MeowthTL

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 145

Chapter 145: Ritual Magic​

Alchemy was far more awe-inspiring and fascinating than Shawn had ever imagined.

The professor promised him an afternoon each week, and she meant it so seriously that even her class time was folded into those lessons.

She led Shawn into the classroom. The students barely noticed the extra presence, too absorbed in their own struggles just to complete their assignments.

Shawn finally had time to look around. The room was filled with all kinds of instruments, and there were not many people inside. Most were from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, with the occasional Gryffindor or Slytherin.

As the professor taught, she had Shawn watch from the very first step—processing materials, to inscribing runes, to infusing magic.

The whole lesson passed, and only a handful of students managed to produce a Howler.

The professor’s expression was no better than those who had just sent out their Howlers.

“Before you learn, seeing the full process of Alchemy is like setting the sails for a ship,” the professor said, ignoring the older students who were leaving. She turned, hands clasped behind her back, and spoke with deep sincerity.

Compared to those upper-years who learned confused and limited, Professor Tyra’s expectations for Shawn were much stricter.

“Alchemy, as a noble and ancient art, has always kept its secrets about endless wealth and perfect souls hidden.

“For those truly gifted witches and wizards, these secrets will finally be revealed.”

Professor Tyra held up a notebook, its pages blank.

“You have one week to record your choices for the materials of the Howler. Remember, Mr Green, slow is fast.”

Alongside the assignment came several books, clearly handpicked. Some of their contents had been obscured by Confundus Charms, leaving only the most precise information.

It seemed Professor Tyra understood perfectly the dreamlike records of alchemists.

“It is not that alchemists deliberately make their writings obscure. Remember this, just as you remember the three stages of Alchemy: selection and melting of materials, transformation and sublimation of metals, and the inscribing and metamorphosis of runes.”

The professor seemed to read his thoughts and smiled.

“In the history of the magical world, alchemists have always tried to turn base metals into shining gold. For them, the world is alive, filled with spiritual power.

“With the right knowledge and the right tools, one can harness these forces. With this noble and ancient art, metal can live, die, and be reborn.”

Lost in thought, Shawn quietly left the classroom.

He had a rough grasp of the three stages of Alchemy in practice—selection, transformation, and the elevation brought by inscribing magical runes.

The professor’s task was in the “blackening” stage: selecting materials, removing impurities.

She would not allow him to look up the materials used for Howlers, only telling him:

“Think carefully, Mr Green. Think carefully.”

So Shawn’s attention turned entirely to the books the professor provided.

They listed dozens of possible materials, making no mention of the four elements, seven planets, or the Philosopher’s Stone, but simply listing possibilities. It was more than enough for Shawn to explore.

Alchemy truly was vast, especially when the professor told him not to skim the surface, but to feel, with his intuition, what Alchemy meant to a witch or wizard.

For several days, whenever the little wizards in the Hope Room saw Shawn, he was studying the differences between various materials.

He read through every book the professor gave him and quickly found the answers.

Another Monday arrived.

The wind howled outside. Professor Tyra sat in her chair, gazing at Shawn with a hint of curiosity.

“Five days, Mr Green. Have you gained any insight?”

“In Alchemy: A Development, it says that witches and wizards have studied Alchemy almost as long as Muggles have,” Shawn mused, as if speaking to himself, “so why are only witches and wizards able to make the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Because Alchemy, like brewing potions, shares a root thread. This root thread is reserved for magic.

“Correct knowledge and suitable tools are only points in a witch or wizard’s ritual magic. In the end, the ritual always tests the witch or wizard’s spiritual strength. History, knowledge, and the symbolism of materials all serve to reinforce the witch or wizard’s will.

“As The Fifth Element: Exploration mentions, the success of Alchemy is the success of a witch or wizard’s magic.

“It is the witch or wizard who believes the alchemical creation will work, not the creation itself that starts moving.”

Shawn’s eyes sparkled. If this was true, he could open the same path for Alchemy as he had for Potions.

Professor Tyra’s expression shifted, and she stood quickly.

“Child, for three days each week, I want to see you in the Alchemy office.”

…

In only five days, Shawn understood why the professor found Muggle science so interesting.

Alchemy was inherently mysterious. Destroying that mystery made Alchemy difficult to succeed in.

Think about it. If a witch or wizard believed the world had gravity and was certain that feathers could not fly, would feathers still fly?

The professor’s task seemed to have ended, yet it also had not ended.

She had taught Shawn a remarkable spell that made finding materials much easier—

Scarpin’s Revela Spell.

It was a spell used to correctly identify the ingredients of a given potion, invented by Scarpin. Of course, it could also be used in Alchemy.

Professor Slughorn introduced the spell in sixth-year Potions, though only Hermione truly understood it.

“Small tools, Mr Green. Necessary tools,” Professor Tyra said, her eyes brimming with barely contained admiration. She assumed Shawn would master the spell quickly.

Reality made her frown.

Her student, one who was naturally suited to Alchemy, was stuck on such a simple spell.

“The same time tomorrow, Mr Green. I have an afternoon for you.”

After saying this, the professor left for her office, puzzled.

Shawn stood there, dazed.

Tomorrow afternoon… he was supposed to brew potions in the dungeon.

He was only ten points of proficiency away from mastering Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Once he reached entry level, he could unlock a new Potions talent and finally open the door to Alchemy.

Now these two doors had collided. If he dared to open one, he could not imagine what would come bursting from the other.

As Shawn wandered the corridor, lost in thought, Michael and Terry, with his messy curls, happened to pass by.

“Oh, Shawn, I knew I would find you here. Just returning your Charms class notes—huh? Scarpin’s Revela Spell? You’re not going to start counting windows, are you?!”

Michael cried out suddenly.

“Windows are important!” Terry retorted, his face turning a little red.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 144

Chapter 144: Two Knights​

For a long time, Shawn did not see Sir Cadogan. He found himself wandering through the castle again out of habit, something that never existed in his schedule before.

But now, a faint, nagging worry pushed him down corridor after corridor.

“Little Green, please get the knight to shut his mouth!”

Lady Violet appeared inside the painting of a rice field, wearing a white underdress.

“Lady Violet,” Shawn greeted her politely, then listened with growing tension as she described the knight’s “glorious deeds” over the past few days.

Trapped inside a corridor portrait, he would not stop talking. For three days straight, nobody had seen him in person. Only an occasional voice, poetic as a recital, drifted out, mixed with screams.

When Shawn slipped quietly into the dungeons, a senior Slytherin had just finished brewing a potion. The older student threw several nervous looks between Shawn and the depths of the dungeon, then fled as if running for his life.

Shawn spotted Sir Cadogan’s portrait at a glance. The knight was tied to a wooden pole in a chaotic mess of rope by a group of trolls. If the bonfire beneath him had ever caught, Shawn suspected the next time he saw the knight would be inside a troll’s stomach.

Even bruised and swollen, even in mortal danger, Sir Cadogan was still shouting at the top of his lungs:

“Last year, I worshipped wine,
This year, I watch hope more than prejudice.
Last year, I stared into flame.
This year, I am a kebab skewer.
Ah, today I am a lion with head held high,
Lost entirely in the guarding of hope.”

The ladies followed behind Shawn. They tossed chunks of meat to lure the trolls away, then struggled mightily to drag the knight out.

“Sir, lower your voice. Consider it doing me a favour,” Lady Violet ground out through clenched teeth.

“Of course, my lady. Article Four of the chivalric code: Always render aid to a lady,” Sir Cadogan said. He had quieted a little, but he was still half chanting, half singing, as if reciting a spell.

“You stubborn donkey stuck in a mud pit, listen to me.
For now, stop being sad.
Listen to blessings as their petals fall all around you.”

From deeper in the dungeon came the sound of a jar shattering. Sir Cadogan panicked instantly.

“My lady, faster. Faster!”

Seeing him like that, Lady Violet finally snorted with laughter, while the Fat Lady stuffed an apple into his mouth.

She also stuffed an apple into her own mouth and mumbled around it, “Little Green, you are always willing to forgive a fat lady with an apple in her mouth, are you not?”

Shawn answered seriously, “Yes, my lady. I still trust you.”

“Oh, child…” The Fat Lady’s eyes went damp at the corners.

When they finally left the dungeons, Shawn did not ask why Sir Cadogan had been singing for days. He only said, “Sir, you have already helped enough.”

Sir Cadogan, battered and bruised, bared his teeth from the pain but did not speak.

Only after Shawn hurried off towards the Alchemy office did the knight mutter, “What a perfect chance. Two children with noble knightly qualities. Oh, loyalty, and courage…”

Outside, snow and wind fell in a steady curtain. Shawn headed upstairs, not noticing that a thin line had stretched from the dungeons to a warm hand, then spread between Professor Tyra’s fingers and became a sheet of parchment.

Shawn Green.

Among all the first-years, he stood out sharply. Several professors had taken notice of him.

Even that Potions professor…

That was normal. A true master of Alchemy was usually skilled in nearly every branch of magic. That was how they earned the right to glimpse Alchemy’s mysteries.

But that child seemed too exceptional.

Professor Tyra had not seen a student this talented, this quiet, this grounded in a very long time. Staying in the greenhouse for months was not easy, especially in weather as harsh as Scotland’s.

The blandness in her expression gradually faded, yet her confidence remained. Among all branches of magic, only Alchemy held miracles powerful enough to change the world.

But it was still not enough.

…

At the same time, inside the Hope Room.

Everyone sat gathered around the fireplace. Justin’s voice rose and fell with the crackling of the flames and the soft sound of breathing.

“The Hope Room is hidden. Mr Owl will not allow outsiders in, but we cannot burden him with trouble.”

“If someone wants to bring in a new member, everyone has to agree.”

“This room itself is a gift, meant to nurture and safeguard hope. So do you understand? If you want to mess about, do it in the common room.”

Justin rattled off several rules in one breath, and they were generally accepted.

Only now, after listening this far, did Harry and Ron feel that they had truly joined. They listened to every word, terrified of missing anything.

“If a member of the Hope Room gets into trouble, and we can help, then we help. Even if it is wrong, we go wrong together to the end,” Justin said, and everyone grew stirred at once.

Then he continued, “Inside this room, trust your companions.”

Everyone froze.

Justin’s pale blue eyes held warmth in perfect measure, along with quiet resolve.

“We are companions, everyone. When a companion makes a decision, even if they say or do something in this room that nobody understands…”

“All we need to do is support them. That is what companions are for.”

Hearing those words, Harry and Ron felt as if they had been handed an unbelievable gift.

They were companions. In this room, they were trusted completely.

Hermione and Neville went a little blank, while Harry and Ron felt almost purified by it.

“Yes…” Hermione’s instincts twitched with unease. She trusted Shawn and Justin, and perhaps Neville as well. But with Harry and Ron, she did not know what to say.

Yet when she remembered the two of them bursting out from behind a door on Halloween, somehow, she found she could accept it.

“My mother told me this,” Justin murmured, as if speaking to himself. “If trust is not absolute, then it is absolute distrust.”

“The price of deception is high, for either side. Because it means the one who was deceived can no longer trust their companions.”

The words dropped heavily into Harry and Ron’s hearts. The moment they imagined paying that price, they would rather face a troll alone.

The discussion did not last long. By the time Shawn climbed the spiral staircase and looked up at the kindly professor, Hogwarts was drowning in snow.

A soft hiss of snowfall filled the Hope Room, and for those who had faced a troll together, even their breathing seemed to stamp itself with each other’s heartbeat.

Justin took out a well-preserved note, still carrying the warmth of his mother’s words:

“My child.

Trust is a room with countless windows.

Its chambers are like cedar.

A slanting sky is its eternal roof.

Its visitors are the most noble.

And its purpose is this:

Use your small hands to gather heaven.”

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 143

Chapter 143: Shawn Can Do Anything

Hogwarts portraits were the most convincing form of realist art. Each painting was steeped in its subject’s memories and emotions, and the figures inside could wander between frames, talk to the living, drink and make merry, sing at the top of their lungs, or shriek until the corridor rang.

But even portraits that could speak and hold conversations did not usually turn from witches or knights into animals.

Ron’s vision went black for a second because the owl started questioning them.

“Little wizard. Idiot little wizard. A snake’s enemy, yes. Who is the snake’s enemy?”

Ron and Harry were even more surprised when Hermione and Justin actually started thinking hard. They struggled to come up with an answer until a slip of parchment wriggled out from under the door. Justin picked it up and said, “A deer. In the history of symbolic signs, the deer is ‘the snake’s enemy, driving the snake out of its hole and killing it.’”

Mr Owl showed a very human look of disdain. “Borrowing another’s wisdom can still count as wisdom, but constantly borrowing…”

Before it could finish, it froze stiff, and a door appeared.

Harry and Ron comforted themselves by thinking it was like that odd Ravenclaw door knocker. Right now, they were buzzing with excitement. No wonder nobody could find this secret organisation. This was a secret base guarded by an owl.

At the same time, they were anxious. “Mr Finnigan, what if we cannot answer?” they asked, their voices turning careful without them noticing.

“It is fine. Even if you cannot answer, you can still come in,” Justin explained patiently.

“What?” Harry and Ron cried out. Then what had they just been doing?

“Do you not think answering questions is interesting?” Hermione asked, chin lifted.

Harry and Ron shook their heads so hard they looked like drinking birds.

As they talked, they stepped into the room. It was almost as large as the Gryffindor common room. Two wooden tables sat inside, along with a fireplace crackling and snapping. Carpets lay beneath the tables and by the hearth, and cosy pumpkin lanterns had been set on top.

The plants were numerous and neatly arranged, and countless candles floated in mid-air. In the centre was a soft-looking sofa, with several individual desks nearby.

Those desks had movable wooden panels fitted to them, as if they were the product of Transfiguration. How could they tell? The moment they came in, the panel on one of the desks began lowering slowly.

It was Shawn. He smiled warmly and nodded to them.

Harry and Ron hurriedly nodded back. For a moment, they felt as though they had never truly known Hogwarts Castle at all. How else could a room like this exist without them knowing a thing?

Suddenly, a voice made Harry and Ron jump.

“Fasten your coat properly. Crooked as anything, you look like a burnt strip of dough,” the voice scolded.

Harry spun around in alarm. After a moment, he stared at the mirror in disbelief.

“It… looks like the mirror at my house,” Ron whispered, finally regaining his senses. He meant the mirror on the kitchen mantelpiece at the Burrow. It was the same kind of alchemical item.

Harry nodded dumbly. At this point, even if Professor Snape climbed out of the wooden cabinet, Harry would not be surprised.

“Harry… Ron…” Neville came trotting over with scissors in hand. “I am so happy… to see you here… I have wanted to tell you for ages, but I did not dare…”

“Oh, it is not your fault, Neville,” Harry said, genuinely moved. He understood Neville perfectly. If he had a base like this, he would not tell anyone either. Of course, Ron and Hermione did not count. Shawn and Justin did not count either. Oh, and Neville too.

The thought made him laugh. It was like everyone who mattered was already here.

“All right,” Ron said, stammering. “I am ready to accept the miraculous magic.” Harry nodded as well.

“What do you mean, accept the miraculous magic?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The magic Shawn cast on Neville. The one that makes people smarter,” Ron said, sounding embarrassed but hopeful.

