The man in the portrait had no facial features.
In their place was a terrifying, inhuman vortex, looking as if someone had pinched his nose and twisted the flesh with violent force.
A flash of inspiration struck Horace Slughorn's mind.
...He had seen this painting before; it seemed to be Ethan's attempt at a "realist" self-portrait.
As soon as their "eyes" met, the Vortex Man moved.
He raised both hands, his suit sleeves crisp and elegant. Wearing pristine white gloves, he held two items aloft like a pair of weighing scales.
In one hand was a red, thorn-covered fruit. Slughorn recognized it as a Prickly Rosehip, a rare and expensive potion ingredient that only grew in high-altitude regions.
In the other was a vial of blood shimmering with a golden, dawn-like radiance.
Though it was difficult to identify at a glance, Slughorn surmised it was the blood of a Morning Glow Golden Chicken... the kind of restricted material that would usually lead to the Aurors knocking on one's front door for an "audit."
The moment he recognized these two ingredients, it was as if a beam of light had pierced through a thick fog. The old professor suddenly remembered why he was here—he was seeking the final step for the Blood Malediction Potion!
The instant that thought surfaced, he felt his stiff fingers twitch.
He could move again.
[...Professor?]
"Tom Riddle" spoke with a hint of confusion. Watching the professor remain silent for so long, a trace of suspicion flickered in his eyes.
For the first time, an action had occurred that deviated from the memory.
Slughorn shuddered, his instincts taking over. "S-sorry! What did you just say?"
[...I asked, how does one go about creating a Horcrux, Professor Slughorn?]
"Err—well—you see—————"
He stammered, speaking of his own free will for the first time. While he played for time with vague excuses, he frantically scanned his surroundings, searching for clues to the Blood Malediction Potion within this nightmare of a memory.
Why did Ravenclaw's Diadem want me to see this?
Why didn't it simply bestow upon me supreme wisdom?
Hogwarts is on the brink of destruction; why won't the Founders help their successor...
As his anxiety and panic surged, Slughorn discovered to his despair that his thoughts and body were beginning to freeze once more.
His tongue began to move on its own: [Murder. A terrible murder, sufficient to split a person's soul————]
Smash!
The hourglass on the desk suddenly toppled. Transparent shards sprayed everywhere as a ghostly green liquid, mingled with fine sand, spilled across the floor.
Then, Slughorn watched with wide eyes as a mass of writhing, pitch-black magic flowed out from beneath the Vortex Man's portrait. It crawled onto the desk and shaped itself into a cauldron.
Snap.
The Vortex Man snapped his fingers, and a fire roared to life beneath the cauldron.
"Merlin's beard..."
Slughorn's mouth hung open, his panic replaced by sheer bewilderment. The coldness receded because something even more absurd than Voldemort's Horcrux lesson was happening right before his eyes.
He saw the Ethan in the portrait—dressed impeccably in a top hat—raise the Prickly Rosehip and the Golden Chicken blood once more.
It was as if he were signaling something.
In a flash of insight, Slughorn understood.
Ravenclaw's Diadem would not give him the answer directly. Instead, it had created a space that adhered to realistic logic, allowing him to experiment to his heart's content!
[Professor.] The dark voice rang out again. [You seem... exceptionally unfocused tonight.]
"Focused..."
Slughorn muttered, his eyes glued to the cauldron. He suddenly turned his head to look at the phantom of "Tom Riddle."
"Do you know something, Mr. Riddle?"
[Hmm?]
Professor Slughorn took a deep breath and then flashed a brave, defiant smile.
"In the future, you're going to be absolutely demolished by a new student who is ten thousand times better and more capable than you!"
"The seven pieces of your soul will be screaming at his feet, begging for release... and you will have to watch with your own eyes as he achieves the dream of 'surpassing death'—a dream you failed to reach in your entire life! Hahaha!!"
The moment the words left his mouth, Tom Riddle's elegant, handsome face twisted into that of a demon.
[You seek death!!! You worthless—]
He roared, lunging forward, only to be bound tight by several pitch-black tentacles in the next second!
[ROAR!!!]
Tom Riddle bellowed in a frenzy of shock and rage. However, Ethan merely waved a hand, and the black tentacles gagged him.
"Well done, Professor Slughorn."
In the portrait, Ethan's lips curled into a smirk. His vortex-face twitched in a gesture of approval.
"You've conquered your fear and taken full control of your memory space. Now, hurry and finish the potion experiments. Time flows slower here than in reality, but it shouldn't be wasted."
"...Right, of course!"
Slughorn nodded vigorously, scrambling toward the cauldron. His eyes were filled with immense gratitude as he looked at the portrait.
As expected, you can always trust the Leader of the Enlightenment, Ethan Vincent.
It was no wonder so many people were willing to give their all to live up to his expectations.
Slughorn grabbed the materials and began to experiment with absolute focus.
Steam rose in clouds, and the room fell silent, save for the sound of bubbling liquid. Even the phantom of Tom Riddle eventually quieted down, staring fixedly at the brewing potion.
Minutes and hours passed.
Just as the edges of the hallucination began to crumble...
Bang!
Slughorn looked up from a burst of vapor, his face covered in sweat and grime. Yet, his eyes shone with a calm, certain light.
