"Alright, Sean, I've got sothing juicy for you," Ron whispered
conspiratorially before they parted.
The Weasley twins leaned in as well.
"Get this—Percy's got himself a girlfriend," Ron revealed.
Fred dropped a heavy stack of books onto George's head in mock shock. "What?"
"She's a Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," Ron explained, eager to spill
every detail. "Ginny told all about it. That's why Percy was writing all
those letters last sumr. He's been sneaking off to et her all over the
castle. One day, Ginny even walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom."
Ron shrugged, his duty as a brother to expose Percy complete. "Try not to make
too much fun of him, eh?"
"I wouldn't dream of it," Fred said, looking as though Christmas had co six
months early.
"Absolutely not," George added, already stifling a laugh.
And so, the sumr holidays began amidst a chorus of laughter.
Once the Hogwarts Express departed, the castle grew imnsely quiet. This
silence afforded Sean much more room to practice the Fiendfyre Curse. Now, even
if he accidentally set the entire dungeon ablaze, he wouldn't risk harming any
Slytherins, as their common room was also deep underground.
Ti beca a blurred concept. Sean only knew that his proficiency with
Fiendfyre had climbed steadily from [Apprentice] to [Novice]. The speed at which
his Dark Magic proficiency progressed often left him slightly bewildered.
However, he knew that once he mastered Fiendfyre, he would secure his second
"Master" title.
Sean's life fell into a rigid, productive routine:
- Early morning: Practicing Occluncy and Legilincy under Professor Snape's
piercing gaze.
- Noon: Practicing the hundred varied thods of brewing complex potions.
- Afternoon: Effectively becoming a human gas tank, venting cursed flas.
- Occasionally: Being invited for afternoon tea by a beaming, unexpectedly
appearing Dumbledore.
Soon, another afternoon arrived. A few owls flew into the Great Hall—not many,
only four or five of varying sizes. Having stayed at Hogwarts long enough, Sean
could recognize the owners by the birds. The stout, round owl was Professor
Flitwick's ssenger; the barn owl was Professor Sprout's "Fluff-ball"—a na
she'd given it; the elegant, snowy-white one belonged to Professor McGonagall;
and leading the pack, the fastest of them all, was Snowy.
She brought the latest newspaper. Sean spread it out, but his gaze didn't linger
on the headlines. Instead, it dropped to the panel floating in his mind.
[Obstruction Jinx: Master (1800/?)] [Petrificus Totalus: Master (1100/?)]
[Sectumsempra: Master (2300/?)] [Reducto: Master (100/?)] [Expulso: Master
(100/?)] [Flipendo: Master (500/?)] [Fiendfyre: Adept (10/900)]
[Advancent: Seven Master-level Dark Arts spells required to unlock the title:
Master of Dark Magic (6/7)]
Fiendfyre had already reached the "Adept" tier. Sean realized with a start that
only two weeks had passed. Naturally, magical advancent slowed as one
approached the higher tiers, but this pace was still staggering. As he ate his
dinner in the hall, he pondered the reason. He hadn't adopted any cruel
philosophies; why was Dark Magic constantly "embracing" him?
He considered a more fundantal question: How does a wizard truly beco
powerful?
In the Hall, the long tables of the four houses were empty save for one lonely
student. At the High Table, however, nearly all the professors remained.
"Another year draws to a close, Minerva. The Scottish spring is far too short,
the winter too long. The days pass like a bird of happiness flitting by the
window," Dumbledore mused.
"Hogwarts sumrs aren't short," McGonagall countered, her eyes fixed on the
Daily Prophet. A moving magical photo showed a plump Ministry employee; the
caption read: [Ministry Official Wins Grand Prize].
"Is that so? I know wizards use clocks to track ti, but did you know so
wizards use magic instead?" Dumbledore winked, turning his gaze toward the
focused student below.
Sean was scribbling on a wide piece of parchnt, recording his progress and
organizing his thoughts.
Era of Blindness: Wizards were adept at mobilizing their raw emotional power.
They didn't rely on spells or wands; magic back then was manic and barbaric. Era
of Order: Ancient wizards erged, wielding the formidable "Ancient Magic" that
nearly toppled the dominant forces of the magical world. Compared to modern
magic, Ancient Magic inherited the ferocity of the previous era. Though few
mastered it, they were terrifyingly powerful. The most prominent among them was
rlin.
Sean's quill flickered as he filled the gaps in his Wizarding Magical Annals.
A wizard seeks within, establishing an unshakeable order in the heart. Magic is
the external manifestation of that internal order. What we call "Wisdom" is more
like the external laws wizards found to categorize magic...
He noted that after a certain amount of study, wizards eventually encounter
non-verbal casting. And once they do, they find it harder to go back to
incantations. Like Sean himself, who hadn't spoken the incantations for
Wingardium Leviosa or Scourgify in ages.
After non-verbal casting, they imdiately seek wandless magic. For example:
Headmaster Dumbledore pointing to the sky to save Harry; Professor Snape closing
a window with a wave of his sleeve; Voldemort flying without incantation or
wand. If wands and spells enhance power, why do high-level wizards always...
Sean thought for a mont and wrote down a phrase: "Doing subtraction to seek
the void."
The Hall was silent, save for the scratching of Sean's quill.
Did the accumulated wisdom of wizards truly raise the ceiling of magical power?
Or was it simply that these systems lowered the floor, allowing more people to
use it?
If this could be proven, Sean would know the true path to greatness. Was it
becoming more familiar with spells? Or more fluid with gestures? Or was it about
using one's will to define magic?
"If wizards only beca powerful by mastering external laws, then newly created
spells should be primitive and weak. Yet the opposite is true. Look at
Dumbledore's unique fire-channeling or Grindelwald's modified Fiendfyre..."
Sean suddenly understood.
Subtract the clutter to find the void; let the internal order endure.
Could this be the true essence of magic?
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