“Harry, Ron, do you think Shawn is Merlin?” Justin laughed, nearly doubling over with one hand pressed to his forehead. “How could there be magic like that?”

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione said, shaking her head with a mix of frustration and amusement. “You two are such idiots.”

“Then how did Neville…” Harry began, eager to explain.

Justin stopped laughing and looked at him seriously. “It’s Neville’s own effort, really. We just… Shawn mostly… helped a bit.”

He pointed to the wooden rack by the entrance. The moment Ron looked over, his eyes practically shone with gold. Green Notes. Complete, thick, the kind he had never even imagined.

Ron had never thought he would live to believe a book was better the thicker it was, but the Green Notes were not like those stupid textbooks. He could actually understand them easily.

“You can write your questions on the parchment at the back of the notes,” Justin said. “In the morning, Shawn will write the answers. Right. What branches of magic do you still not understand?”

Justin was strong across most subjects, nearly catching up to Hermione. He was currently Hufflepuff’s best student, and some of them even teased him by calling him Little Hermione.

“Er…” Harry and Ron mumbled, glancing at each other, too embarrassed to admit what they were struggling with.

Justin nodded, his expression understanding. “Got it. Looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle, but that’s all right.”

“The Green Notes can help with most things,” he continued. “If you’re still stuck, come to me or Neville for Herbology. For Charms and Transfiguration, Hermione’s your best bet. And if you’re still not sure, just catch Shawn on the way to the Great Hall. Oh, and try to get him when he’s not busy and in a good mood—he’s a lot more patient then.”

He gave them a knowing look, making sure they’d caught that last bit. “Anything else you want to ask?”

Harry and Ron, still a little dazed, shook their heads in unison.

Two new wooden desks had appeared in the room, set up by Justin well in advance. Harry and Ron sat down, excitement bubbling inside them. Steaming honey lemon tea waited on their table, the cabinet overflowed with Green Notes, and a small log table held an assortment of sweets. They exchanged a look, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

This was brilliant.

Even after the fire had burned for a while, Harry and Ron still could not believe they had just been admitted to this secret room. A sign behind the door told them the room’s name: The Gifted Hope Room.

After a while, when it was almost time for dinner, Harry and Ron finally nudged Justin, curiosity getting the better of them. “Mr. Finnigan,” Harry asked, “what’s our club called? And… are there rules?”

Justin paused, caught off guard. Their little group had always been easygoing—Shawn and Justin never needed to spell things out, and Hermione usually kept to herself while Neville was too shy to stir up trouble. None of them would ever bring in outsiders without permission or blab about the room’s location.

But now that Harry and Ron were here, it felt like things should be a little more official.

“We should talk about it,” Justin said, raising his voice so everyone could hear. “Everyone, come here.”

At that moment, Shawn had already slipped out of the Hope Room.

“Wait, isn’t Shawn joining?” Harry asked, frowning.

Justin shook his head. “Shawn doesn’t follow rules. He can do whatever he wants.”

He glanced at Hermione and Neville. Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, “He’s not like the rest of you,” while Neville just nodded, his cheeks turning pink.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 142

Chapter 142: New Members​

Nearly all of Gryffindor was gathered at the Gryffindor table, including Harry and Ron.

They sat there eating whatever they could get onto their forks—bread, flatbread, mushrooms—while they brainstormed ways to boost their scheme’s chances. Most of these ideas were tough to pull off, but just talking about them somehow lifted their spirits.

Ron even started teaching Harry Wizard Chess. Wizard Chess was exactly like Muggle chess, except the pieces were alive, so it felt more like commanding an army on the battlefield.

Ron’s set was old, battered, and worn. Everything Ron owned had once belonged to someone else in his family, and this chess set had been his grandfather’s. But the age of the pieces did not matter at all. Ron knew them intimately and could direct them with effortless authority.

Harry was using the set Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and the pieces did not trust him in the slightest. Harry was not very good yet, and the pieces kept shouting conflicting advice at him until his head rang.

“Do not send me there. Cannot you see your knight? Send him instead. It does not matter if he gets sacrificed.”

“The knight cannot,” Harry said, rubbing between his brows, forcing the bickering piece forward anyway.

Scattered around them were books like Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Who’s Who of Contemporary Wizards, Major Discoveries of Modern Magic, and Studies in the Development of Recent Wizardry, making it look as though they were hunting for someone.

Unsurprisingly, Harry lost. When he and Ron looked at each other, they both knew it was time to face that maddening question again.

“I bet there has to be some kind of trial,” Ron said with certainty. “Remember that Secret Passage Club? Fred and George’s little clandestine thing. Officially it was the Castle Explorers Club, but really it was just sneaking around using secret passages.

“Their trial was running straight into a wall with your eyes shut. Nobody knows if there really is a passage behind that wall. Everyone who has done it says it is terrifying.”

Harry remembered. Back then, outside the changing room, Fred and George had waggled their eyebrows at the younger student and said, “Yes. If you do not shut your eyes and ram into it, you will never know there is a passage behind it.”

Determination flashed in Harry’s eyes.

“We will pass the trial.”

He thought, what could possibly be more frightening than homework that never ended?

Professor McGonagall had savaged their Transfiguration essay, and Professor Snape had coldly deducted five points for their paper.

At this rate, Gryffindor’s House points would disappear entirely.

They exchanged a look and saw the same resolve in each other’s eyes.

“What are they doing now?” Hermione muttered, finally recovering, only to see Harry and Ron striding over, looking positively stirred to heroism.

They reached the Great Hall doors, then quietly hid behind a suit of armour, as if waiting for something.

By the entrance, the four House hourglasses stood in silence. Ravenclaw, after one wild dip and climb, had remained firmly in first place ever since.

Even Ron had said in despair that unless Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup, they would never catch Ravenclaw.

Then he had brightened again. “But Slytherin will not either.”

Food gradually vanished from the tables, and the desserts that appeared later faded away as well.

Holding The Fifth Element: Exploration, Shawn was about to leave the Great Hall for the Hope Room when he spotted the two of them sneaking about.

“Harry? Ron?” Shawn asked softly. They had shown up too many times not to notice.

“Oh. Shawn,” Harry blurted, jolting in shock at the unexpected voice. “We want to join the trial. Whatever the organisation is, we…”

Only when he realised what he had just said did Ron’s face collapse into pure despair.

“Right. Agreed,” Shawn said, looking at them. In an instant, he understood exactly what they were trying to do. “You, Ron, and you as well, Harry. But you need to ask the others what they think.”

Shawn did not mind, not if everyone in the Hope Room agreed. And if Harry and Ron paid close attention, they might even bring news about that mysterious person. That was not bad at all.

“Ah,” Ron stammered, joy hitting him too suddenly for his mind to catch up. “You mean, ah, I mean… there is no trial? Like making us run into a wall or something.”

He dragged the conversation onto the topic they had prepared, and the more he spoke, the smoother it came out.

At the same time, his eyes inexplicably reddened. Shawn had said him, and Harry too.

“Run into a wall?” Shawn raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. Ron means we will go ask right away,” Harry said quickly, clapping a hand over Ron’s mouth and pulling him away.

“…Ron, why do we have to run into a wall at all?” Harry said helplessly once they were out of earshot. He had never seen anyone so eager to smash their own head into stone.

“Er,” Ron’s face turned red with embarrassment, and a touch of lingering fear. Why had he said everything out loud?

“We really lost our minds in front of Shawn,” Harry said.

They looked at each other, and both burst into laughter.

The next day, Wednesday.

In the Hope Room that morning, Shawn sat by the fire, organising his notes.

He had added a great deal to Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and when he placed the materials into the wooden cabinet by the entrance, the enchanted mirror started shouting, “Neat. Clean. But the style is a bloody mess!”

Shawn silently reviewed his outfit: scarf, jumper, gloves, robes, and the hat he had started wearing lately. Nearly everything came from a different source.

It was not wrong.

So he returned to his seat by the fireplace and went back to his Alchemy books, since he would be going to see Professor Tyra that afternoon.

Then a noisy commotion rose from outside the room.

“Mr Finnigan, do we really not need to do anything?” That was Harry’s voice.

“Oh, yeah, erm, we do not mind…” That was Ron.

“Do you think this place eats people?” Hermione’s voice followed, helpless and amused.

“Of course not. The important thing is to remember one thing: Mr Owl,” Justin said, greeting them warmly.

Only then did Harry and the others notice the owl with gold-rimmed spectacles painted on the wall.

“It is brilliant,” Ron whispered to Harry, his voice trembling with excitement.

“Little wizard. More idiots,” Mr Owl said, giving them a sideways look. This time he did not flap his wings. “Answer my question!”

“An owl in a painting that talks?” Ron jerked so hard he nearly fell over.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 141

Chapter 141: The Plan​

Professor Snape was the complete opposite of Professor McGonagall. When Shawn got a step wrong, Professor McGonagall would patiently guide him towards the correct sequence until he produced a proper piece of Transfiguration. Professor Snape, on the other hand, would wear a cold sneer, make Shawn say the wrong answer out loud, then bury the correct one beneath a flood of mockery.

Shawn had expected it. He quickly wrote down the real answer hidden inside the insults, and Professor Snape finally stopped.

The cauldron’s fire died down. Shawn’s scarf, like a soldier that actually did its job, kept out the freezing wind so he could focus on the parchment.

Snape stared icily at him, and at the parchment covered in the fusion enlightenment method.

A piece of knowledge beyond price, knowledge that would make any Potioneer’s heart race.

Snape had never imagined someone could be foolish enough to share such a thing. But now, he had met exactly that sort of fool.

Something indescribable, unsettling, and repulsive churned behind his expressionless face.

“You should not tell anyone… Shawn Green…” he hissed. “Still. Not bad. A fairly excellent method.”

Shawn nearly thought he had misheard. Exhausted, he muttered without thinking, “What did you say… Professor?”

“Fairly…” Snape’s voice snapped. “Get out. Out. Now. Immediately. Shawn Green, take your idiotic tools and get out!”

Snape suddenly erupted. Shawn was practically thrown out of the dungeon, and then ten Galleons were tossed after him, landing neatly in his hands.

After steadying himself in the corridor, Shawn walked a little farther away. Next time, he would not speak when he was tired.

“I knew you were a warrior,” came booming laughter from the corridor. Sir Cadogan clutched his stomach, howling. “Oh, little Green, I must tell everyone about this…”

He laughed until tears ran down his face, completely failing to notice that Shawn had already reached the end of the passage.

“Sir Cadogan, he…” Shawn asked the Fat Lady, who had drifted closer. Sometimes the knight really was a little too fearless.

Just look at his glorious record: charging Headmaster Black on a pony and knocking him over, punching and kicking Headmaster Black, and openly mocking Professor Snape right at the dungeon door.

Listening to the screams coming from the dungeon entrance, Shawn’s gaze stayed fixed there for a long time.

“Oh… my foolish knight. Let us hope he knows to run farther away in heaven,” the Fat Lady said, wiping at her eyes. With her head lowered and one hand covering her face, she kept sneaking glances at Shawn whenever he was not looking.

Shawn went still. He had not expected the knight to be in real trouble.

“Fat Lady, you have frightened little Green,” Lady Violet said softly, stepping out from another portrait carrying a plate of fruit.

Then Shawn noticed the Fat Lady was not actually crying at all. She had only smeared plain water on her face.

Without a word, Shawn walked away.

“All right, are you satisfied now?” Lady Violet said crossly, shoving an apple into the Fat Lady’s mouth. “You fat woman. Let us hope the apple can plug that mouth of yours.”

…

In the Great Hall, Hermione was arguing with Harry and the others about coming in.

“I noticed something about Professor Snape earlier,” Harry said to Hermione.
“On Halloween, he tried to get past that three-headed dog—and it bit him.”

Harry lowered his voice and rushed on before Hermione could interrupt.
“We thought he was trying to steal whatever it was guarding. The dog—no, Fluffy. He belongs to Hagrid.”
“Hagrid bought him off a Greek chappie he met in a pub last year, and he lent Fluffy to Dumbledore to guard something really valuable.”

“Yes, Hermione, don’t you get it?” Ron added, bristling with indignation. “During the Quidditch match, he was jinxing the broom. He wanted Harry to fall to his death!

“That was not Professor Snape. The one casting the jinx was not him!” Hermione shot back.

“Honestly, Hermione, you always think every teacher is a saint,” Ron could not help saying.

“If you do not believe it, go ask Shawn!” Hermione stamped her foot in anger.

The three of them split up at that.

“Of course, we can ask Shawn. Because Shawn will definitely agree with her. Shawn knows her better than we do…” Ron sagged for a moment, then said irritably.

Harry did not know whether Ron was right. He only felt even more anxious about the plan that came next.

Not far from Gryffindor’s table was a long table piled highest with pudding.

As Shawn ate, Justin and Hermione watched Harry and Ron whispering to each other.

“What do you think, will Shawn agree?” Hermione asked worriedly. “Justin, I mean. Aside from them being a bit thick.”

Even though Hermione usually found Harry and Ron unbearable, once Justin told her in advance why their behaviour had turned odd, she still chose to accept them.

Think about it. Harry carried a famous name, yet he had none of the ability that should come with it. Someone at Hogwarts wanted to kill him, and he had even accused the wrong person.

That person was like a viper. Yes, a viper hiding in the dark, ready to swallow Harry whole, that “poor orphan”.

And Harry couldn’t even manage simple spells. All day long, he only cared about the Quidditch pitch, never taking his studies seriously.

“Shawn?” Justin smiled gently.

Together, they looked at Shawn, who was flipping through a notebook that burst into little fireworks every time he turned the page. The Weasleys had left him quite a few “surprises.”

“What do you think, Hermione?” Justin said. “More importantly, how long do you think it will take those two to actually ask?”

“Two idiots,” Hermione sighed, unable to hold it in.

“Don’t rush them, Hermione. Give them a bit more time. Not everyone is born standing in the sunlight,” Justin said, smiling as he tried to comfort her. But his gaze dipped slightly, and it did not land on Harry and Ron at all.

Thanks to his mother’s teaching, Justin had always understood people more easily than most. Harry was an orphan, but his foster family had at least taken responsibility for him, so he did not have to worry about freezing or falling ill. Ron seemed to have plenty of brothers. His insecurity came from having outstanding older siblings and friends, but he was unquestionably happy. His mother said money and happiness were not always tied together.

Harry might be thin, but he had never once exhausted himself in Charms. Ron was certainly poor, but the parcels the Weasleys sent him were no fewer than anyone else’s.

As the fire roared in the hearth, a faint flame still flickered in Justin’s eyes. Outside the windows, a brutal snowstorm raged, as if it were covering the coarse, cold earth. His voice blurred naturally into the wind and snow.

“Hermione, you know… unlike them, some people are too brave and too quiet. We all forget the pain they have had to endure.”

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 140

Chapter 140: Mysterious Alchemy​

This was the second day since Shawn had found Professor Tyra.

It was also Tuesday at Hogwarts.

The weather was cold, but the sky was clear.

In the corridor, Shawn carried a stack of books. Every so often, one of them floated up beside him and shifted position, making it easier for him to cross-reference a key point between different texts.

Just then, a violent explosion went off to his left. Shawn flinched back and saw the Weasley twins crawl out from behind a portrait, clutching a handful of oddly shaped fireworks.