"I've found it... I know exactly which ingredient it is—————"
In the next instant, his figure vanished!
The room constructed of memories collapsed like smoke being swept away by a giant hand.
Finally, only a profound darkness remained.
Like the depths of the universe, a single, lonely painting hung in the void, alongside a restrained phantom.
[...You must be the 'new student' that old fool mentioned. The one who defeats me.]
"Tom Riddle" glared gloomily at Ethan, his eyes brimming with hatred and malice. There was also a deep, burning jealousy—jealousy of Ethan's power, jealousy of his ease in controlling hearts, and most importantly, a desperate envy for Ethan's ability to "surpass death."
"Not bad for a relic of the Four Founders," Ethan mused to himself. "Even the details are replicated with such realism."
Ethan waved a hand dismissively. "I'm going to go check on the results. Farewell."
"Tom" choked on his words, his features twisting for a moment. Then, his eyes darted around, and his attitude shifted instantly to one of humble, serious respect.
[Sir, you haven't completely destroyed me yet, have you? Otherwise, that old man————]
Ethan: "It's Professor Slughorn."
[...My apologies. Otherwise, Professor Slughorn wouldn't still be so afraid of me. If you ever encounter the real me... please, give me a chance.]
"Tom" looked up, his eyes seemingly sincere as they met Ethan's.
[I will help you achieve your great works! I can surely become your greatest asset!]
His voice was filled with confidence in his future strength, every syllable laced with a seductive charm.
"Heh."
Ethan let out a cold chuckle. His indifferent gaze finally caused a flash of genuine panic to appear on "Tom's" confident face.
Ethan raised his hand.
The phantom began to disintegrate like sand caught in the wind.
A second before being erased, "Tom" grit his teeth, hissing with stubborn resentment:
[A contract! I can sign a Death Pact with you!! Sir——]
The last grains of sand drifted away from his red-tinted black eyes.
Darkness returned to silence.
And then...
Rumble!
The darkness suddenly began to writhe frantically!
It was actually composed of countless tentacles woven together, falling like a curtain over a stage.
Immediately after, a blood-red landscape with the texture of an oil painting rushed to meet him.
Ethan stood in a swirling, crimson land. The ground felt slightly soft beneath his feet, and if one listened closely, the faint thumping of a heart could be heard from deep underground.
A golden sun hung high in the sky, dripping like a burning candle, its light brilliant but entirely devoid of heat.
"Hmm, so this is my subconscious space? It certainly has an 'artistic' flair."
"I thought some terrifying memories would pop up. Tsk, how disappointing."
Ethan clicked his tongue, looking around with curiosity. At that moment, a surging desire began to take root in his heart.
His breathing gradually grew rapid.
His cobalt-blue eyes began to glow, his pupils constricting like a cat that had just spotted a ball of yarn. He stared excitedly at the far reaches of this scarlet land.
...There was no direction, no orientation.
But Ethan knew.
No matter which way he walked, endless fun and excitement were waiting for him. That blood-red paint would flow over his body like a mother's tight, warm, and moist embrace.
It would allow him to paint an endless series of beautiful works.
Endless... endless...
Endless...
Just as Ethan lifted his heel to take a step forward, he tripped over something.
His eyes shifted, looking down at the ground.
————He saw a carrot earring.
It was far too large for an earring; it looked like something only someone as eccentric as Professor Trelawney from Divination would wear.
Then...
Pop! Pop!
As if noticing his gaze, a series of magazines with strange, exaggerated covers popped into existence.
"...The Quibbler? Ha, what a funny name! It feels familiar..."
Ethan stopped in his tracks, his attention involuntarily shifting to the objects.
Then, like rabbits jumping out of a magician's hat, a string of bizarre items appeared!
A pair of flamboyant pink and blue glasses, a necklace made of Butterbeer corks, buzzing Dirigible Plums, a snorting Crumple-Horned Snorkack...
Finally, there was a portrait.
It depicted a terrifying, inhuman face, but upon closer inspection, one would realize the entire image was composed of the repeated word: "friend."
"Ha! It seems I've met a fellow genius of the arts!"
Ethan was amused. He bent down to pick up the portrait, and the more he looked at it, the more familiar the person in the painting became.
Unbeknownst to him, a cool mist began to rise, veiling the piercing golden light.
Silvery moonlight spilled down like a pair of gentle hands, stroking the top of Ethan's head and brushing away his violent thoughts.
Within a few breaths, Ethan's cobalt-blue eyes slowly regained their clarity and reason.
He held the portrait Luna had once given him. Every stroke was filled with pure, intense emotion. Like an anchor, it held him in place, preventing him from stepping further into that scarlet madness.
"...Little Tom, the biggest difference between us isn't our level of power."
"It's that I am deeply loved."
Ethan held the portrait close, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"And I, in turn, respond to that love!"
————I think I'll stop using Ravenclaw's Diadem for a while.
As the thought formed, the surrounding crimson paint receded like a flood!
Ethan closed his eyes, clutching Luna's drawing tightly as he tumbled back into reality.
In the darkness, a line of ghostly blue text appeared:
[Congratulations! You have successfully developed the cure for the Blood Malediction!]
[Soul Fusion increased by 0.2%!]
[Current Fusion: 98.36%]
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