The moment Ethan Vincent stepped into the Great Hall, a cascade of eyes locked onto him, as if drawn by an invisible charm. The cavernous room, usually buzzing with chatter, fell into an eerie hush. Every gaze was fixed on Ethan, necks craning, not a whisper or shuffle breaking the silence. The scene was nothing short of surreal.
Before, they had seen him as just another student. Now, they gawked at Ethan Vincent as if he were some undiscovered creature—a magical anomaly masquerading as a boy, striding confidently into their midst.
Ethan's sharp eyes scanned the hall, quickly pinpointing the cause of the stares. Hovering above the crowd, emblazoned in mid-air with bursts of colorful fireworks, were bold words that demanded attention:
"Congratulations to the following students who have passed the selection! You are officially members of the triennial Treasure Hunt Challenge!"
At the top of the list, in blazing letters, was his name: Ethan Vincent.
So, the truth was out. His selection, once whispered about as mere rumor, was now undeniable. Some had scoffed, claiming, "If a first-year like Ethan Vincent can pass the selection, I'll eat dirt upside down!" But the school's dazzling announcement left no room for doubt. Denial now was just fooling oneself.
Shock, bewilderment, fear, envy, admiration—these emotions swirled around Ethan, bathing him in a storm of scrutiny. Yet he stood unfazed, the corners of his lips curling into a pleased, almost mischievous smile. His legend was growing.
In the stillness of the Great Hall, where even a dropped pin would echo, Ethan spread his arms wide and declared with deliberate slowness, "Nothing is impossible." A pause, then with a flourish, "I am a miracle!"
As his words rang out, a majestic eagle erupted from behind the stage, its piercing cry slicing through the air. Its broad, razor-sharp wings unfurled as it soared above the students, circling once before vanishing into the glowing letters of Ethan's name.
"Wow—" A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The students stared, dumbstruck, at the spot where the eagle had dissolved, the moment searing itself into their memories.
Ethan caught a glimpse of Professor Flitwick at the teachers' table, discreetly tucking away his wand. With a sly wink, Ethan acknowledged the professor's subtle showmanship. What a brilliant mentor, he thought, warmth blooming in his chest. Perhaps he should ask Flitwick to guide him—though would the professor be open to exploring the forbidden arts of Living Paintings, with their ties to souls and memories? Such magic was perilous, after all.
At that moment, Headmaster Dumbledore rose from the teachers' table and approached the owl lectern, his eyes twinkling as he smiled at Ethan. "Congratulations, Mr. Vincent, on becoming the youngest participant in this century's Treasure Hunt Challenge."
Ethan looked up, his handsome face breaking into a dazzling grin that instantly drew sighs from several girls in the hall. "Don't worry, Headmaster Dumbledore," he said with unshakable confidence, "after this competition, I'll make Hogwarts a legend to remember!"
Dumbledore's smile faltered ever so slightly. He thought to himself that Ethan's mere participation as a first-year was already legendary—perhaps too legendary. A nagging premonition tugged at him, whispering that Hogwarts' hard-earned reputation might be in for a wild ride. Still, facing elites from other schools, Ethan's antics would likely be overshadowed… wouldn't they?
"Very spirited, Mr. Vincent," Dumbledore said, deftly sidestepping the bold claim. "Let us applaud this remarkable young wizard."
A few seconds passed before scattered applause broke out, hesitant at first. It wasn't that the students meant to slight Ethan—most were simply too stunned to react.
"Merlin's beard," Ron Weasley muttered, clapping mechanically, "he's a first-year, and the Headmaster's praising him. I'm starting to think Ethan's the real Chosen One…"
Harry Potter grinned beside him. "I wouldn't mind if he was," he said, imagining a world where Ethan Vincent was the "Boy Who Lived." Voldemort wouldn't stand a chance.
Nearby, Hermione Granger bit her lip, her eyes locked on Ethan, who stood radiant under the weight of everyone's attention. He's too strong, she thought, a mix of awe and frustration swirling within her. If she and Ethan both earned an "Outstanding" on an exam, his would be effortless, as if the grade was merely the ceiling of what he could achieve. Catching up to him seemed impossible—but Hermione Granger never backed down from a challenge. A fierce spark ignited in her eyes. She would chase him, no matter how far ahead he soared.
At the Ravenclaw table, Prefect Robert Hilliard's grin was wider than a Bludger's arc. As a prefect, he'd received the news early: Ethan Vincent, a first-year, had passed the selection. Let anyone dare call Ravenclaws mere bookworms now—this achievement was a wand-slap to their faces! Robert had strutted through the weekend, basking in the envious glares of other houses' prefects. This was a triumph for Ravenclaw, one even Rowena Ravenclaw herself would rise from her grave to celebrate. Conveniently, Robert ignored that every other participant but Ethan had landed in the hospital wing. Details, details, he thought, brushing it off like a hero unconcerned with trifles.
Meanwhile, the Slytherin table simmered with a different mood. Most students glared at Ethan, their eyes dark with resentment, as if he'd stolen their house's glory. A first-year—this first-year—had passed the selection, and no one could fathom how. It was magic in its truest, most infuriating form: a miracle.
"Draco, your Malfoy instincts for backing winners never fail," Blaise Zabini drawled, his tone caught between jest and scorn.
Draco Malfoy shot him a smug smirk. "And? Jealous you don't have the guts to follow a real winner?" He puffed out his chest, reveling in his allegiance to Ethan. The Malfoy knack for latching onto power was on full display, shameless and proud.
Zabini's eyes narrowed, a cold laugh escaping him. "We'll see how far your Mudblood champion takes the Malfoy name," he spat, before turning to whisper with Pansy Parkinson.
Unnoticed by them, Slytherin Prefect Gemma Farley's gaze lingered on Ethan. A strange flicker passed through her usually haughty eyes, like ripples on a still lake. Ethan Vincent…
On the platform, Dumbledore continued, praising the other selected participants. "Each of you may choose any professor as your specialized mentor for the competition. Consider their expertise carefully—it need not be your house's head. Choose the magic that will best serve you in the challenge."
Professor Severus Snape, seated at the teachers' table, lifted his chin with a smug air, sipping his coffee with deliberate nonchalance. His dark eyes slid toward Ethan. While others hesitated, Snape had already secured the boy's allegiance. A championship might be a stretch, but a top-ten finish? That was within reach.
"I wonder who Ethan will pick," Ron whispered, leaning toward Harry. "With his wild ideas, he wouldn't choose Snape, would he?"
Harry stuck out his tongue. "I'd rather pick Quirrell—"
His words were cut off by a loud bang as the Great Hall's doors flew open. All eyes turned to see Professor Quirinus Quirrell, who hadn't been seen since Halloween, staggering in. The ordeal had left him gaunt, his cheeks hollow, his robes hanging loosely on his frame. His face was ashen, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, making the oversized purple turban on his head look even more absurd. According to the Weasley twins, Quirrell had charmed the turban to stay in place, refusing even Madam Pomfrey's attempts to remove it for treatment.
At the teachers' table, Snape's brow furrowed. A sudden, inexplicable unease gripped him.
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