chang.
First-years like him didn't stand a chance.
Ethan arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.
Internal member assessments? Just a clique playing gatekeeper.
Ravenclaw supplied over half the talent to the Ministry of Magic each year, so naturally, they'd cherry-pick their allies early.
On the dais, Dumbledore's speech was winding down.
His words turned heartfelt, his half-moon spectacles glinting as tears of joy shimmered in his eyes.
"…I wish you all a term filled with joyful learning. Never forget—Hogwarts is your warm, welcoming home!"
Dumbledore raised his arms, and the hall erupted in thunderous applause.
"Tonight's curfew is extended to ten-thirty!"
"Yay—!"
Ethan clapped along, his eyes flickering to the enchanted ceiling.
Dumbledore, surveying the sea of youthful faces, exchanged warm smiles with his professors.
What delightful students.
Sure, they could be mischievous, prone to minor missteps, but what of it?
Even the notorious Weasley twins only went as far as pranks like toilet bombings.
And Ethan Vincent, who'd dueled Draco Malfoy on the first day of term, was merely a spirited youth.
Professor Flitwick himself had been a duelling champion in his day!
There was no cause for concern.
Hogwarts was the safest place in the world.
Then—
A beam of light sliced through the air from above!
The enchanted ceiling seemed to yawn open, a rectangular, door-like rift tearing through the starry sky.
Within it, an inky void loomed, cold and foreboding, like the maw of some ancient beast.
A chill seeped into the hall, and the students' chatter died, their gazes fixed on the eerie black portal.
"Is this Hogwarts' grand finale?" Ron Weasley mumbled, still gnawing on a chicken leg.
But Dumbledore's expression had turned grave, and Ron's grin faltered as panic crept in.
It's the finale, right?!
In the tense silence, Dumbledore's brow furrowed, a flicker of lethal intent in his eyes.
An attack?
Apparition was impossible at Hogwarts, so who dared breach its wards?
Who would be so brazen as to Apparate right under his nose—wait.
Dumbledore froze, a realization dawning.
He whipped around, his gaze sharpening.
Among the sea of anxious faces, one stood out, utterly unfazed.
Ethan Vincent.
Of course.
Dumbledore's tension eased, and he regarded the portal with curiosity.
Was the boy planning a surprise?
What a spirited lad.
Unbeknownst to him, Ethan didn't care who was watching.
His cobalt-blue eyes blazed with excitement, like twin stars, and he clenched his fists in anticipation.
His stare was locked on the portal.
It's here!
Who would be the lucky soul to emerge?
Hermione, perhaps, sulking in the girls' bathroom and stumbling into his art exhibition?
Or maybe Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher, who'd skipped the banquet—fate might have drawn her to his masterpiece.
Whoever it was, Ethan was ready with a Levitation Charm.
He was, after all, a gentle and kind young wizard.
The portal rippled.
A figure plummeted from the void!
"Wingardium—Professor Quirrell?!"
Ethan's eyes widened in shock.
In that split-second lapse, he fumbled the Levitation Charm.
With a sickening thud, Quirrell crashed onto the floor between the tables.
He twitched like a broken puppet, then went still.
Dumbledore: "…"
His genial smile froze.
The Weasley twins: Blimey, that's brilliant!
The Great Hall was deathly silent.
At the staff table, Snape's lips curled into a faint smirk.
In a voice barely audible, he murmured, "Five points to Ravenclaw… for Ethan Vincent's quick thinking."
"Pfft!"
Professor Flitwick choked on his mead, coughing as he gaped at his star pupil in disbelief.
Ethan, you—?!
To be clear—
Ethan was an exuberant, charismatic boy.
Since his duel with Malfoy, students and professors alike had hounded him about his methods.
He'd gleefully shown off his artwork to anyone who asked, even collaborating on experiments.
The professors tried to replicate it but failed—each stroke of Ethan's painting seemed infused with his very soul.
It was one-of-a-kind.
Even a master wizard painter could only produce a mundane copy, devoid of magic.
Only Ethan could create it.
And now, the professors knew this was his handiwork.
Their piercing stares zeroed in on him.
Ethan: "…"
He rose slowly, peering at Quirrell, who still seemed to be breathing.
Then, with a theatrical flourish, he spread his arms like a showman taking his final bow and flashed a grin at the stunned crowd.
"Surprise!"
Happy Halloween.
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