“Fancy something special?” Fred called loudly.

“Wizard Crackers!” George said, tossing one into Shawn’s hand.

Shawn’s wand was out even faster than George’s. With a flick, the cracker froze in mid-air.

“Oh, that is not ideal,” George said, staring at the imminent explosion, then grabbing Fred, who was already trying to bolt.

Shawn quickly learned what a Wizard Cracker really was. It did not go pop with a dull bang. It detonated like cannon fire, swallowing the twins in a cloud of blue smoke. At the same time, it blasted out a navy rear-admiral’s hat and several lively white mice.

Fred wore the hat, blue smoke puffing from his mouth as he croaked, “Magnificent Green… brilliant nonverbal spell…”

Wizard Crackers were not truly dangerous, but Shawn felt several spells flaring at once in that split second: a Blasting Charm, Transfiguration, and something like a Howler’s sound-storing enchantment.

Alchemy really was marvellous. A simple combination of spells could create a bizarre Wizard Cracker.

Yet at the same time, Shawn felt something else. Not Charms, not Transfiguration, but a power that was mysterious and profound.

In the last few days, that sensation had been especially common whenever the Weasleys pulled out their little inventions.

Thinking as he went, Shawn cast Scourgify, cleaning the corridor and the twins in one sweep.

Then he looked at them, smiled faintly, nodded politely in farewell, and headed towards the spiral staircase.

“Do you think he felt it? Alchemy cannot afford to lose a genius,” Fred said, spitting out a scrap of colourful paper and stuffing the white mice back into the firework box.

“Of course. He is,” George said, one eyebrow lifting.

“Magnificent Green,” they said together, then shut their eyes and vanished into a hidden passage, Wizard Crackers tucked away.

Ever since Hogwarts had been draped in its thin layer of white, Shawn had been studying Alchemy earnestly, especially the twins’ notes. They were full of wild ideas and descriptions so brief they were almost insulting.

But there was no denying it. Those sparse notes were ten times better than the vague, murky, unreadable alchemy books.

Perhaps alchemists feared later generations would casually unravel their secrets. Perhaps scholars simply wanted Alchemy to look mysterious.

Either way, alchemy texts were packed with symbols and euphemisms. They were almost like Michael talking in his sleep, saying whatever came to mind.

For example:

【A circular diagram infused with sigil magic is an invention of ancient sorcery. Anyone who carries a special or hidden purpose in their heart will use it. With it, they protect themselves from ‘dangers of the soul’, dangers that threaten them from without.】

This was an “illusion” within the alchemical domain. The circular diagram printed in the book was simply the runic expression of a Confundus Charm. It was part of the secret behind how the Leaky Cauldron kept Muggles out.

Strange, was it not?

But without reading Alchemy: A First Glimpse, An Easy Introduction to Ancient Runes, and The Fifth Element: Exploration all the way through, no one would ever know what that circle meant.

It appeared in Alchemy: A First Glimpse, yet only The Fifth Element: Exploration explained it. And in the end, only a witch or wizard truly fluent in An Easy Introduction to Ancient Runes could identify what it actually referred to.

In short, Alchemy’s mysterious nature only made Shawn more interested, especially since it seemed rooted in the entire field.

It felt as though it was meant to be… mysterious magic.

Compared to that, Potions was far more straightforward. Shawn had just finished organising the fusion enlightenment method, forming a temporarily complete system for the potion will domain.

After that, with this method, any witch or wizard could brew potions, even with mediocre talent, even if they only barely understood the brewing process.

But that was fine.

You only needed to believe, and leave the rest to magic.

It was easy to imagine what sort of impact this entire theory would have on the Potions field.

And today, Shawn carried that complete manuscript down to the dungeons.

It made him feel as if this trip had genuine historical significance.

The cold wind of the dungeons was always sharp enough to make a student shiver the moment they left a warm fireplace behind.

Further down, the air grew heavy, mixed with soil, plants, and the sour tang of cauldrons.

Professor Snape stared ahead, firelight flickering across the parchment in his hands. It was Shawn’s fusion enlightenment method—the final piece of his potion-will framework.

In the corner of that parchment was an inconspicuous “1”, and even Snape would never have imagined a breakthrough could come this quickly.

Of course, only witches and wizards who could not even manage the basics would think of other ways.

In the dungeon, the curl of Snape’s mouth might have been mockery, or it might have been approval.

Then the dungeon door opened. Snape watched coldly as Shawn began brewing with practised ease.

Steam rose from the cauldron. Rose petals and vanilla pods were added one by one. Then Shawn moved smoothly, carrying out the improved ritual step by step.

He carefully felt out the reason this ritual magic worked.

It should be a kind of suggestion, a tool that reinforces a wizard’s conviction.

Before long, bubbles surfaced in the cauldron. Shawn stirred according to a strict sequence, making Snape frown deeper and deeper at the sight.

In the final stirring, the sticky liquid turned gold, and the panel prompt rang right on time.

【You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Entry level. Proficiency +3】

Shawn opened his panel:

【Title: Novice Potioneer】
【Greatly increases perception of potions; slightly enhances potion talent】
【Advancement: Three Proficient-level potions and three Entry-level potions to unlock Proficient-level title in Potions domain】
【Boil-Cure Potion: Proficient (10/3000)】
【Deflating Draught: Proficient (20/3000)】
【Swelling Solution: Proficient (20/3000)】
【Elixir to Induce Euphoria: Apprentice (110/300)】
…

As long as Elixir to Induce Euphoria reached Entry level, Shawn would unlock a new Potions title.

And at the same time, mysterious Alchemy would open itself to him.

Once Alchemy appeared on the panel, it would not get to decide whether it stayed mysterious.

Shawn slowly drank a potion, and the stamina consumed by the improved ritual began recovering rapidly.

“You believe that?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow. “Shawn Green, when the Elixir to Induce Euphoria is boiling, how many turns should you stir to the left?”

“Two, Professor,” Shawn replied, recalling the steps.

“Idiot. Completely wrong.”

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 139

Chapter 139: Explanation

“One month, one month…”

Professor Tyra’s expressionless calm slipped slightly.

“What year are you in, child?”

“First year, Professor,” Shawn answered.

“Oh. Of course. Otherwise you would not…”

The professor froze. After a few seconds, she seemed not to doubt him at all. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and the corner of her mouth kept trying to rise.

“Give me your process diagram for making the floating quill. You improved the process, did you not?

Otherwise, the final step would not match so perfectly.”

“Yes, Professor,” Shawn said.

Shawn was a little surprised.

She could tell that?

When he made the floating quill, he had noticed the twins’ sample could be optimised. The Weasleys did not seem able to use will to directly sense the fine flow of magic.

That made their floating quills look rough. Shawn was different. He could always catch the minute currents of magic within, the same way he could sense it inside a broom.

So he had naturally refined the process, and only after finishing did he realise how dangerous that refinement had been.

“An excellent alchemist can sense the profound changes within a creation. That is exactly what divides alchemists into ranks once again,” Professor Tyra said, her voice growing warmer.

Shawn had read that line in a book. Hearing it from the professor’s mouth made it feel even more familiar.

“Sounds familiar. You have read The Fifth Element: Exploration. That is very good.”

Professor Tyra looked even more pleased. What she did not tell Shawn was that the title page bore several bold words: by Flora Tyra.

“Among the many branches of magic, Alchemy is one of the most talent‑dependent. A great alchemist connects to truth through aether and reshapes the world.

“A mediocre alchemist is only fit to be a minor Ministry clerk, or a producer of mediocre wares, never seeing truth for their entire life.”

As she spoke, Professor Tyra waved her hand. A stool hopped out from the office, and she sat down slowly.

“Now tell me, child. Why do you want to study Alchemy? In other words, how do you see Alchemy?”

Shawn paused, thinking of the Weasley twins’ inventions. They were only simple combinations, yet they produced astonishing results.

“Alchemy may still have many blanks, and many things waiting to be awakened. A dormant Transfiguration trigger and a trigger charm can create products like Extendable Ears. A Copying Charm and a Sustaining Charm can create Everlasting Ink. Magic, in a way, completely ignores science.

“If there can be Extendable Ears, then there can be Hawk Biscuits and Shark Pies.

“If there can be endless ink, then there should be endless quills and endless clothing.

“If a greenhouse can be enchanted with a temperature-stabilising charm, then teapots, clothing, and boots can have it too.”

“And that is only what has already been explored by those who came before. There are still vast areas that are completely blank. A wizard can boil a kettle with a simple fire charm, yet does not understand how steam works. A wizard can create pressure by copying and compressing, yet does not understand the principle of a pressure pump…”

The more Shawn explained, the brighter his eyes became.

“Why must we study the mysteries of Alchemy?

“Because… it is there.”

For a long time, the corridor fell into a deep silence.

In that instant, Professor Tyra thought of many things. She remembered alchemists at the last Alchemy conference who had transferred in from Muggle Studies, and the breathtaking ideas they brought.

Even so, limited by talent, they could only imagine and advise, serving as reference consultants.

“Are you a half-blood?” the professor asked softly. There was no bias in her words, only pure curiosity.

“I am Muggle-born, Professor,” Shawn said.

“I have heard many interesting ideas from that Weasley. The flying car he made was quite good as well. Every Monday and Wednesday, I can spare one afternoon for you,” Professor Tyra said gently.

“Child, tell me your name.”

“Shawn Green, Professor,” Shawn replied.

“Flora Tyra. I am glad to have met you today. Tell those two Weasleys that from now on, I will be in this corridor. Also, stop pretending to trip every time. No wizard can fall in the same place seven times.”

After speaking, Professor Tyra stared for a long time at the notebook Shawn had placed on top of the pile of books.

“You still have not given me your quill construction diagram, Mr Green.”

Only then did Shawn snap back. He had actually forgotten. He quickly handed her the notebook.

…

In the corridor, Sir Cadogan had been dozing off far more often lately, perhaps because of the cold. The knight drank until midnight every night, then slept through the entire day.​

Shawn walked along lightly, heading to the Transfiguration office to practise. Two balls of bright red suddenly shot out from the corner.

“You came out too fast. How did it go?” Fred yanked off a suit of armour’s visor, revealing the face he had hidden inside it.

“Do not tell us you failed. Next time we start charging Galleons.”

George was hiding behind the armour and was currently hauling Fred out by sheer force.

Shawn flicked his wand. The armour moved on its own. Plate by plate, it came apart, then clanked back together.

“Brilliant,” Fred breathed.

“The professor told me to find her after class,” Shawn said, his voice full of gratitude. After thinking, he added, “Oh, and the professor said she will always be in that corridor. Also, stop pretending to trip. No wizard can fall in the same place seven times.”

Fred and George’s faces flushed bright red. They exchanged glances, then started muttering under their breath. “Wizards don’t trip,” one said, “it was the floor.” “It’s just too slippery,” the other added. Without another word, they turned and vanished at once.

Shawn had expected both the Weasleys’ reliability and their unreliability. He quickly left the corridor. There were still two days until Wednesday, and in the time ahead, he needed to familiarise himself with the framework of Alchemy as much as possible.

At the same time, in the Alchemy office,

Professor Tyra sat in her chair, reading the notebook with obvious interest. The moment her eyes landed on the first sentence, her gaze deepened: 【Potions should share a single root thread with Alchemy】.

The following explanation of Alchemy’s three stages, and their correspondence with Potions, made her nod slightly.

Shawn had not written down methods like will reinforcement, but without realising it, those theories had already shaped his view of magic, giving his notes a sense of deep, deliberate thought.

Professor Tyra grew more and more satisfied. She turned to the structural diagram of the floating quill. It was still youthful, but the control of detail was excellent.

But… what was this “two days”?

The time it took to inscribe the runes?

【Spent two days, barely made a floating quill…】

Professor Tyra stood up.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 138

Chapter 138: Professor Tyra

The secret passage was dim, with not a torch in sight—though if there had been torches, it could hardly have been called a secret passage.

“Number thirteen passage leads to the Alchemy office and washroom,” Fred said proudly, then quickened his pace.

“I think I understand why the books don’t mention Professor Tyra,” George said, his expression oddly thoughtful. “She doesn’t like fame, right?”

“All right, we are here. Now, no talking. Wait quietly,” Fred reminded them, then pulled a thin rope from his bag.

“This is one of our masterpieces. We have not named it yet, but that does not stop it from being extremely useful.”

George tossed the rope to the ground. It stretched out on its own, snaking all the way to the end of the passage, then turning sharply to the right.

“Professor Tyra teaches on Mondays and Wednesdays. Other times, you will never see her. She is very busy. After class, she vanishes. If you miss her today, you will have to wait a whole week, because only on Mondays does she stay behind to mark assignments. Oh, and after she finishes marking, she lingers in a nearby corridor for a while. But we do not know where she marks, so we have to rely on this!”

The slender rope trembled lightly. Fred murmured, “Oh, not in this classroom, not here either. So we know. Take passage five!”

In a strange, tense atmosphere, Shawn followed the twins out from behind a large portrait. They leapt out and turned into a secret passage that opened only after six knocks.

“Lumos!” Fred’s wand tip flared with light.
“Lumos!” George lit his wand a moment later.

“We will wait here. When we say you can go, take all your Alchemy books and ‘accidentally’ bump into Professor Tyra.

If you are lucky, you might get to talk to her. If you are unlucky, you will literally bump into her. Remember to put your notebook on top.”

Shawn nodded. He thought the plan was rather advanced, but when he heard the Weasleys mention they had actually collided with the professor seven times, he stopped questioning it.

“Lumos!” He lit his wand and opened his copy of A History of Magic, which contained a section about Uagadou.

Uagadou was in Africa, founded over a thousand years ago. While Africa had many small magical schools, Uagadou was the only one to withstand the test of time and achieve international fame.

Their students excelled in Astronomy, Alchemy, and Transfiguration.

At one international Animagus symposium, the Uagadou delegation nearly caused a riot during their demonstration of simultaneous transformations, drawing much media attention. Many experienced witches and wizards felt threatened by a group of fourteen‑year‑olds who could turn into elephants and cheetahs at will.

Moreover, they cast spells using hand gestures, because wands were invented in Europe and had not spread there.

This often led them to break the International Statute of Secrecy. The Ministry of Magic could do nothing, since they claimed, “I only waved my hand. I never meant for his jaw to turn white.”

The Ministry had to rewrite the rules overnight.

“Oh, it is time! Go now!” Fred said excitedly, shoving Shawn out of the passage.

At that moment, a silver‑robed professor with white hair and a very low air pressure was walking past, carrying a stack of parchment.

With a flick of her fingers—no wand—papers leapt into a newly appeared bin, then both papers and bin vanished.

Flora Tyra was always expressionless. Alchemy had been running for over two months, yet those young witches and wizards could not even tell Feoh from f.

They were just regional variations of the same rune.

The silver‑haired professor glanced at a thin string in the corner. Two of the vanished papers reappeared. A quill jumped out of the office and wrote something quickly on the parchment. The parchment then transformed into an owl, flapped its wings, and flew away.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, Pamela Patton and the Gryffindor beside her were hit on the head by a falling scroll.

Shawn watched this magical scene, his attention fixed on the bin.

“That is—Disappearance Charm, Vanishing Charm, Revealing Charm, and Transfiguration,” he whispered.

