"Hey, you okay, Sean?" Justin's voice cut through the air.
Truth be told, Sean wasn't exactly okay—he had a sinking feeling about what was about to go down. He quietly switched seats, just in time to overhear a hushed conversation.
"What's Seamus up to, Ron?" someone whispered.
"He's trying to conjure wine into his goblet. A couple days ago, he managed weak tea, but then…"
"Then what?"
Suddenly, a massive cloud of scalding black smoke erupted, swallowing Seamus whole. Shards of broken glass and water droplets sprayed everywhere, sending nearby young witches and wizards shrieking and scrambling out of the way.
Hermione jumped back, eyes wide with shock.
As the smoke cleared, Seamus emerged, his face smudged black like he'd crawled out of a chimney. His hair stood on end, still trailing wisps of smoke. Coughing and dazed, he was clearly thrown by the spectacular failure.
The long table fell silent for a split second before erupting in laughter. Ron snorted, pounding the table so hard his pumpkin juice splashed out. Harry ducked his head, trying to hide a grin.
Only Justin hurried forward, offering a handkerchief. "You alright, Seamus?"
Just then, a flock of owls swooped into the Great Hall to deliver mail, conveniently stealing everyone's attention.
Except Hermione's—she shot a suspicious glance at Sean, who'd smoothly changed seats. "Did you feel that magic?"
---
Ever since Professor Snape gave Sean that strange potion, every time he left the dungeon, he'd find one or two new vials of potion on him. Sometimes they came with a note saying "Drink"; other times, nothing.
But if Sean brought a full potion vial back to the dungeon, Snape's sarcasm would hit like a rapid-fire spell. The Swelling Solution was coming along fast—unlocked in just two days. Meanwhile, Snape had started teaching Sean the Shrinking Solution too, with a jab: "With your troll-like technique, you'll need it."
Either way, Sean had learned another potion. His system panel now read:
[Title: Potion Novice]
[Scabies Potion: Apprentice Level (220/300)]
[Swelling Solution: Apprentice Level (1/300)]
[Shrinking Solution: Unlocked (1/30)]
[Progress: Master three beginner-level potions to unlock the Beginner Potion Mastery title]
Compared to the slow but steady potion progress, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms were speeding along.
Tuesday, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom:
"N-Now, who c-can t-tell me the three t-types of t-trolls?" Professor Quirrell stammered, his nervous gaze flickering over the Slytherins and Ravenclaws until Anthony stood up.
"Mountain trolls, river trolls, and sea trolls," Anthony answered confidently. "Mountain trolls are the biggest, light gray, bald, with skin tougher than a rhinoceros and strength to match ten men. But their brains are pea-sized, so they're easily confused."
"V-Very good, thank you," Quirrell mumbled.
While Quirrell halfheartedly called on students, Michael was flipping through Sean's Defense Against the Dark Arts notes nearby.
"Dark creature classifications—by region, by name… matching defensive spells and counter-curses…" Michael clutched the notebook like it was a sacred tome. "Sean, how'd you come up with this?!"
He compared it to The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, flipping through Sean's light blue notebook. The spell section was even more detailed than the textbook. "I bet you didn't just stick to the DADA book… Merlin's beard, this is as impressive as that History of Magic stuff you did!"
Sean ignored him, his desk littered with books like Defense Against the Dark Arts Basics and Introduction to Defensive Knowledge. With Quirrell's teaching being a total letdown, Sean had to figure things out himself. Soon enough, he'd mapped out the framework of dark magic.
He'd always wondered: Dark magic, charms—they both used incantations and wand movements, so why the sharp divide?
After digging through multiple books, he had his answer. Charms and dark magic were entirely different beasts. Dark magic split into three categories:
- Jinxes: The least harmful, annoying but playful—like the Knockback Jinx, Full Body-Bind Curse, or Disarming Charm.
- Hexes: Moderately harmful, causing pain or injury—like the Bat-Bogey Hex, Knee-Reversal Hex, or Toenail-Growing Hex.
- Curses: The most severe, inflicting intense or irreversible harm—like the Cruciatus Curse, Imperius Curse, or Killing Curse.
Professor Flitwick's lessons on charms were a separate category altogether: Charms. It all clicked—dark magic talent didn't translate to charm talent.
After class, Michael clutched Sean's DADA notes while Terry and the others eyed him enviously.
"Ahem—wanna look? Fine—" Michael started, and even Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"Shorty!" Michael teased, then bolted, chased by a pack of indignant young wizards.
He muttered to himself, "These are Sean's gold, man. He might not care, but I'm not letting them go to waste. Gotta spread the wealth… looks like it's working!"
Then he spun around, smacking Terry's head. "Terry, I swear—didn't I say Sean was cool with sharing with you and Anthony? You forgot already?!"
---
At noon, on the Quidditch pitch:
Fresh off practicing charms, Sean hopped onto his broom with ease. Once airborne, he wasn't the clumsy kid who struggled to run or jump.
His old Comet 260 sliced through the air like a silver fish. His pale cheeks flushed with the wind, his body hugging the broom like a vine clinging to a trellis.
Dive, turn, pull up—he executed Madam Hooch's drills with precision.
His proficiency ticked up:
[You've practiced flying at an expert level. Proficiency +50]
[You've practiced flying at an expert level. Proficiency +50]
…
His frail body carved sharp, graceful arcs through the sky, earning a smile from Madam Hooch on the sidelines.
She turned to a tall witch who'd just arrived. "Mr. Green's a born Quidditch star—anyone can see it. Those outdated, hand-me-down brooms are fine for the clumsy kids to practice on, and he's content enough, but you can tell they're beneath him."
The tall witch watched the young wizard soaring freely, her eyes softening with warmth.