[You processed one nettle at Apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
[You processed one nettle at Apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
…
[Herbology Insight unlocked]
[A new title in the Herbology domain has been unlocked. Please check]
[A wizarding talent has been unlocked. Please check]
After two days of work, Sean unlocked the Herbology title.
He opened it at once:
[Title: Herbology Intern]
[Slightly increases perception of plants; slightly improves Herbology talent]
Increased perception of plants? Sounds good.
He read on:
[Wizard Sean — Herbology Talent: Green (boosted by Herbology Intern title; original talent: White). Note: average wizard is Green]
When it comes to disappointing talent, he never disappoints.
Well, at least I can grind proficiency to change that, Sean thought.
He soon felt the benefits of the talent bump. When picking mature dried nettles, a peculiar intuition led him to choose a just-ripe batch. After soaking, he earned his first "Novice" in the Herbology track:
[You processed one nettle at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
Truly a world ruled by talent. His stereotypes about the wizarding world only deepened.
"Excellent work, Mr. Green—two points to Ravenclaw!" Professor Sprout came over, mildly surprised. "Everyone, gather round! See how the stinging hairs and short fuzz are gone after proper prep? That's one hallmark of a quality nettle ingredient. Quick progress, Mr. Green," she added softly while the class examined the sample.
Herbology ended soon after. As Sean left the greenhouse, he caught first-years whispering.
"Who was that?"
"Sean Green—haven't you heard of him?"
"Quite the opposite—I'm hearing it too much. Supposedly he's aced both Charms and Transfiguration. Is he from a wizarding family?"
"That's the scary part—they say he's Muggle-born…"
When Sean looked over, the pair flushed and scurried away.
"Looks like you're famous," Michael teased. "As you should be, no? I've never seen a wizard good at everything… except Potions."
Michael's ribbing petered out on the way to Astronomy.
"Stairs… stairs… still stairs. Terry, do you see the top yet?" Michael panted, shooting Sean a glance—the boy's face was still pale.
"They say the Astronomy Tower is the tallest in Hogwarts… taller than Ravenclaw Tower…" Michael relayed the gossip, edging closer to Sean by half a step. "Is that true?" Anthony murmured, then drifted in on Sean's other side.
Professor Aurora Sinistra, cool and composed, taught them to observe the sky with telescopes, learn star names, and track planetary motion. Her classroom was packed with instruments—lunar globes, moon charts, lunarscopes, star maps, telescopes—like a research lab, only with a spectacular night sky and quietly humming magical devices.
Familiar with telescope mechanics, Sean quickly drew Sinistra's notice and was allowed to use a large metal sphere to predict the orbit of Io, Jupiter's first moon. Terry, usually laconic, was beside himself with envy, asking Sean more than three times what it felt like. Sean described it in detail; Terry's longing was written all over his face. "Merlin! That must be incredible—that's a rare magical lunarscope…"
By the time Astronomy ended, curfew was near. After two climbs to high towers, Sean looked worse for wear, but it didn't stop him from organizing his notes. First-years mainly learn star names and planetary tracks—nothing hard if you just memorize them all. Plotting trajectory charts might be the only tricky part, but for Sean that was easy. Never underestimate compulsory education.
Notes done, he pulled out Potions and History books. Ingredient prep was ready; he hunted for any hints on brewing. Though the texts offered only strict steps and terse descriptions, he still teased out a vague clue:
[For the Cure for Boils, stir twice left, three times right, with moderate force…]
What counts as "moderate"? In History of Magic, he found a hint:
[Self-Stirring Cauldrons are enchanted to stir automatically; the stirring spoon often pops the bubbles…]
He inferred that "popping the bubbles" was the right amount of force. History truly is a fine teacher—even in the wizarding world.
Ravenclaw common room was quiet as ever, but that didn't mean no one ever played—first-years will be first-years. After finishing his history paper, Michael had already played gomoku for an hour. Seeing Sean still immersed, he traded a look with Terry (busy inspecting rocks), then spoke during a lull as Sean swapped books:
"Sean, I've never seen you do anything else… There's got to be more to a wizard's life than studying, right? Charms, Transfiguration, History—you've been miles ahead for ages. Don't you find it boring?"
Sean looked up. Boring? What are you talking about? This is magic.
It gives ridiculously immediate positive feedback—the more you learn, the more fun it gets, and the more motivation you have. And with magic, enough effort turns straight into usable power—visible, tangible. Not to mention its practicality and endless variety—idealism made real.
Then he realized something he'd overlooked: for wizardborn kids, magic is innate. Maybe that's why they don't cherish it as much. But Sean had spent three months on an orphanage sickbed; his heart had numbed along with his body. It was the owl that braved the storm to his window—and Professor McGonagall, who fronted money for supplies and secured bursaries and a scholarship—that gave him hope and fire again before he could even act for himself.
Having known the ordinary, he treasured magic as a miracle. He savored the feeling of world-shaping wonder blooming from his hands—and the proficiency panel sealed the deal.
"Hey, Sean—change of heart? Come play gomoku?" Michael said, seeing him reshelve a book.
"Sorry. I just want to study." Sean shook his head and pulled out another library loan: Advanced Potion-Making.