“Not bad. Sharp intuition,” Professor Tyra said, her voice low but clear enough for the Weasleys to hear, but not for Shawn.

“We have to help him—” Fred paced anxiously.

“He is a true Alchemy genius!” George nodded.

Unbeknownst to them, Professor Tyra’s eyes now held a clear spark of interest.

She waved her hand, and the Weasleys, about to use magic to nudge Shawn, suddenly heard a loud noise.

It was an Extendable Ear, being chewed by the bin—that very bin.

“Caught! Retreat—!” The Weasleys vanished instantly.

“The Easy Introduction to Ancient Runes, A Runes Dictionary, A Magical Phonetics Table—how far have you got?” Professor Tyra asked in the corridor, where afternoon sunlight streamed through stained glass, making her silver hair look almost translucent in the golden light. Clouds drifted past, and the shifting light made Shawn’s eyes sparkle.

“I have just finished memorising them all,” Shawn answered honestly.

“Not bad,” said the silver‑robed professor. She softened slightly as she saw a young witch and wizard, “You are interested in Alchemy?”

“Yes, Professor.”

Shawn took out his floating quill, knowing his chance had come.

“A floating quill. Good rune array,” Professor Tyra said, her interest obvious. She let go of the quill, and it remained suspended in midair. “Practice work. Not quite the first creation of an Alchemist, but good enough.”

Her calm eyes now held appreciation.

When she was in her second year, she had also finished the basic rune arrays. The memorisation required in The Easy Introduction to Ancient Runes, A Runes Dictionary, and A Magical Phonetics Table was not as much as people imagined. But she had not rashly attempted to make alchemical items, following the reckless example of those two talented but mischievous young witches and wizards. That was only reasonable.

“How long have you been studying Alchemy, child?” Her voice was full of obvious interest.

“A month, Professor.”

“A month? Oh, a month?!”

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 137

Chapter 137: Chance Encounter​

At Hogwarts, Alchemy was an extremely advanced elective, open only at N.E.W.T. level (sixth year and above) to certain students, and it required taking multiple subjects at once, such as Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms.

Because enrolment was often too low, it was not even offered for Harry’s year.

Unfortunately, Shawn was in the same year as Harry.

If he followed the normal route to study Alchemy, he might not even get to see the professor’s face. Shawn did not even know where Hogwarts kept its Alchemy office.

And yet Alchemy was always irresistible.

Muggles thought Alchemy was merely crude, primitive chemistry. But just as wizards knew little of Muggle understanding, Muggles could never truly grasp wizarding Alchemy, and even most wizards could not understand it well.

Just look at what it could achieve. The Philosopher’s Stone that granted immortality, the Knight Bus, the Vanishing Cabinet. This was a field filled with limitless possibilities.

Since deciding to learn Alchemy, Shawn paid closer attention to how older students talked about it.

The castle had been wrapped in a blanket of white snow. The Great Hall smelled of lunch, and the long tables were piled high with food.

Yet at several tables belonging to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, many students still looked weighed down by worry.

“I honestly cannot believe it,” a Gryffindor boy said weakly, poking at the potatoes on his plate. “This ‘blackening’ process sounds simple, but the moment I try it myself, my head goes completely blank.”

“You have only just started learning Alchemy. It is perfectly normal to be confused,” said the Ravenclaw girl beside him.

She tucked several bits of metal into her bag. She was Pamela Patton, a seventh year, one of the few students who had chosen Alchemy.

“Patton, do you mean that once I have studied for a while, I will be able to master Alchemy?” The Gryffindor boy’s eyes lit up instantly.

Everyone knew an Alchemy master, like a Potions master, was a walking Galleon‑harvester.

The moment he imagined himself becoming a big name like Professor Tyra one day, the Gryffindor boy rubbed his hands together without thinking.

“Heh,” Pamela Patton said, rolling her eyes, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Once you have studied for a while, you will get used to it.”

The moment she finished, a chorus of miserable groans rose from the Gryffindors around them.

They were already regretting choosing Alchemy.

Just then, a flock of owls swooped into the Great Hall and dropped parcels onto the tables. A small group of students exchanged a look, then trembled as they put away the extra reading stuffed inside.

The parchment rolls were packed with dense ancient symbols and diagrams, prompting a fresh wave of wailing.

“Another fifteen inches!” one student said in despair. “And it has to cite at least three sixteenth‑century alchemical works!”

From a corner of the Ravenclaw table, Justin craned his neck curiously, then glanced at Shawn.

If he remembered correctly, Shawn had been researching Alchemy lately. His desk had been stacked with books like An Easy Introduction to Ancient Runes, A Runes Dictionary, and A Magical Phonetics Table.

Judging by Shawn’s pace, those books probably had not even lasted a month in his hands.

The snow began growing heavier from three o’clock onwards. That afternoon, Shawn and the others received an urgent notice from Professor Sprout.

The snow that had started the night before had turned into a raging blizzard. Herbology class was cancelled, and Professor Sprout had Shawn and the others put socks and scarves on the mandrakes.

“Neville, your earmuffs are crooked!” Justin called loudly, then straightened Neville’s pink earmuffs for him.

Once their odd‑looking plants were properly winter‑proofed, Professor Sprout pulled a large flowerpot from under the table, shoved the mandrake into it, covered it with damp, dark compost, and left only the tufted leaves sticking out.

“My dear seedlings, do exactly as I do. Our mandrakes are still only babies, and their cries will not be fatal.”

She patted the dirt from her hands and watched the three of them complete the task quickly, a pleased smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.

Few people stayed in the greenhouse for so long, especially with repetitive, fussy work.

But then, looking at the three young wizards in front of her, it was hard not to feel moved. They had supported one another through storms, mud, gales, and heavy snow.

“Oh, how lovely. Truly. There is nothing better than this.”

When they left the greenhouse, all three had scarves wrapped tight and gloves on, stamping three neat trails of footprints into the snow.

Then a face suddenly popped out of a snowman.

“We said we would come find you!”

It was Fred. His whole body was hidden inside the snowman, leaving only a face that looked hilarious even at rest.

“And we have to tell you it is urgent!”

The other snowman spoke too, frightening Neville into screaming several times.

“Where did you find a groundhog? That is funny, but come with us!”

The moment Fred and George moved, the snowmen collapsed into heaps. They hurried so quickly that Shawn, hurrying after them, could not help feeling a flicker of nerves.

“I am guessing you do not really know Professor Tyra,” Fred said as they walked, breath puffing white in the cold.

“It took us a full year to find her.”

George tugged his red‑and‑black scarf tighter, forcing the wind to circle his neck instead of slicing through it.

They passed through the castle doors, crossed the Great Hall, and slipped into a hidden passageway.

The passage was concealed behind a fruit portrait, and it only opened when the fruit changed.

“Professor Tyra is always travelling between Beauxbatons and Uagadou. I would bet there is not a single magic school she has not visited. Do you know Uagadou?” Fred said, eyebrows raised. “Of course, it would be hard for you to know…”

“Uagadou is a wizarding school in Africa’s Mountains of the Moon, in Uganda,” Shawn replied quietly. “It is the largest of the wizarding schools, because it enrolls students from across the whole of Africa.”

George watched Fred’s sentence jam in his throat and asked, curious, “Then you also know Babajide Akingbade?”

“The wizard most likely to succeed Headmaster Dumbledore as the next Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards? I read about him in A History of Magic,” Shawn said softly.

“Merlin’s pants,” George said, eyes widening. “You know Babajide Akingbade, and yet you do not know Professor Tyra?”

“She is an honoured guest of Uagadou and enjoys enormous prestige throughout the Alchemy world. She even serves as an Alchemy advisor to the Ministry of Magic. And they say she has met Master Nicolas Flamel. Rumour has it she worked for the Floo Network in her early years. You should have heard of it, the only company that can produce Floo Powder. No one knows where the entrance is.”

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 136

Chapter 136: Two Days

As Shawn passed by, Malfoy and Harry were rolling in the snow in a tangled heap, while Ron, Crabbe and Goyle were grappling nearby, trading punches and kicks and shrieking in pain.

Without a word, Shawn summoned two snowmen and separated them in moments.

Malfoy shuddered. He did not look at Shawn, only gave a quiet snort, then left with Goyle and Crabbe.

As for Harry, he felt even more like a baboon now, this time without even a wand.

Shawn watched Harry and Ron for a short while. The two of them kept their heads down and for some reason felt faintly guilty.

They did not look hurt, and there was no need for the hospital wing, so Shawn simply walked away.

But in Harry and Ron’s eyes, it looked like Shawn was disappointed.

They were wizards, after all. Even before the Green Notes became popular, Shawn had already given them notes, far more detailed than the Compendium.

And them? One spent all his time training for Quidditch, a game Shawn didn’t even like. The other was obsessed with Wizard Chess. Neither of them had learnt a single respectable spell.

“Harry… do you think we have no chance at all now?” Ron could not even hold onto a smile this time.

“I think so…” Harry said.

“Harry, Ron, good morning,” Justin said brightly. He could not stand it anymore. He popped up out of the falling snow in the courtyard, blinked, and added, “If you want to know the outcome, why not go and ask yourselves?”

…

As Shawn walked along the corridor, he half expected Fred or George to pop out from somewhere, but it did not happen.

So, no longer willing to wait, Shawn headed outside. From occasionally watching Harry, he knew Gryffindor had another training session that afternoon.

By a stained‑glass window on the third floor, Professor McGonagall watched the young wizard leave footprints in the snow, alone.

Behind her, a few Ravenclaws were sneaking about.

“Little wizard! Foolish little wizard!”

Mr Owl appeared so suddenly that they stumbled and fled at once.

Mr Owl gave the wizards led by Roger a look, his eyes showing a strangely human sort of disappointment and confusion.

And so, that evening, the eagle‑shaped door knocker to Ravenclaw Tower seemed to “malfunction”, firing off several difficult riddles in a row and leaving a handful of Ravenclaws shivering outside in the wind for ages.

At the Quidditch pitch, Shawn had already reached the changing room door.

Two tongues of red flame abruptly flared out of the snow.

“The moment we saw you come to the Quidditch pitch,” Fred burst out of the snow, a badge in his hand, “we knew a genius had appeared again in the world of Alchemy!”

George looked deeply moved. “Truly.”

“Fred, damn it, where is my prefect badge?” an extremely irritated voice snapped, and someone stepped out of the changing room, clothes neat and perfect.

It was Percy Weasley, Gryffindor prefect, clutching a book titled “How Prefects Gain Power.”

He was rigidly rule‑bound and loved shouting at anyone who broke them. Ron said he was a study maniac with a vanity problem and absolutely no flexibility.

With Percy glaring, Fred curled his lip and yelled, “I’m George, Percy. Did ‘How Prefects Gain Power’ not teach you how to tell us apart? What a tragedy.”

He dragged out the last word and shot Shawn a quick, exaggerated wink.

“Fine, George,” Percy roared. “Then tell me where my prefect badge is!”

“That was a joke. I’m Fred, obviously,” Fred said at once, grinning. “You’re slipping, Perce. All that reading and you still lose your badge?”

“Give. It. Back.”

Percy lunged for him.

Fred whooped and bolted, laughing as Percy tore after him around the changing room, bellowing about responsibility and respect while snow and mud flew everywhere.

George and Shawn watched them. Then George pulled a badge from his pocket.

“I do not understand. Does a prefect badge really need polishing that many times? Run west, Fred!” he shouted.

Fred instantly changed direction.

“Oh, right. About the floating quill,” George began.

Before he could finish, Shawn took out the alchemical item he had made.

“I knew you had talent just like ours. Not bad. Not bad at all,” George said, blinking as he tucked the floating quill away in his bag, together with the prefect badge.

“To do it in two weeks, honestly. You were born for Alchemy.

“Right, you have a notebook or a diary or something, yes? You can write now. Not the proper alchemical attitude, I know, but you did not even know what Alchemy was.

“Professor Tyra will definitely be interested in you. We just need to arrange a few chance encounters…”

Shawn handed over his notes. George patted him on the shoulder, wearing an expression that said, Yes, we are the same sort.

“Professor Tyra, who is she?” Shawn asked.

"Oh, great question," George said. "Professor Tyra’s on the International Alchemical Association council. She’s also the most mysterious professor in the school. Nobody sees her except sixth- and seventh-years."

He broke off mid-flow, eyes flicking past Shawn.

"And the important part is—Fred, right!"

George suddenly yelled toward the changing room, warning his twin, who was still playing hide-and-seek with Percy around the door.

A moment later, Percy came marching over, furious, hair and robes slightly askew.

"Not good. Time to go, Green," George muttered, and vanished in a blur. As he ran he called back over his shoulder, voice carrying across the snow, "Don’t worry, we’ll come find you—Magnificent Green!"

"Magnificent… Green?" Percy repeated, still livid, but the word clearly caught his interest. He stopped dead and looked Shawn over from head to toe.

"Oh, Mr Green," Percy said, hastily smoothing his expression into something warm and polite.

Green was not simple, Percy thought. He had passed the flying test and written the wildly popular Green Notes; Percy had read them, and even he had to admit the History of Magic section was excellent. Whether Green ended up a Quidditch star or some future academic authority, he was worth treating pleasantly.

"Hello, Mr Weasley," Shawn replied politely.

"Oh, call me Percy," Percy said, voice turning warm and approachable.

Outside the changing room, the oak door sat half‑ajar, warm lamplight and faint voices slipping out. At the edge of the snow, Fred had an arm slung over George’s shoulders.

“I am going to throw up lunch. Call me ‘Perce’‑y, why do you not?” Fred said, pulling a face.

For once, George did not answer.

Fred tilted his head and only saw George staring blankly at a notebook.

“The Magnificent Green Notes?” Fred cried theatrically, and when George still did not react, Fred’s expression turned serious.

“Two days. Barely managed to make a floating quill…

“That is strange, George. Is this English?”

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 135

Chapter 135: Expert Transfiguration

In the afternoons, Shawn practised Transfiguration in Professor McGonagall’s office.

The room, with its fierce fireplace flames, felt different from anywhere else. She always seemed to ask countless questions without meaning to.

“Mr Green.”

Her voice was as precise as ever, but far gentler than it was in class.

“I think the cold at Hogwarts in November can sometimes cut to the bone.”

Shawn turned to look at her.

Through her square spectacles, her sharp gaze landed on his tie, still untidied, and on the thin robe he had just changed into in the greenhouse cubicle. The greenhouses had been too hot, and he had forgotten to put his jumper back on once he returned to the castle.

“Hogwarts,” she said slowly, each word carrying weight, “for many students who come here, is not merely a school. I think you would know that.”

Shawn nodded quietly.

For two months now, sometimes he would lift his head and gaze up at the night sky.

The stars of the wizarding world were always bright. To Shawn, they did not look very different from half a year ago.

Only now, there was a little more hope.

“You do not need to face the first snowstorm of a Scottish Highlands winter alone anymore,” Professor McGonagall said, a softness gathering at the corners of her eyes, before she added, “At Hogwarts, that is not permitted. Now…”

Her voice snapped back to its usual briskness. She tapped lightly with her wand, and Shawn’s tie straightened and knotted itself properly.

“There are twenty minutes until dinner. Enough time for you to go back and put on a thick jumper. I expect to see you in the Great Hall, on time, and with a healthy appetite.”​

When Shawn left the classroom, she lowered her head slightly, robes swaying as she turned away. Her footsteps echoed along the stone passage, leaving behind a tall, unbending silhouette.

