"Oh, are you alright, Sean?" Justin's voice rang out,
And in truth, Sean wasn't feeling too well. He felt as if he could already see what was about to happen.
He silently shifted to another spot, and soon heard a wave of whispering.
"What's Seamus trying to do, Ron?"
"He wants to turn the water in his cup into wine. A couple of days ago, he managed to turn it into weak tea, but then…"
"Then what?"
Suddenly, a massive cloud of scorching hot black smoke burst upward, completely engulfing Seamus.
Shards of shattered glass and droplets of water flew in every direction, and the young wizards around them screamed as they scrambled to get out of the way.
Hermione was so startled she stumbled back again and again, eyes wide.
The smoke gradually thinned, revealing Seamus.
His face was pitch black, as if he had just crawled out of a chimney. His hair was blasted upright in all directions, still trailing wisps of blue smoke.
He coughed violently, dazed, clearly stunned by the sudden magical backfire.
For an instant, the entire long table fell silent, then erupted into roaring laughter.
Ron laughed so hard he smacked the table, sending pumpkin juice splashing everywhere.
Harry couldn't hold back his own laughter and quickly ducked his head to hide it.
Only Justin rushed forward, offering a handkerchief.
"Are you alright, Seamus?"
Just then, as usual, a storm of owls swept into the Great Hall to deliver the morning mail, conveniently shifting everyone's attention.
Only Hermione stared suspiciously at Sean, who had quickly moved aside.
"You felt that surge of magic, didn't you?"
…
Ever since Professor Snape had given Sean that mysterious potion,
whenever he left the dungeons, one or two more potion bottles would always mysteriously appear on him,
sometimes with a note scrawled on them: Drink.
Other times, there was nothing written at all.
However, if Sean brought those crystal bottles full of potions back to the dungeon, Snape's mocking would become as rapid and relentless as machine-gun fire.
His progress with the Swelling Solution had been surprisingly fast; within two days, he had unlocked it.
At the same time, Snape had also taught him how to brew the Deflating Draught,
explaining,
"With your troll-like brewing technique, you're going to need it."
No matter what, Sean had learned another potion.
His status panel now looked like this:
[Title: Potion Novice]
[Scab Potion: Apprentice Level (220/300)]
[Swelling Elixir: Apprentice Level (1/300)]
[Anti-Swelling Elixir: Locked (1/30)]
[Next Stage: Unlock three beginner-level potions to reach Apprentice-Level Potion Brewer]
Compared to the steady but slow progress of Potions, his Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms skills were advancing much more quickly.
Tuesday.
Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
"N-now, who c-c-can tell me the three types of t-trolls?"
Professor Quirrell stammered nervously, his timid gaze sweeping over the Slytherins and Ravenclaws.
Eventually, Anthony stood up.
"Mountain trolls, river trolls, and forest trolls."
He continued,
"Mountain trolls are the largest in size. Their bodies are light gray, bald, their skin is tougher than a rhinoceros's, and their strength surpasses that of ten men.
However, their brains are only the size of a pea, so they're easily confused."
"V-very good, thank you."
While Quirrell called on students for symbolic answers,
Michael was flipping through Sean's Defense Against the Dark Arts notes nearby.
"Classification of Dark creatures — regional index, alphabetical index… corresponding counter-curses and defense spells…"
He was holding the notebook as if it were some kind of ancient magical manual.
"Sean, how did you even come up with all this?!"
He compared The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection with Sean's light blue notebook, And quickly discovered that the section on spells was even more detailed than what was written in the textbook.
"I bet you didn't just rely on the Defense Against the Dark Arts materials… Merlin's beard! This is as impressive as A History of Magic!"
Sean ignored him. His desk was scattered with books like Fundamentals of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Beginner's Guide.
Since Professor Quirrell had almost no real teaching ability, Sean had no choice but to study on his own. Before long, he managed to untangle the structure of Dark magic.
In fact, this was a question that had puzzled him in his previous life.
Dark magic and regular spells both required incantations and wand movements, so why were they classified so distinctly?
He eventually pieced together the answer after going through multiple books.
Spells and Dark magic were fundamentally different. Dark magic itself was divided into three categories:
Jinxes, Hexes, and Curses.
Jinxes: These had the mildest negative effects—annoying but often amusing. Examples included the Knockback Jinx, the Barrage Jinx, and the Disarming Jinx.
Hexes: These had moderate negative effects, causing a degree of pain or harm. Examples included the Bat-Bogey Hex, the Knee-Reversal Hex, and the Toenail Growth Hex.
Curses: These were the most dangerous, inflicting intense or even irreversible pain or damage. Examples included the Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse, and the Killing Curse.
By contrast, the spells Professor Flitwick taught were of another category entirely—Charms.
Suddenly, everything made sense. It also meant that talent in Dark magic and talent in Charms were not interchangeable.
After Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Michael was holding Sean's notes while Terry and the others stared at him eagerly.
"Ahem—if you want to read them, you can—" Before he could finish, even Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"Not a chance!"
Michael bolted, leaving a group of furious young wizards chasing after him.
He muttered to himself as he ran,
"Oh, these notes are like Sean's gold. He doesn't care much himself, but I can't just hand them out carelessly. I need to spread them around strategically… heh, looks like it's working pretty well already…"
Then he turned and smacked Terry on the back of the head.
"Terry, honestly! Didn't I tell you Sean said I could share them with you and Anthony? And you immediately forgot?!"
…
Noon.
Quidditch pitch.
After practicing spells, Sean mounted his broom with practiced ease.
Once he left the ground, he was no longer that frail boy who struggled even to run and jump.
The old Comet 260 shot into the sky like a silver fish. Wind brought color to his pale cheeks as he hugged the broomstick tightly, like a vine finding something sturdy to cling to.
Diving, turning, pulling up—
He executed Madam Hooch's commands with precision.
His proficiency kept climbing:
[You practiced flying with Expert Level Skill. Proficiency +50]
[You practiced flying with Expert Level Skill. Proficiency +50]
…
His frail body traced graceful, exact arcs through the air, bringing a smile to Madam Hooch's face as she watched from the sidelines.
She turned to the tall witch who had just arrived.
"Mr. Green is truly a born Quidditch star. Anyone can see it. Those brooms—those outdated, worn-out brooms—are more than enough for clumsy kids to practice on. The boy's content for now, but you can see it, can't you? They're beneath him."
The tall witch watched the young wizard reveling in long-lost freedom, a softness flickering in her eyes.
---
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