[You've fully prepared a nettle to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
[You've fully prepared a nettle to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
...
[Herbology Knowledge unlocked]
[New title unlocked in Herbology domain—please check]
[One wizard talent unlocked—please check]
After two full days of effort,
Sean finally unlocked his Herbology title.
He couldn't wait to take a look:
[Title: Herbology Intern]
[Slightly increases perception of plants, slightly boosts Herbology talent]
Increased plant perception?
Sounded promising enough.
Sean scrolled down:
[Wizard Sean, Herbology Talent: Green (boosted by Herbology Intern title; original talent: White) Note: Average for wizards is Green]
His talent had a knack for disappointing—
Never failing to deliver on that front.
Fine then.
At least I can grind proficiency to change it.
Sean thought.
He soon felt the perks of the talent shift firsthand.
While identifying mature dried nettles, a strange intuition guided him to pick one just ripened to perfection. After soaking and prepping it, he earned his first "basic" in the Herbology domain:
[You've fully prepared a nettle to basic standard. Proficiency +3]
The magical world of talents, indeed.
Sean's stereotypes about wizarding life only deepened.
"Excellent work, Mr. Green—two points to Ravenclaw!"
Professor Sprout bustled over, a touch of surprise in her voice.
"Everyone, gather round! Look at these prepped nettles—the stinging hairs and short soft ones are gone. That's a hallmark of top-quality nettle material—
Mr. Green, you're coming along splendidly."
As the class peered at the nettles, the professor murmured her encouragement.
Herbology wrapped up quickly. As they filed out of the greenhouse,
Sean caught snippets of whispers from the young wizards.
"Who's that?"
"Sean Green—you haven't heard of him?"
"Quite the opposite; I'm sick of hearing it. They say he's brilliant in Charms and Transfiguration—is he from a wizarding family?"
"That's the worst part: word is, he's Muggle-born..."
When Sean glanced their way, the two chatting students flushed red and hurried off.
"Sean, looks like you're famous now."
Michael chimed in, his tone dripping with tease.
"About time, eh? I've never seen a wizard ace everything magical... except Potions, maybe."
Michael's ribbing fizzled out by Astronomy.
"...Stairs, stairs, more bloody stairs—Terry, you see the end yet?"
He huffed between breaths, shooting Sean a deliberate look mid-chat with Terry.
The young wizard's face was still ashen.
"They say the Astronomy Tower's the tallest in all Hogwarts... even beats Ravenclaw Tower..."
Michael dished his gossip while trailing half a step behind Sean.
"...Is it, though?"
Anthony mumbled in reply, then edged closer to Michael without a word.
The two flanked the pale-faced young wizard, one on each side.
The witch who taught Astronomy was Professor Aurora Sinistra—a woman with an otherworldly air about her.
She showed the young wizards how to use telescopes to observe the stars, teaching them constellation names and planetary paths.
Her classroom brimmed with gadgets: orreries, moon charts, moonscopes, star charts, telescopes galore.
It resembled some sort of observatory,
The main difference being the breathtaking night sky—and the precise magical instruments humming quietly away.
Familiar with telescope mechanics from his past life, Sean caught Professor Sinistra's eye early on.
She even let him use a massive metal orb to predict the orbit of Jupiter's moon Io.
...
That left Terry green with envy. The usually quiet boy asked more than three times how it felt to use.
Sean described it in detail, his longing plain as day:
"Oh! Merlin's beard! It must be incredible—that's a rare Moonscope..."
After Astronomy,
It was nearing curfew.
Sean had climbed two tall towers in a row, leaving his face a bit drawn, but it didn't stop him from sorting his notes.
If he remembered right, first-years mainly covered star names and planetary motions.
Not tough—just memorize them all.
The only tricky bit might be charting the orbits, but for Sean? Child's play.
Don't underestimate the power of compulsory education!
Notes sorted, Sean pulled out his Potions and History of Magic books.
Prep for brewing was done; now he hunted for tips in these texts.
The instructions were strict steps with scant detail,
But Sean gleaned fuzzy hints from the fine print:
[For the Antidote to Common Poisons, stir counterclockwise twice, then clockwise three times—stirring force must be moderate...]
What counted as "moderate," though?
Sean found his answer in A History of Magic:
[Self-Stirring Cauldrons are enchanted to stir potions automatically; the spoon often bursts bubbles...]
Sean reckoned bursting bubbles meant moderate force.
History as a teacher held true—even in the wizarding world.
...
The Ravenclaw common room.
It was always quiet, but that didn't mean the wizards studied nonstop.
Truth was, kids this age were incorrigible mischief-makers.
Michael had finished his History of Magic essay an hour ago—and spent it deep in a game of Gobstones.
Spotting Sean still buried in his books, he traded a glance with Terry, who was fiddling with odd stones.
Seizing the moment as Sean swapped volumes, Michael piped up:
"Sean, not to nag, but I've never seen you do anything but study...
A wizard's life can't be all books, right?
You're miles ahead in Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic... Merlin, who knows how far?
Tell me—you don't find it dull?"
Sean looked up.
Dull?
What... are you even talking about?
This was magic!
With its absurd instant positive feedback, it only got more fascinating, more motivating the deeper you dove.
And for magic, enough effort turned straight into usable power—
Tangible, feelable.
Never mind the practicality, the endless versatility—like idealistic miracles made real.
It hit Sean then: he'd overlooked something key.
The young wizards' magic was innate, second nature.
Maybe that's why they didn't cherish it quite so fiercely.
But for Sean? He'd spent three months bedridden in the orphanage,
His heart numbing right alongside his body.
It was that fearless owl braving the snow to deliver his letter,
Professor McGonagall footing the bill for supplies, chasing scholarships on his behalf—
They'd reignited his hope and fire for life, long before he could stand on his own.
Having known the ordinary, Sean treasured magic's miracles all the more.
He relished the thrill of birthing world-altering wonders from his own hands.
Not to mention the Proficiency System—proof eternal, gains forever.
"Huh, Sean—you've come round? Fancy a game of Gobstones?"
Michael watched him shelve the book, inviting him eagerly.
"Sorry—I just want to study."
Sean shook his head, pulling another library loaner: Advanced Potion-Making.