…

As the snowfall grew heavier by the day, Shawn’s understanding of the fusion enlightenment method deepened as well. One evening, as a window rattled and banged in the wind, he brewed an [Entry]‑level Elixir to Induce Euphoria.

Professor Snape’s expression shifted again and again, but he hid it well, never letting Shawn see.

With success in hand, Shawn continued refining the fusion enlightenment method. In a few more days, he would be able to form a complete system.

Today, however, he was still thrown out of the dungeon.

"Clumsy technique. Quality propped up only by your idiotic method. Shawn Green, if you are not blind, you will have noticed the appalling ingredient ratios you produced. Imbecile!"

Even though Shawn corrected mistakes and improved every time, in Snape’s eyes he was still not much better than a troll.

Occasionally, those deep black eyes would turn complicated.

In some areas—areas worth writing down—he showed the talent of a top-class Potions master. In others, which did not matter in the slightest, he was an utter idiot.

The contrast drove Snape to fury, and he sometimes gritted his teeth as he snarled,

"Fool. Foolish heat. Foolish timing. Foolish stirring technique. Out!"

Shawn rarely heard anything pleasant before leaving, but he automatically ignored the mockery, so every time he walked out of the dungeon he still felt he had gained a great deal.

Under Snape’s intensive “guidance,” all three of Shawn’s basic potions reached [Proficient]. Three times a week, he could earn ten Galleons or more from the professor.

Combined with the strong sales of his notes, his purse was growing heavier and heavier.

If only he could find the twins, his progress would be even faster.

Unlike Shawn’s calm, deep satisfaction, Harry had been miserable lately.

Captain Wood had heard that the Ravenclaw Quidditch team had invited Green. Recently, Wood had gone nearly mad with extra training.

But the Green Compendium had not been updated to cover the current material, so Harry was badly behind in his studies.

Ever since he had lost Quidditch Through the Ages and sent Shawn on a “dangerous” trip to the caretaker’s office, Hermione had barely spoken to him for three days.

After that she was willing to help them, but she absolutely refused to let them copy her homework.

“What would you learn from that?” she always said.

Even so, once she had gone over their work, Harry and Ron could usually work their way to the correct answers.

The frightening part was that Harry was rapidly running out of even that time.

And whenever he thought about Shawn not liking Quidditch, Harry felt like, in Shawn’s eyes, he was a baboon holding a wand.

What was the difference?

Either way, Shawn could have flattened them with a single spell.

They had thought about waiting for him in the corridor like before, but Shawn had changed his routine lately. They even considered going to Justin, yet after Gryffindor had just played Hufflepuff and won, Harry felt far too awkward to show his face.

Even Justin’s expression had started to turn a bit strange. They could not really look that pathetic… could they?

That day, it was another bright Sunday.

In the courtyard, a fire salamander darted about wildly. Just as it was about to spring onto Hermione’s shoe, it abruptly stopped.

Shawn flicked his wand. It suddenly swelled to more than three times its size, becoming as large as a Bludger, then slowly backed towards him, scorching a path through the thin snow.

[You practised advanced Transfiguration once at Expert standard, Proficiency +1000]

That was… how much?

Shawn had never seen proficiency jump by that much. He understood why a moment later.

“Shawn!” Justin grabbed him fast, catching the young wizard as his strength gave out for an instant. Shawn fought for breath, then slowly steadied.

His stamina had been drained empty in one violent pull.

“Shawn!” Hermione’s concern always hid behind an angry face.

“I warned you. Advanced Transfiguration, in deeper fields, can easily drain you dry.”

After a sip of steaming honey tea, Shawn felt much better.

Just now, he had solved the problem that had been troubling him for a long time.

When casting advanced Transfiguration, he had pursued imitation of magical creatures too obsessively, and in doing so, he had forgotten that Transfiguration was driven first and foremost by a wizard’s will.

So whenever he chased raw power, the fire salamander would gradually slip beyond his control.

But when he truly pressed his will fully onto the salamander, the stamina cost rose sharply.

With a first year’s magical reserves, it was very easy to run himself empty.

At the far end of the courtyard, meanwhile, a conflict was brewing.

Already in a foul mood, Harry and Ron were talking.

“It is the weekend, Harry. How is your homework going?” Ron wailed, face hanging.

“Not a word,” Harry said. He looked slightly better than Ron, but not by much.

“The Green Compendium is apparently another week away, but I am finished this week!”

A week’s worth of piled‑up homework was no small thing.

“Ha. Two Gryffindor idiots. You really think you can—”

Malfoy walked past, glancing around.

Snow was drifting thickly, obscuring his view. He could not see anything, only Harry’s unhappy face.

So Malfoy’s mood lifted at once, and he mocked them loudly.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 134

Chapter 134: Inheritance

[When it comes to the vast ocean of Potions, I still know almost nothing.

But now, has it begun to reveal miracles?

The small part that Borage left behind is offered to every witch and wizard who struggles onward in search of will within the domain of Potions.]

The wind and snow of tens of centuries of history had long been buried by time.

On an island hidden deep in the Scottish Highlands, the howling cold wind shattered itself against walls of hard, bitter stone.

Shawn sat alone by the window, heavy old tomes spread across his knees one after another. His gaze drifted over the winding lines of text, then slid away to the chaos of darkness beyond the glass.

Each time lightning tore the sky, it briefly lit the raging Black Lake beneath the tower.

He understood something. The power of will in the Potions domain would, in the end, move from strengthening and guidance to fusion.

On the far side of that great adventure of Master Zygmunt Budge and Master Libatius Borage, the Arctic Ocean and the Nile were blending within wet cloud.

So Shawn held a sky‑blue, ordinary quill in his hand. In that moment, it seemed as though three pairs of hands were lifting it together.

[Next, I will demonstrate the framework of the Potions will system.]

Improvement rituals. Will‑strengthening methods. Will‑guiding methods.

And finally, the fusion‑awakening method.

Just as Master Libatius Borage once did, Shawn wrote the method on the back of a sheet of parchment.

And as he wrote, the parchment copied itself exactly as he had expected. The duplicate slid between the pages, then slowly vanished from sight.

Shawn stared at the parchment in his hand, slightly dazed. In one corner of the slip, bold strokes had appeared soundlessly. Unlike the notes on scraps belonging to Shawn, Professor Snape, and others, this was an ancient rune symbol: Ken.

This rune meant light, and that light illuminated the road ahead.

Shawn looked at the slip for a long, long time. He knew that knowledge never truly ended.

...

When Shawn slowly woke, he happened to see Michael righteously refusing someone.

After Shawn was up, Michael picked up a kettle and watered the pot of Bubble‑Bean Pod again.

Snow was still falling outside the black, diamond‑paned window, and Michael was humming to himself in a bright, sing‑song murmur.

“Oh, you poor Bubble‑Bean Pod. Shawn never sees anyone all day. I suppose no one can water you...”

Now Shawn finally understood why the Bubble‑Bean Pod had looked so much more shrivelled lately.

After watering well outside Shawn’s planned boundaries, Michael got up early again and started studying Shawn’s Quidditch training notebook.

Yes. Even though he had only mentioned it once before, Shawn had still dug the notebook out and handed it to him.

To reach the Ravenclaw common room, you had to pass this staircase, and now footsteps were coming down it.

What a genius… controlling yourself, guiding magic. That’s Shawn for you. No wonder that lot tried to drag him into Quidditch… but I knew from the start Shawn doesn’t like Quidditch.

And as a Seeker, too. Idiots. Why didn’t they ask me? I can take a hit better than Shawn...

If I can help Shawn slam into people, or be the one getting slammed, then maybe I’ll support those blokes who come banging on doors at the crack of dawn.”

Then came another knock. This time he opened without thinking and immediately slipped out.

Anthony and Terry were waiting outside.

After that, Shawn’s life became perfectly regular.

In the mornings, he would be the first to arrive at the Hope Room. Justin always appeared exactly one minute later.

They would share whatever new food Justin had made.

Scottish breakfasts were famous for their hearty full English spreads, and Justin always prepared at least three dishes at dawn.

Paired with a steaming mug of honey pomelo tea, even the wind and snow outside blurred into misty warmth.

Shawn would first refine his notes. Lately, History of Magic and Astronomy had been moving very slowly, mostly in catch-up mode.

For History of Magic, Shawn had reached the third‑year sections, but the version in the first‑years’ hands was still stuck in the first half of first year.

Charms and Transfiguration were updated the fastest. Most of the class couldn’t understand what came next, but that didn’t stop them from coming by every day. Whenever they saw progress, they looked happier than if they’d learned it themselves.

Potions and Herbology notes had become the most borrowed, after all not everyone could remember every word Professor Snape said once class was over.

As for Herbology, Neville and Justin helped fill that in together.

Defense Against the Dark Arts notes were special. If you did not read Shawn’s notes, you could only teach yourself, so Justin copied two versions and quietly updated them every day.

The room was full of plants, steadily growing under magic until the whole place looked lush and green.

Neville carefully corrected their growth so they would not block the space. Justin always praised him as a Herbology master. At first, Neville would flush scarlet and grow shy, but now he seemed to half-believe it.

Outside, wind and snow raged. Inside the Hope Room, watched over by the fire, it was unusually warm.

Hermione came in, hugging her books, then Neville followed with a flowerpot in his arms.

By midday, the three of them would head to the greenhouses to help care for the plants.

After the wild wind and rain of October, Shawn’s Herbology understanding had already reached [Entry], and he was pushing steadily towards [Proficient].

Still, Herbology progress, like Potions, was not always quick. It was constant, though, and unshakably forward.

...

Where drifting snow melted, on the marble stairs of the entrance hall, beside the corridor.

The room here was small, but a cosy fire burned in the hearth.

Minerva McGonagall was waiting for an owl that would come flying through the wind and snow. In recent days, it had nearly become a habit.

Whenever a letter arrived from distant London, she could not help going to look at that little one.

To look at his vivid green eyes, and the hunger for magic that so often shone within them.

[...Perhaps he wants nothing, or perhaps he has never had anything...]

Letters from Croydon often made her stern expression pause, just slightly.

When the wind and snow grew fiercer, Shawn and the other two would appear wrapped in thick robes.

Their boots pressed uneven footprints into the thin snow. At times like that, Neville would look at Shawn with eager, pleading eyes.

So Shawn flicked his wand, and a fire salamander ran out of the jar, scrambling up onto Neville’s head within two or three breaths.

[You practised advanced Transfiguration at Proficient standard once. Proficiency +300.]

Neville hurriedly shoved his head down into the snow, bottom sticking up, and grinned foolishly as he watched the fire salamander burn a glowing trail across the white.

Lately, the flame salamander had become harder and harder to control. At the same time, Shawn could feel that in the advanced Transfiguration branch, the path of turning objects into “magic,” he was already close to Expert.

He did not rush it. He simply waited patiently for inspiration to appear.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 360

Chapter 360: Halloween Again

At those words, a sharp ripple passed through Dumbledore’s blue eyes.

He did not say anything else, but in his heart, he already understood Dudley’s destination.

A god.

A concept Dudley had mentioned before rose once more in Dumbledore’s mind.

After a long time, Dumbledore drew a deep breath.

“You will protect Hogwarts, won’t you?” he asked.

“This is my school. Of course I’ll protect it,” Dudley said seriously.

“Good.” Dumbledore looked at him. “That is my only request of you.”

To Dumbledore’s surprise, Dudley shook his head.

“I will protect this place because I am part of it. I like it here. It holds a great many happy memories for me.”

“Not because you ask it of me,” Dudley said earnestly.

A relaxed smile gradually appeared on Dumbledore’s face.

“Indeed.”

“That is for the best.”

“Good night, Dudley. I am going back to sleep.”

“When you get old, you never quite sleep enough. Hopefully tonight I can finally get some proper rest,” Dumbledore said, then turned and walked slowly towards his office.

“Good night, Professor Dumbledore. Sweet dreams,” Dudley said, and headed for Gryffindor Tower.

In the common room, everyone was waiting for him to return.

If Luna were not a Ravenclaw, Dudley was certain she would be here too.

“Dudley!”

The moment he came in, everyone stood and hurried over.

“Professor Dumbledore didn’t give you a hard time, did he?” Hermione asked at once.

“Have we been found out?”

“Is Dumbledore going to make us disband the Kingdom of Order?”

Questions flew at him from every direction, anxious and uneasy.

“Don’t worry, everyone.” Dudley pressed both hands down, releasing a trace of authority that made them fall quiet.

“Professor Dumbledore didn’t make things difficult for us, and we do not need to disband the Kingdom of Order. From now on, we can hold our activities openly.”

“That’s brilliant!” everyone cheered, and Colin even jumped on the spot.

“You have no idea how terrified I was. The moment I saw Professor Dumbledore, I swear my heart stopped,” Ron said dramatically.

“As if you were the only one,” Harry said.

“Thank goodness he didn’t stop us. Great wizards really are something else,” Hermione said with genuine admiration.

When they came back earlier, they had already prepared for the worst.

They had never expected the outcome to be this good, better than their best hopes.

“So next, you can see if anyone else wants to join,” Dudley said. “But we’re not taking just anyone. They have to be willing to follow my lead, and they must never reveal our secrets.”

“I’ll personally vet them. Only those I approve will be allowed to join,” Dudley said.

“Perfect. I can tell Fred and George,” Ron said immediately.

The others also spoke up, saying they wanted to tell their close friends and bring them in.

Dudley smiled.

Since Dumbledore already knew and had not objected, there was no need to keep hiding.

“All right. Off to bed, everyone,” Dudley said.

They were still buzzing with excitement and did not want to break up. Dudley did not push it. He wished them good night and went back to the dormitory to rest first.

The next day, news of the Kingdom of Order began circulating among certain groups.

Everyone was curious what sort of organisation it was, and quite a few people asked to join.

Dudley did not agree immediately. He simply asked Harry to help compile a list of the students who wanted in. Later, he would speak with each of them and decide whether they were suitable.

In the blink of an eye, more than a month passed.

Halloween drew near once again.

Compared with previous years, this Halloween would be completely different for Dudley and the others.

This year, they could go to Hogsmeade. Dudley had been there before, but only at night. And to avoid being noticed, he had gone to places like the Shrieking Shack. He did not really know what the wizarding village was like in the daytime, so he was looking forward to it too.

“Finally, we get to go to Hogsmeade. I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. Fred keeps telling me it’s brilliant,” Ron said, excited from the moment he woke up.

“Yes, Ron. You’ve mentioned it about a hundred times,” Harry said.

“Harry, don’t tell me you’re not excited,” Ron demanded.

“Of course I am. I’ve been waiting for this day ever since I got my uncle’s signature,” Harry said.

Then Harry looked at Dudley. “Honestly, if it were the old Uncle Vernon, he definitely wouldn’t have signed for me.”

Dudley nodded.

That was true. If he hadn’t come back, given how awful things used to be between Harry and the Dursleys, there was no way Harry would ever have gotten that signature.

They left the dormitory and met Hermione in the common room.

“Oh, honestly. Why are you lot so slow?” Hermione complained the moment they came down.

“Hermione, it’s still early,” Ron said.

