Ethan ignored Michael's chatter. His roommate's constant droning of "sister, sister" all day long only earned a wry thought from Ethan: Young and full of promise, aren't you?
His attention, however, was snagged by the bustling notice board in the Ravenclaw common room. Ever since he'd swiped 700 Galleons from the Malfoy family, Ethan had quit his odd jobs. His focus had shifted entirely to preparing for the upcoming art exhibition, where canvases and paints vanished faster than snowflakes in a spring thaw. Even the cheapest unframed linen canvas cost about 12 Sickles, and a basic set of paints ran between 2 and 3 Galleons. Though he wasn't strapped for cash, Ethan couldn't help but grimace at how quickly the coins flowed out of his vault. Money slips through your fingers like water, he thought.
"The notice board's lively today," Ethan muttered, eyeing the crowd gathered three layers deep around it. Most Hogwarts students had no need for part-time work, so the board usually only drew curious first-years or a handful of older students. But today, something was clearly different. A new event, maybe?
Ethan stepped forward. The moment his figure appeared at the edge of the crowd, it parted like the Red Sea before Moses, students shuffling aside to let him through.
"Ethan! You're here to check it out too?" a senior Ravenclaw girl called out, waving with easy familiarity. "Come on, squeeze to the front and take a look!"
Ethan glided through the crowd with an effortless grace that belied his small stature. Somehow, among the towering older students, he carried the presence of a man eight feet tall. He paid no mind to the stares—admiring, curious, or wary—that followed him. Behind him, Michael trailed nervously, swallowing hard. Now I get it, Michael thought. When one person shines, everyone around them basks in the glow.
"Hey, Ethan, I've been meaning to talk to you!" The senior girl, her long sideburns framing a bright smile, looked at him with eager eyes. "I'm Penelope Clearwater. If all goes well, I'll be Ravenclaw's next prefect."
Ethan met her twinkling gaze, his lips parting to deliver a single, devastating word: "Pity."
Penelope froze, caught off guard. But when she saw the genuine mischief in Ethan's expression, she burst into laughter. "Now I get what Robert meant when he warned me to 'brace yourself when talking to Ethan.' Your brain's wired differently, isn't it? It's impossible to keep up!"
Ethan blinked, neither confirming nor denying her words, and turned his attention to the notice board. A bold new announcement floated above the usual smattering of commissions:
[Off-Campus Competition Season Has Begun! Interested in registering or have questions? Contact your House Head!]
Below, a list of events unfurled: the Green Fingers Gardening Competition, the Rune Horse Magical Creature Breeding Contest, and the delightfully named Witches and Wizards Rush Forward.
Penelope, still grinning, chimed in. "Quidditch is obviously the big one around here, but there are other competitions too. Like the Little Wizard Paintbrush Painting Competition. Thinking of signing up, Ethan?"
Ethan's lips curled into a sly smile. "You sure about that?"
Penelope hesitated, memories of Ethan's uncanny artistic flair flooding back. His work was less "charming" and more "terrifyingly brilliant." She shook her head firmly. "On second thought, no. Forget I asked. It'd be like sending a dragon to a petting zoo. You'd traumatize the other kids. One entry, and they'd ban you for life."
Ethan chuckled, a dark edge to his humor. "What's the point of these competitions, anyway?"
Penelope tapped her chin, thinking. "Well, you could make friends with other wizards who share your interests—though, uh, you probably don't need that. There's also the glory of winning, the prestige…"
She trailed off, realizing Ethan likely cared little for such "vulgar" rewards. Surely, someone as enigmatic as Ethan Vincent chased grander, deeper ambitions.
"…and bonuses," she added, almost as an afterthought.
Ethan's head snapped up. "Bonuses?"
"Uh, yeah," Penelope said, startled by his sudden intensity. "Prizes, you know? Like the Secret Realm Seeking Challenge. Top reward is 1,000 Galleons—"
Ethan's breath caught, his cobalt-blue eyes widening like a cat spotting a shimmering fish. One thousand Galleons! That was 300 more than the Malfoy haul, a fortune to rival the Triwizard Tournament's prize—though, like that deadly contest, this one probably came with its own risks. The thought only made Ethan grin wider. The brighter the gold, the more blood and sweat it demands.
"Senior Clearwater," Ethan said, his voice smooth as silk. The sunlight streaming through the auditorium's stained-glass windows bathed half his face, casting sharp contrasts of light and shadow. His smile was deceptively innocent, equal parts charming and unsettling. "I'm signing up for this."
Penelope blinked, momentarily dazzled. It was as if someone had flicked on a Lumos spell right in her face. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to reach into her soul, gripping it tight. Before she knew it, she was leading Ethan to Professor Flitwick's office, her mind still reeling from that smile.
"Come in," called Professor Flitwick, looking up from the stack of homework he was grading. His eyes brightened at the sight of them. "Mr. Vincent, Miss Clearwater! What brings you here?"
"Good morning, Professor," Ethan said, his tone polite but laced with quiet confidence. "I'd like to sign up for the [Secret Realm Seeking Challenge]."
Flitwick's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Penelope. "Miss Clearwater, did you explain the dangers of this competition?"
Penelope flushed, lowering her head. It's not that I didn't want to, she thought desperately. But how do you say no to a face like that? It's practically the Imperius Curse!
Ethan, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, blinked innocently.
"This tournament is no small feat, Ethan," Flitwick said, his voice grave. "The [Secret Realm Seeking Challenge] is a rigorous test of a wizard's skills, held every three years for students sixteen and under. It involves navigating a perilous secret realm, and accidents are not uncommon. Applicants must first pass Hogwarts' selection process before being nominated. Most participants are fourteen or older—third years at the youngest. You, a first-year, would be an exception."
Ethan's mind churned. A three-year wait was an option, but 1,000 Galleons! The "Purple Epic" grade painting he needed for his next project would cost a fortune, not to mention holiday expenses and investments in his second-level artworks. To make it worth his time, he'd need to secure first place. Anything less would be a waste.
Flitwick's voice cut through his thoughts. "What's more, this year's secret realm is the most dangerous yet—an abandoned mansion in the cursed marshes of northern England, once belonging to the dark wizard Herpo the Foul."
Ethan's eyes snapped up, a strange glint flickering within them. Herpo the Foul's mansion. The system had once whispered to him about a hidden treasure buried in that very place.
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