“That’s not the point. We still have to interview the people who want to join the Kingdom of Order,” Hermione said seriously. “I wrote an exam paper for them based on Dudley’s requirements. It will properly test them from every angle and see if they meet our standards.”

At that, Ron’s mouth twitched.

“Hermione, I guarantee you, if you made me take that exam right now, I wouldn’t even qualify to join the Kingdom of Order,” Ron said.

“Then you should treasure the opportunity you already have,” Hermione said briskly.

“Come on. It’s almost time,” Dudley reminded them.

Only then did they stop bickering and head out.

“Halloween… come to think of it, the last two Halloweens weren’t exactly peaceful,” Ron said with a frown. “First year, there was a troll. In the second year, there was a basilisk. This year, it’s not going to be something else again, is it?”

“Oh, Ron, you and your big mouth. Stop it,” Hermione snapped.

“I’m just saying,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.

“If anything happens tonight, it’ll be because you jinxed it,” Hermione said.

Harry and Dudley exchanged a look and, without a word, quickened their pace, leaving the two habitual arguers behind.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 133

Chapter 133: Impedimenta

Impedimenta.

It was a jinx, but an exceptionally practical one.

“Casting the Impediment Jinx quickly can delay an opponent for a moment or halt a magical creature’s advance for a moment. This jinx is a crucial part of wizard duelling.”

That was how Miranda Goshawk described it in The Standard Book of Spells.

The spell lasted roughly ten‑odd seconds, temporarily slowing a target. It could even freeze a wasp in mid‑air.

Professor Snape’s test subject was a wasp. In a voice like damp rot he said, “If you fail, Shawn Green, perhaps a little pain will make you clearer‑headed.”

Shawn nodded, not noticing the wand clenched tight beneath Snape’s robes.

“Impedimenta!”

Blue‑white sparks burst from the tip of Shawn’s wand. The wasp, which had been hurtling at him at full speed, stopped dead.

[You practised the Impediment Jinx once at Expert standard, Proficiency +50]
[You practised the Impediment Jinx once at Expert standard, Proficiency +50]
…

[Impediment Jinx: Proficient (110/3000)]
[A new Dark Arts domain title has been unlocked]

Compared to other branches of magic, Shawn always seemed to break through fastest in the Dark Arts.

One hour was enough to push his Dark Arts from Apprentice to Proficient…

Sometimes Shawn felt as if he was not casting Dark spells at all, but that Dark magic was simply running out through his wand on its own.

His heart held no strong “malice,” yet the force of Dark magic in his hands never seemed weak.

“Ha. Consider yourself lucky, Green,” Snape said, watching Shawn sag with fatigue. With a flick of his wand, the wasp, which had been trying to attack again, vanished.

“Take this.”

Snape tossed him a small booklet. Shawn glanced back and saw his letter set in one compartment of the glass cabinet.

But when he blinked, the letter and the little vial were gone.

Had his eyes played tricks?

Shawn wondered.

“What are you still standing there for? Waiting for potion ingredients to process themselves and leap into the cauldron?!” Snape’s anger surged again.

The cauldron vented thick white steam like a locomotive, then the vapour thinned into the drifting snow.

The Guidance Method notes in Shawn’s hands were crammed with dense scribbles. Snape, for once, added no mockery; he only corrected them with ruthless precision.

He also added a new potion: the Elixir to Induce Euphoria. It appeared in Master Libatius Borage’s Advanced Potion‑Making, material normally reserved for fifth‑years, and far beyond Shawn’s level for now.

But Shawn noticed something at once. This recipe came with Master Libatius Borage’s refined improvement ritual and a complete Guidance Method. On the surface Snape’s task looked impossible, yet he had still left a narrow strip of hope.

"Brewing potions even a troll could manage is enough to satisfy you, is it?" Snape sneered.

The Elixir to Induce Euphoria was advanced potion work; its difficulty was beyond dispute. Fortunately, with the improvement ritual and Guidance Method, there was still a path he could follow.

[You brewed a full cauldron of the Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Apprentice standard, Proficiency +1]
[Elixir to Induce Euphoria: Locked (1/30)]

“What did you do?!” Snape’s voice rang out at the same moment as the panel chime.

Then his vicious gaze swept over Shawn, and he forcibly reined himself in.

“Get out.”

Shawn realised what had happened. Without thinking, he had dropped in a tiny sprig of peppermint.

When his will sank deep enough, his movements came almost entirely from instinct. Only after adding it did he remember the story behind that peppermint.

It was Snape’s own invention, written in the Half‑Blood Prince’s notes.

Shawn tidied the workbench as usual, wrapped his scarf tighter, and left the dungeon.

Before he even reached the corridor outside, he realised there were ten Galleons in his hand.

“Ha.”

From deep within the dungeon came Snape’s cold, shadowed laugh.

…

Snape watched Shawn go, then drifted into a daze he could not explain.

The boy’s talent for Potions was showing itself more clearly every day. Snape was certain this fool did not have his notes.

As if remembering something, Snape’s complicated gaze turned faintly nostalgic.

In the corridor,

Shawn’s Quick‑Quotes Quill scratched on without pause.

[Alchemy’s core pursuit may be more complex than it first appears, and far less materialistic.

It has three stages: the Black Stage, the White Stage, and the Red Stage.

The first step of Alchemy is dissolution, commonly called the Black Stage.

The second step, turning lead into gold, is the White Stage.

The third step, the final stage, is the Red Stage.

As the flame intensifies, a sacred red light stains the white stone a beautiful crimson... and the whitening substance turning red is often compared to being dyed with blood.]

And Potions?

When Shawn’s will sank into the mist rising from the cauldron, he felt old matter fading, changing, and finally shedding its skin.

A powerful intuition told him that even in Alchemy, this kind of instinct would hold true.

So he found the passage with ease in Metaphors of Alchemy: The Four Elements.

[One interpretation of the “instructions” left by alchemists is that they symbolise a spiritual journey, guiding the alchemist from ignorance (base metal) to enlightenment (gold).]

Was brewing a potion not the same journey, from ignorance (ordinary ingredients) to enlightenment (a magical draught)?

At last, Shawn understood the thread binding Potions and Alchemy at their roots. Once he grasped it, his progress in Alchemy became dizzyingly fast.

In only two days, he followed the twins’ notes and produced a floating quill.

When he used that sensed force of will to guide alchemical magic, the only thing left to consider was where to find the Weasley twins.

As his Alchemy advanced, his focus returned to Potions.

Snape had not only taught him the Elixir to Induce Euphoria; in passing, he had also pointed out other potions in Libatius Borage’s work that came with improved rituals.

The Draught of Peace and the Antidote were among Master Libatius Borage’s final recorded experiments.

Once Shawn could draw enough experience from those improvement rituals, that unorthodox knowledge would truly pass into his hands.

On a night of snow and rain, Shawn sat by the window and watched a raven cut across the dark.

[When the portrait of Zygmunt Budge on the island of Hermetra woke from its sleep, centuries had already flown past, yet truth remained unchanged.

So the pilgrims understood that within the cauldron still lay the secrets of all magic.

Will you be the last pilgrim, Shawn Green?]

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 359

Chapter 359: A New Order

“They were only afraid you would punish me, Professor. They just wanted to plead for me,” Dudley said calmly.

“And why would I punish you?” Dumbledore countered.

“So I sent them back,” Dudley replied.

Dumbledore smiled. “Come. Walk with me around the castle for a bit. Since returning this year, I haven’t had a proper chance to talk with you.”

“Oh, and with how well you know Hogwarts now, you may already surpass this old man.”

Dudley smiled, but said nothing.

The two of them wandered the corridors without any clear destination.

“About what happened with the Ministry, Dudley… I am sorry,” Dumbledore said slowly.

“There is no need to apologise. It has nothing to do with you,” Dudley said.

The Ministry of Magic was not under Dumbledore’s authority, and from everything that followed, it was clear Minister Fudge had begun to resent Dumbledore’s interference. Under those circumstances, the fact that Dumbledore could smooth over as much as he had was already impressive. Dudley understood that perfectly well.

“The Ministry is sliding towards a dangerous cliff, and yet I am powerless to stop it,” Dumbledore continued. “Fudge is too enamoured of power. He finds it harder and harder to listen to my advice, and I cannot say what will happen next.”

“On top of that, with the wizarding world in such turmoil, I increasingly feel… I can no longer do as much as I once could.”

Dudley neither agreed nor disagreed. He simply nodded, acknowledging Dumbledore’s difficulties.

“So, Dudley,” Dumbledore said suddenly, changing course, “what are your plans for the future?”

Dudley did not answer at once. He knew exactly what Dumbledore was really asking.

After a moment of silence, he said, “Power is what matters most.”

“Whether it is the Ministry sliding into the abyss, or Voldemort and Grindelwald rising again, we will need enough power to withstand it.”

“I have heard that when you fought Voldemort, you formed an organisation under your leadership, the Order of the Phoenix.”

“An organisation made up of people who did not necessarily look like heroes, people who were not famous, yet most of them were brave and unafraid.”

“The Order of the Phoenix stood against Voldemort’s Death Eaters. In the struggle against Voldemort in the seventies, many members of the Order died. They were a group with real toughness.”

“And now, I believe I may carry a duty in the future to protect the wizarding world. So I have formed my own organisation as well, the one you just saw, the Kingdom of Order.”

“We will bring a new order to this world,” Dudley said seriously.

Dumbledore listened without interrupting, offering no opinion.

After a long while, he asked, “Is this the will of that Night Emperor?”

Dudley nodded.

“A new order…” Dumbledore murmured. “But the process…”

“The establishment of a new order often means death and suffering,” Dudley said evenly. “But the wizarding world has reached the point where reform is no longer optional.”

“Besides, can death and suffering be avoided by refusing to build a new order? Probably not.”

“Whether it is Voldemort or Grindelwald, if they seek to seize power again, conflict and disaster are inevitable.”

“I only intend to use this opportunity to reshuffle the wizarding world,” Dudley said, his voice still calm.

At this point, Dudley no longer felt any need to hide much from Dumbledore. One reason was that he truly did not have to. Another was that he did not care if Dumbledore knew.

Dudley’s growing strength made one outcome unavoidable.

Dumbledore could either acknowledge Dudley’s path or part ways with him.

And if it came to the latter, that would be the true disaster for the wizarding world.

If Dumbledore were still young, perhaps he would choose a different road from Dudley’s. But he was old now. Even with his power, many things could no longer be forced to move according to his vision.

After hearing Dudley out, Dumbledore remained silent for a long time.

They continued wandering the corridors in silence.

“Good evening, Professor Dumbledore. Dudley,” came a voice from the other side of the passage.

Professor Lupin walked towards them at an unhurried pace.

“Good evening, Professor Lupin,” Dudley greeted.

“Sorry to interrupt. I couldn’t sleep, so I came out for a walk,” Lupin said, glancing at Dudley.

“That is quite all right, Remus,” Dumbledore said.

“Then I won’t disturb you,” Lupin said and moved on.

His appearance was only a small interlude in the night.

Once Dudley was sure Lupin had gone, he asked, “I am curious. Why did you choose a werewolf to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

“He is a good choice. Surely you have already noticed,” Dumbledore said.

Dudley pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

“Since you have asked me a question, I would like to ask you one as well,” Dumbledore said. “That man with the monocle. Who was he?”

“Someone I fear,” Dudley answered simply.

Dumbledore shook his head, helpless.

“Very well. Lupin may be a werewolf, but he is not evil by nature. He is also skilled in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and I trust him completely.”

“Furthermore, he is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and he was a close friend of Harry’s parents.”

Only then did Dudley nod.

“That man is my enemy, but you need not worry. He will not pose a threat to the wizarding world.”

Dumbledore looked slightly surprised. “That does not really answer my question.”

“Professor Dumbledore, sometimes knowing too much is not a good thing,” Dudley said.

Dumbledore did not press further. He simply continued strolling along the corridor.

“Dudley,” he said at last, “will you become the next Dark Lord?”

“No,” Dudley replied without hesitation.

“Why?” Dumbledore stopped and turned to him. “You resemble them too much. Voldemort and Grindelwald alike.”

“Because I will become the Black Emperor,” Dudley said with a faint laugh.

Dumbledore frowned, plainly displeased with the answer.

“Professor Dumbledore, do you think Voldemort and Grindelwald are powerful?” Dudley asked.

Dumbledore nodded. If they were not powerful, they could not have shaken the wizarding world the way they had.

“But no matter how strong they are,” Dudley said, “they are still only human!”

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 358

Chapter 358: Dudley’s Patronus

After teaching Ginny and the others the pronunciation of the Hermes language and the key points for casting, Dudley sent them off to practise on their own.

"Is it our turn, Baron?" Harry asked with a light laugh.

"Of course," Dudley replied, nodding.

To speed up the digestion of the Corruption Baron’s Beyonder characteristic, there was no helping it. Dudley could only use methods like this to push the process along.

"Today, I’m going to teach you the Patronus Charm," Dudley said. "It’s used against Dementors, but it can’t kill them. It only drives them away."

Harry asked at once, "So there’s no way to kill them directly?"

"Not for now. I’ll research it," Dudley said.

The Dementor he had killed before had been destroyed by the holy light of the Sun Ring. That radiance carried an intense purifying effect, a perfect counter to the undead and corpselike things, which was why it had dealt a fatal blow to a Dementor.

But in the wizarding world, Dementors were almost treated as unkillable. As far as Dudley knew, there really was no spell that could truly kill one.

Fiendfyre might have some effect, but it would probably only injure them rather than wipe them out completely.

"All right," Harry said, disappointed.

"Take it slow. Don’t rush," Dudley told him.

He had already started researching a method to kill Dementors.

It would not be difficult for him, and he had the Sun Ring right there as a Sealed Artifact, able to provide genuine sunlight holy radiance for him to study at any time.

If he could reproduce that sunlight holy radiance with magic, then a true Dementor-killer would be born.

Dudley then began teaching them the details of the Patronus Charm.

"Remember. Recall your happiest memory, and then cast the incantation: Expecto Patronum."

After saying that, Dudley demonstrated.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A low hum filled the air. White light burst from Dudley’s wand, rapidly gathering into a single shape, forming a person.

"Oh! Your Patronus is actually a person?" Hermione said, stunned.

Normally, Patronuses took the form of animals. Hermione had checked that in books.

She had not expected to see something completely different today.

Hearing the commotion, Ginny’s group looked over as well, their attention drawn to the white figure at the tip of Dudley’s wand.

"That is..." Harry stared hard at the pale silhouette.

It was abstract and blurred, but he still felt something familiar in it.

"Dudley!" Harry blurted out before anyone else could react.

That white figure was Dudley himself.

Not the young Dudley of now, but Dudley as an adult.

If you looked closely, you could pick up traces of Dudley in the details, especially in the shape of his face.

The white figure looked tall, and a hard-to-describe authority radiated from him. The clothes were not wizard’s robes, but an ornate, unsettling long coat.

He looked down at them as a king might look down upon his subjects.

Yet if you tried to sense him properly, you would realise he was not standing in a room at all, but beneath an endless starry sky.

His presence stood above all living things.

"What is that even supposed to be? A Patronus that looks like you?" Ron said, dumbfounded.

No one understood what they were seeing.

"My Patronus is me," Dudley said simply.

The first time he had cast the spell and seen that figure, he had been startled too.

It was unexpected, yet also somehow inevitable.

And Dudley’s Patronus differed from other people’s in more ways than one. The figure inherited Dudley’s authority and was more concrete than it had any right to be.

Dudley could even feel a faint pressure from his own Patronus.

The white figure dissolved, and the Patronus Charm ended.

"All right. I’ve shown you. Now you try," Dudley said.

He did not explain his Patronus any further.

Harry, Ron and Hermione did not press either. There were already too many things about Dudley that defied explanation, and a strange Patronus hardly felt worth making a fuss over.

They immediately began attempting the Patronus Charm themselves.

But it was not as simple as they had imagined. There were many key points to get right, and after several tries, none of them succeeded.

After Dudley pointed out a few issues, Hermione was the first to produce a result.

It was incomplete, only a thin, wispy spray of white light at the tip of her wand, not yet a formed Patronus.

"Right now, casting the spell is actually the easy part," Dudley warned. "When you face a real Dementor, the difficulty will rise."

"But don’t worry. Train steadily and you’ll get there."

Harry looked dejected.

He still could not cast the Patronus Charm at all, and Dementors affected him far more than they did others. Even if he managed to cast one now, he might still fail when a real Dementor was in front of him.

Dudley moved back and forth between Harry’s group and Ginny’s group, pointing out flaws in their casting.

Training time passed quickly.

Two hours had gone in a blink. Before ten o’clock, Dudley ended the gathering.

"Next week, same time. We’ll meet again," Dudley said.

"No problem!" Everyone looked excited.

They had learned a great deal tonight.

The parts about wandless, nonverbal spellcasting in particular had overturned their understanding of magic.

The door to the Room of Requirement opened slowly, and everyone filed out together.

But what none of them expected was the figure waiting just outside.

The moment they saw him, everyone’s expressions changed.

Dudley’s gaze sharpened slightly.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," Dudley said, smiling.

"Good evening, Dudley, and all of you," Dumbledore said with a light chuckle. "Hopefully, my appearance hasn’t disrupted you."

"No," Dudley replied, shaking his head.

It would always be hard to hide the Kingdom of Order from Dumbledore, so Dudley had not tried too hard to conceal anything. He simply had not expected Dumbledore to come so quickly.

"Off to bed, all of you. I have a few things to discuss with Dudley," Dumbledore said to the others.

But no one moved. Everyone looked at Dudley instead.

"Go on," Dudley said.

Only then did they leave, reluctant and lingering.

"It seems your words carry more weight than mine," Dumbledore said meaningfully.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 357

Chapter 357: The Monocle

After Defence Against the Dark Arts, Dudley still did not seem himself. Harry, Ron, and Hermione barely dared to speak above a whisper, afraid of disturbing him.

It was not until they finished dinner in the Great Hall that Dudley seemed a little better and started talking to them of his own accord.

"Professor Lupin’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class is not bad."

"Yes, it really is interesting," Hermione said at once, shooting Harry and Ron a pointed look.

"Definitely. Miles better than the last two," Ron added quickly.

"A practical lesson like that teaches more than any textbook ever could," Harry said.

Dudley let out a soft chuckle. Their careful, tentative manner was almost funny.

He was not that fragile.

Still, he did not explain anything. Those things were not something he could tell them.

Seeing Dudley fall quiet again and focus on eating, the three of them exchanged a look and stopped pressing.

It was not until after dinner, once Dudley had done his usual patrol through the castle, that the three of them finally had a chance to talk about it properly.

"I cannot believe Dudley actually has someone he is afraid of," Ron said in amazement. "And the way he looked, he was really wary of that man. You might not have noticed, but when Dudley saw him, his face looked even more shocked than when he saw You-Know-Who."

"I just cannot imagine there being anyone more terrifying than You-Know-Who," Harry said, frowning. "I have never seen that man in my life. Why would Dudley be afraid of him?"

Harry and Dudley had grown up together. Even if their relationship had been awful, Harry still knew most of what there was to know about Dudley. It made no sense that Dudley could have a figure he feared so deeply, someone Harry knew absolutely nothing about.

Besides, before they turned eleven, they had both lived as "Muggles". Back then, how could they possibly have met someone who would still frighten Dudley now?

Unless the man was someone Dudley met after entering the wizarding world.

But there was no such figure in the wizarding world either.

"Maybe he is not from this world," Hermione said.

Harry and Ron both turned to stare at her.

Hermione gave an awkward laugh. "It is just a joke. Books have plots like that, do they not?"

"Hermione, honestly, read a bit less," Ron could not help saying. "You are going to read your brain mush."

Hermione shot him a vicious glare.

"Hermione, you read more than anyone. Have you ever seen that man described in any book?" Harry asked suddenly.

Hermione frowned and tried to think it through, but she could not recall any wizard who fit that image.

"To be honest, most of his features were not that distinctive," Ron said. "The one thing that really stood out was the monocle. Not many people wear glasses like that, do they?"

"Yes, I noticed the monocle too," Harry said with a sigh. "But a monocle alone is not enough to figure out who he is."

"There is one point you should not ignore," Hermione said quietly. "He is probably still alive. A Boggart becomes what you fear most from your own memory, which means Dudley must have actually seen that man."

"That narrows it down even less," Harry said. "It just makes it more impossible."

Their discussion hit a dead end.

Dudley was only thirteen. In such a short life, the number of people he could have truly met was limited. Someone in the Muggle world who could scare him made no sense, and someone in the wizarding world that no one had ever heard of was just as unlikely, unless that person had never shown his face to anyone else and had only revealed his terror to Dudley alone.

After that, the three of them stopped talking. Everything they knew, they had already said.

Over the next few days, everyone went to class as usual, and without saying it aloud, they avoided the subject entirely.

Then the weekend arrived, and with it, the time they had agreed on for their gathering.

It was the Kingdom of Order’s first meeting of the term, and it was also the moment Dudley intended to truly begin building the Kingdom of Order for real.

After dinner, Dudley said goodbye to Harry and the others and went ahead to the Room of Requirement.

Guided by his intent, the Room of Requirement transformed into a space suited perfectly for a meeting, complete with a large number of training tools for practising magic.

At eight o’clock sharp, people began filing in one after another.

Harry’s trio, along with Ginny, Colin, Neville, Luna, and several other first-years.

As soon as they entered, they started chatting excitedly.

"Dudley, what are we supposed to call you in here?" Luna asked with a smile. "Professor?"

"No. In the Kingdom of Order, address me as Baron," Dudley said with a faint smile.

"Very well, Baron Dursley," Luna said, dipping into a small curtsy.

Everyone else followed immediately, calling him Baron, even Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"From today onward, I will teach you how to perform wandless, nonverbal spellcasting," Dudley said, his expression turning serious. "But there is one thing you must remember. Until you have my permission, you are not to show this ability in front of anyone else. Understood?"

"Yes," they answered at once.

"Then what about us..." Harry asked.

They had already shown the skill in front of others before, but only sparingly. Most people did not realise they could use it with genuine proficiency.

"You three are the exception," Dudley said. "Come over here. I will teach you something else later."

"All right," the three of them said quickly, nodding.

They already knew wandless, nonverbal spellcasting. What they wanted now was something new.

Dudley then began teaching Luna and the others the pronunciation of the Hermes language.

This Spirituality language was the key to wandless, nonverbal spellcasting.

However, Dudley only taught them how to pronounce specific sounds and how to use the Spirituality language to stir the magic within their bodies. He did not teach them the full language itself.

As a result, they could at most understand simple vocabulary used for casting, but they could not learn the complete system of the language.

And under these conditions, the Hermes they learnt could not be passed on to others either, effectively preventing the language from spreading.

This would be Dudley’s most effective method for cultivating the Kingdom of Order, and it would also be his followers’ greatest advantage, the defining capability that separated them from other wizards.

With Dudley’s guidance, Ginny and the others slowly began to master the sounds of the Hermes language, and through the force of that Spirituality language, they learned to draw on their own magic.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 356

Chapter 356: The Stolen Ritual

As Harry stepped forward, the Boggart that had become Aragog abruptly stopped moving and scrutinised him, as if digging for the deepest fear in his heart.

In the next instant, its body twisted and reshaped, turning into a terrifying black-robed figure.

"Oh!"

More than a few people cried out.

Lupin, taut with nerves at the side, immediately raised his wand. But the moment he made out what the dark silhouette truly was, he let out a quiet breath and did not intervene.

Dudley saw it too, and it was not what he had expected.

"A Dementor," he murmured.

He had not realised the Dementor’s impact on Harry ran so deep, deep enough that the fear it inspired even surpassed Voldemort.

Harry’s face went deathly pale.

His eyes unfocused, and his body began to tremble.

"Riddikulus!"

He forced the spell out with everything he had.

The Dementor that had been floating in the air suddenly dropped to the floor and began to wave its arms, dancing a clumsy little ballet.

Laughter burst out at once.

The oppressive atmosphere vanished in an instant.

It had to be said, the Dementor the Boggart created was not only identical in appearance, it even carried a trace of that same cold, hollow aura, just far weaker than the real thing.

"Very good, Harry. Excellent," Lupin said, relief flooding his voice.

For a split second, he had been afraid the Boggart would turn into Voldemort. That would have terrified half the room. Thankfully, what Harry feared most was a Dementor.

"Next. Dudley."

Lupin’s gaze shifted to Dudley behind Harry, and everyone’s eyes followed.

"I really want to know what Dudley’s afraid of," Ron whispered excitedly.

Since meeting Dudley, it was hard to recall him ever truly showing fear. When he faced things that made everyone else shake, he stayed calm, at most turning grim.

Fear simply did not seem to exist in him.

Harry looked at his cousin.

"What could Dudley possibly be afraid of?"

Dudley glanced at the ballet-dancing Dementor and walked forward.

To everyone’s surprise, as he approached what should have been the embodiment of his greatest fear, he did not look afraid at all. He actually smiled.

"Do not disappoint me," he said softly, almost amused.

Lupin’s heart tightened.

A wizard who could smile at the edge of fear always gave him a faintly unhinged feeling.

The Boggart stopped moving and studied Dudley, as if struggling to decide what shape could possibly frighten a boy who looked as though he feared nothing at all.

In a blur, the Dementor vanished and condensed into a human form.

But its transformation was slower than with the others, and its features would not come into focus.

"Dudley’s afraid of a person?" people whispered in disbelief.

They stared hard, trying to make out who the shadowy figure was.

Gradually, the change accelerated. It looked like a man, and his clothes were not those of a wizard, but closer to a medieval Muggle gentleman.

"Dudley, long time no see."

He wore a black, old-fashioned coat and a matching soft, pointed hat. Black curls, black eyes, a broad forehead, a lean face.

Looking at Dudley, he drew a monocle from his pocket and calmly set it over his right eye.

Dudley’s face drained of colour.

His gaze locked onto the man as though he could not look away.

Around them, everyone stared, stunned.

The man looked ordinary, almost unremarkable, even like a Muggle. He did not look like a wizard at all.

Yet Dudley was visibly frightened. Why would Dudley fear someone like that?

"It seems you are doing well," the man said, surveying the room. His eyes swept over the students, and a gentle smile rested at the corner of his mouth.

"Dudley!" Lupin warned sharply.

"Amon," Dudley said under his breath.

"What is wrong? Are you afraid of me?" Amon asked with a smile. "Afraid I will steal your ritual?"

"No. You can’t anymore," Dudley said, shaking his head.

"Is that so?" Amon’s smile deepened. "Nothing is ever absolute."

"Dudley, we’ll meet again one day."

He pinched the rim of his monocle, and the smile that followed was strange, wrong.

"Riddikulus!"

Dudley snapped his wand up.

The Amon-shaped Boggart warped instantly, but unlike everyone else’s, the elegant man did not twist into something ridiculous. Instead, he gave Dudley one last eerie smile and vanished.

Boom!

A violent explosion shook the room.

The Boggart shattered as if it had been hit by a Blasting Curse, blown into nothing, not even scraps left behind.

For a moment, the staffroom was silent.

Everyone stared at Dudley, wide-eyed, unable to understand what they had just seen.

After a long pause, Dudley drew a slow breath. "Sorry. The Boggart is dead."

"It is fine," Lupin said, not seeming to mind. "But Dudley, your face..."

He had noticed Dudley was still pale.

"I am fine," Dudley said, shaking his head.

He turned and walked back.

Lupin frowned, watching him for a few seconds before continuing the lesson.

But with the Boggart destroyed, he could only describe the remaining points based on what they had already witnessed, explaining what to watch out for when facing one.

"Dudley, you look awful," Hermione said worriedly.

"It will pass," Dudley replied. "Give it a bit."

"Dudley, who was that man? Why were you afraid of him?" Ron pressed.

Harry saw Dudley did not answer and immediately said, "Whoever he is, we will help you deal with him."

"Yeah. We are always on your side," Ron hurried to add.

"Thanks, but you cannot help with this," Dudley said quietly. "That might have just been my nightmare, nothing more. He will never appear again."

The three of them exchanged uneasy looks.

They could all feel Dudley’s mood was off, but none of them understood why.

Ron and Hermione looked to Harry, silently asking: Who was that man?

Harry could only look back blankly. He had never seen him before.

And their minds kept circling the strange exchange from earlier.

Steal a ritual?

What ritual was Amon trying to steal?

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 469

Chapter 469: The Gathering

Sean reconstructed Borel’s family, reshaping both their memories and their appearances.

The rest was for Gavin to worry about.

Sean left Bulstrode Manor. As he was leaving, he saw a group of Bulstrode elite wizards entering the estate to purge the remnants of Borel’s faction. Looking at those unfamiliar faces, Sean curled his lip slightly. Gavin really did have hidden strength. Of the entire Bulstrode family, Borel had probably been the one with the fewest schemes.

After leaving Bulstrode Manor, Sean went to the Black Hat Pub in Knockturn Alley. By now, it had become the public-facing base of operations for Sean and his faction.

The moment Sean stepped into the Black Hat Pub, everyone seated inside stood and saluted him.

“All right, enough. I do not care for that sort of thing. Sit down, all of you.”

Sean had called this gathering, so everyone under his command had come.

Taking the central seat, Sean turned towards the person sitting not far from him. She looked unfamiliar, yet stunning, a tall blonde woman in her thirties with a voluptuous figure.

“Marlow,” Sean said, “at least next time we meet, could you show up looking like yourself?”

“Master, I…”

Watching Marlow fidget in embarrassment, Sean might have found it pleasing to the eye if this truly were a beautiful woman. Unfortunately, he knew perfectly well this was Marlow wearing Polyjuice Potion. The more gorgeous and seductive the disguise, the more uncomfortable it felt.

Sean turned away and waved his hand repeatedly.

“Forget it. Forget it. As long as I know it is you, that is enough.”

Marlow immediately smiled. “Thank you, Master. I knew you were the best.”

Sean shivered, then looked to the rest and changed the subject at once.

“All right. We are here for two reasons. First, to arrange our next moves. Second, for everyone’s safety and for smoother operations going forward, I will place my magical mark upon you all: the Ouroboros Pentagram.”

At those words, expressions varied, but most were excited. Marlow, in that elegant, mature-woman form, even looked shy and thrilled at the same time. Sean very nearly drew his wand and gave him an Avada Kedavra.

Yes, Sean had finally mastered the Killing Curse.

No, that was not quite accurate. Sean had learned the Killing Curse long ago, but at the time it was only LV0 and its power was low. Now, however, Sean’s Killing Curse had reached LV4. He had gained it during the great battle at the Ministry, when the system judged Sean and Voldemort to have fought to a draw, allowing Sean to extract one of Voldemort’s abilities and obtain an LV4 Killing Curse.

Even Voldemort’s Killing Curse was only LV4.

And an LV4 Killing Curse was already peerless in the wizarding world.

By Sean’s estimate, almost no one in this world could train the Killing Curse to LV5 or higher. Perhaps the one locked away in Nurmengard might surpass Voldemort in that spell. Beyond that, the chance of anyone exceeding Voldemort in the modern wizarding world was close to zero.

As for why the Killing Curse was so difficult to advance…

To give a simple comparison, most spells required 50 to 100 experience points to go from LV1 to LV2. The Killing Curse required 200, perhaps even 300.

And that gap only grew at higher levels.

Take the Disarming Charm as an example. For most spells, the experience required to go from LV4 to LV5 was moderate. Let that value be 10,000 for simplicity. For the Killing Curse, the experience required to go from LV4 to LV5 would be an appalling 500,000.

A fifty-fold difference.

Even Voldemort, after spending so many years, had only trained the Killing Curse to LV4. He still had a long way to go to LV5.

Back to the point.

Sean looked at everyone and said directly, “Show me the place where you want the Ouroboros Pentagram branded.”

At once, Marlow, who regarded Sean as his only master, and Barrett, who worshipped Sean like a god, both pulled back their sleeves, exposing their right arm and left arm respectively. Jennifer then tugged her collar aside, revealing the right side of her collarbone and a glimpse of pale skin beneath.

The others chose different spots, but most bared their arms. It could not be helped. The Death Eaters had conditioned people to associate a branded mark with an arm.

Sean raised his wand. Silver-green threads of light burst from its tip like fireworks, drifting down in delicate strands towards the places they had exposed.

A mild prickling pain spread as the silver-green threads bloomed across their skin, embroidering the pattern of the Ouroboros Pentagram as if stitched into flesh.

A few breaths later, the mark on each person was complete. At the same time, the function of the Ouroboros Pentagram surfaced in each of their minds.

In simple terms, it had three uses.

The first was location. Sean and the others could sense each other’s positions. At critical moments, they could Apparate directly to the marked person. Because the mark provided a fixed anchor, it could also bypass certain kinds of magical interference to a degree.

The second was surveillance. There was no need to explain that one.

The third was shielding. Anyone branded with the Ouroboros Pentagram gained considerable resistance against memory modification, Legilimency, and Veritaserum.

Naturally, that third function came from Sean’s research into alchemy.

With the branding complete, Sean looked at Jennifer.

“How is the Flint family situation?” he asked.

“Most of the Flint family have been arrested by Aurors and are awaiting trial,” Jennifer replied. “Those with lighter charges will have their wands snapped and be expelled from the wizarding world. Those with heavier charges will be sent to Azkaban.

“But some escaped the Aurors and formally joined Voldemort’s side as Death Eaters.”

Sean looked at Jennifer, his blood-related cousin, and smiled slightly.

“Your family really did not think much of me,” he said. “They only sent you to infiltrate my faction.”

Jennifer’s expression stiffened for a moment, then she smiled.

“That is only because their judgment is poor,” she said. “In truth, others had the chance to choose you as well, but only I stood on your side in the end. If they have met this fate, they have no one to blame but themselves.”

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 439

Chapter 439: Extermination, Bad News from Dobby, Setting Out to Rescue​

The gorgon’s snake hair opened its jaws at Harry, and several pillars of light blasted out, scorching magic tearing through the air as they streaked towards Harry and the other two.

Harry refused to give ground. He lifted his wand, and the power of resentment was instantly transformed by the power of love, condensing beside him into a blood-red shield. The beams slammed into it and rebounded at once, detonating in a violent explosion near the gorgon and leaving seared scars across the surrounding ground.

At the side, Ethan moved in perfect sync with Harry. He swung his wand hard, as if cracking a massive whip, and the flames covering the ground gathered with each motion, twisting into a spiralling drill of fire that spun at terrifying speed.

“Fiendfyre!”

As Ethan spoke the incantation, the blazing drill shot out like an armour-piercing round, flashing past in an instant and punching straight through the gorgon’s abdomen.

Harry seized the opening. A Patronus Charm burst forth, summoning a gigantic stag. It stood proud and imposing, muscles taut, legs bent slightly as it gathered strength.

Then it kicked off the ground. Dust exploded beneath its hooves as its body pitched forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, surging ahead with astonishing speed, every movement sharp and powerful.

Its antlers, as keen as spears, rammed straight through the gorgon while it was still in mid-air. Harry’s magic surged into Tom’s body, and golden flames erupted across the gorgon in an instant.

“I’ll add one more shove!” Ethan raised his hand and poured hell’s power into it.

Resentment and hell were highly compatible. One embodied retribution in kind, the other embodied karmic payback, and together they matched perfectly with the blood feud between Tom and Harry, so…

Whoosh!

The golden flames on Tom’s body shot into the sky, so intense that even the faded First Layer of the Deep Realm was stained with a faint hint of gold.

They watched in silence as Tom’s soul turned to ash within the fire.

“Harry, you’ve grown stronger,” Sirius said sincerely. His godson was already like Harry’s father, a formidable wizard in his own right. Perhaps it was time to think about retiring.

“We… won?” Ron still did not dare lower the Sword of Gryffindor.

“Of course,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes. “Two core holders of the Deep Realm’s kings, fighting against the remnant soul of a single holder. You think she could flip the table?”

“Let’s leave. This place makes my skin crawl,” Hermione said, hugging herself and rubbing her arms.

“Go.” Ethan grabbed them and bored a hole through the boundary between illusion and reality, sending them back to the real world.

At the same time, still in Romania, Tom once again felt her remnant soul being destroyed. This time, she finally could not endure it any longer and set off immediately, preparing to return to Britain.

But the moment she left, Edmond, stationed at a port on the Nile, received the news at once.

“No idea how many people Aiden planted in her camp, but they can even pass along the exact time she left,” Edmond muttered. “That cannot be a low rank.”

He clenched his fist. The note in his hand crumbled into ash. Then he picked up the receiver on his desk and dialled.

“Miss Nura, pass the word along. It’s time to attack.”

…

The group who had returned from hell made their way back to the Hog’s Head Inn. In a ripple of space, Dobby arrived.

“Harry Potter, Dobby is so happy to see you safe,” Dobby said, his voice bright with relief.

“Forget them. What about the information I told you to investigate?” Aberforth came out from the back kitchen, instantly stealing Dobby’s attention.

“Oh, yes. Those… bad wizards took Lovegood’s daughter, Mr Ollivander, and the goblin Griphook,” Dobby said. “They are being held in… the bad Malfoy’s house.”

Dobby shrank in on himself as he spoke. Even after being freed from the Malfoys’ contract, he still struggled to insult them, and his hands drifted towards his head as he edged closer to the bar again.

“Dobby, stop. You’re not the Malfoys’ house-elf anymore. Don’t punish yourself!” Harry cut in quickly.

Only after receiving a new wizard’s order did the ingrained compulsion finally stop working on Dobby.

“Luna’s been taken?” Ethan asked. As a Ravenclaw, he naturally knew that odd, lively girl.

“So, we’re going to rescue them?” Sirius raised his brows at him.

“Of course. We’re the vigilante duo,” Ethan said, leaning into the drama for a moment.

“But be careful,” Aberforth warned. “Malfoy Manor is one of their main bases. It won’t be easy to break into.”

“Dobby…” Dobby lifted a hand. “Dobby can take you inside.”

The wizards present all drew in a breath.

Some wizarding families cast Anti-Apparition charms over their homes, but for convenience, they rarely accounted for house-elf magic. That made the creatures wizards looked down on most, yet those who could still use magic, the one loophole in countless forbidden places.

“All right, then let’s go now!” Harry sprang up, eyes shining.

“But… Dobby can only take two people,” Dobby said, his ears drooping with guilt. “If there are too many, the travelling time will become longer, and that will put you in danger.”

“It’s all right, Dobby. You’re already amazing,” Harry said, then looked around at everyone.

“Only two. Who’s coming with me?” Harry asked.

“No need. Ethan and I will go,” Sirius said, raising a brow. “We’re more experienced with this sort of thing, and our teamwork’s better.”

“No. I have to go,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Malfoy Manor might be hiding a Horcrux, and I’m the one who can sense it.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Ethan suggested. “With the two of us, as long as Tom Riddle doesn’t move in person, no one should be able to keep us there.”

“Done.” Harry nodded.

The two of them began packing separately, bringing along alchemical items and potions, just in case.

Hermione could not hide her worry. She straightened Harry’s collar, then shoved the book Aiden had left into his arms.

“Be careful,” Hermione said softly.

“Of course.” Harry smiled.

Nearby, Sirius tugged Ethan aside and started fussing at him in a low stream of words. “I’m leaving my godson with you. We’ve been together this long; you’re basically half an uncle to him. Protect him properly.”

Ethan, abruptly promoted by an entire generation: “…”

Then the two of them stepped forward. Dobby took their hands, and with a twist in space, they vanished.

Scottish Highlands, inside the Malfoy family’s dungeon.

Dobby brought Harry and Ethan in. The dungeon was dark, damp, and oddly spacious, but two or three figures were slumped inside, adding the smallest hint of human presence.

“Harry Potter.” Luna smiled when she saw him. She looked mentally steady, as if she had not been tortured.

“Are you all right, Luna? Mr Ollivander?” Harry hurried over, checking them quickly.

But at that moment, the sound of an iron door opening suddenly rang out from above the dungeon…

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 310

Chapter 310: Illusions in the Mirror World! Harry: Why Does Mr Lamp Look Strangely Familiar?

Thud.

The world spun violently, and Harry and Cedric hit the ground hard. The Triwizard Cup flew from their hands, bounced twice, and rolled to a stop in the grass a short distance away.

“Where are we…?” Harry fumbled for his glasses, shoved them back on, and stared around in disbelief. “The Cup is a Portkey? Is this another of Ethan’s ‘surprises’?”

Calling it a surprise felt generous. This was a scare.

A bitter, cold wind swept through the air. Tombstones stood in dense rows, crooked and looming. Crows perched on dead branches, cawing as they flapped off into the gloom. The sky was dim, heavy clouds pressing down like a lid, and the whole place looked like a landscape painted at the end of the world, empty and desolate.

“Creepy,” Harry muttered, swallowing. “Fits Ethan’s taste, I suppose.”

He tightened his grip on his wand and cast, “Lumos.”

Soft white light bloomed, pushing back the fog and shadow and throwing the graveyard into clarity.

Harry froze.

“Tom Riddle’s grave…” Cedric was propped against the headstone they had fallen beside, reading with interest. “Died in 1943… ‘A soul murdered and denied rest’?”

“C-Cedric …”

“Hey, Harry!” Cedric turned, oddly excited. “This bloke was murdered. No wonder there’s a scythe carved on the stone. Is this the puzzle stage next?”

“Get down, Cedric!”

Harry’s scream ripped out of him.

The last thing Cedric saw was a burst of blinding green light, and Harry lunging forward with everything he had, arm outstretched, trying to shove him away.

But he was too late.

Bang.

The green spell grazed the tips of Harry’s fingers and struck Cedric square in the chest.

Cedric’s body snapped backward as if he had been hit by a charging beast. He flew, slammed into the ground, and went limp, arms and legs slack. His eyes were wide and empty, filled with pure, stunned disbelief.

“No. No… Cedric… no!”

Harry’s mind went blank.

He scrambled forward on hands and knees, shaking Cedric’s shoulders again and again, desperate, frantic, refusing to understand.

But the warmth under his hands was fading fast.

And there was no heartbeat. Not even a flicker.

Avada Kedavra.

The name of the spell leapt into Harry’s mind, something he had learned in Defence Against the Dark Arts. One of the three Unforgivable Curses. It killed instantly, striking at the soul itself.

There had been no incantation.

But there was no mistaking the effect.

And Harry knew something else, too. That curse was not something an ordinary wizard could cast properly. In class, they had fired it together at Professor Moody, and at most, it had given the professor a nosebleed.

But now, staring at Cedric’s still face, Harry felt sick with certainty.

Whoever had done this could cast it for real.

Step. Step.

Footsteps pressed into the grass.

In the graveyard’s suffocating quiet, the sound was painfully clear, almost obscene. Slow. Unhurried. As if the person walking toward them had all the time in the world, as if they had not just taken a life.

Step.

A pure white mask slid out of the darkness.

It matched the vague shape Harry thought he had glimpsed the moment Lumos lit the fog.

At that instant, a thread of moonlight fell through the clouds and outlined the newcomer.

Tall. Lean. Elegant.

And dressed in a way no wizard dressed.

Even Gilderoy Lockhart, the so-called heartthrob of the wizarding world, had always worn loud, garish robes, purple and green and everything else that screamed for attention.

This man wore a perfectly tailored black suit. Crisp trouser legs, seams so sharp they looked drawn with ink. A thin gold chain ran from his breast pocket to a button, glinting faintly. A dark blue tie lay neat at his throat. A top hat sat on his head, and over it all, a cloak like a priest’s mantle. In his gloved hand, he held a gold-tipped cane, resting it soundlessly in the damp earth.

Without that plain, blank white mask, he could have walked straight out of a cathedral, the kind of priest people would queue day and night to confess to.

Harry knew better.

Under that merciful appearance was something mad and vicious.

Almost on Ethan’s level.

Harry’s voice shook. “You… you killed Cedric.”

“Long time no see, Mr Potter,” the masked man said as if he had not heard him.

He removed his top hat with gloved fingers and bowed with flawless grace. “Perhaps you remember my name. The one who will lead the world into a new era. Mr Lamp.”

“I have been waiting here for quite some time.”

“You killed Cedric!”

Grief and fury blew the fear out of Harry’s body like a bellows.

He sprang up, wand raised, and roared, “Reducto!”

A bolt of red light shot at the masked man like an arrow. It scraped the edge of a tombstone on the way and turned solid rock into drifting dust.

But then, snap.

A cold flash cut across the air like a blade of steel.

The spell was knocked aside violently, ricocheting into the ground and exploding in a shower of soil and shattered stone.

A twisted, horrifying silhouette rose behind Mr Lamp.

Black hair streamed in the air as if underwater. Thin, jointed arms wrapped around Mr Lamp from behind like a lover’s embrace, too many elbows, too long, too wrong. Claws gleamed like knives. From within the curtain of hair, a single blood-red eye stared at Harry, fixed and hungry, spilling a chill that crawled under the skin.

But Harry’s mind had already burned past fear.

He panted, launching spell after spell at the demon-like figure before him, red light flaring again and again among the graves.

Mr Lamp did not even raise his wand. He looked down at Harry, calm and detached, as if watching a child punch a stone wall.

Slowly, he said, “Is that all your professor taught you? How disappointing.”

Impatient again, Ethan clicked his tongue behind the mask.

Once anger took over, Harry became reckless, charging like a fool without thinking of consequences.

He had not even realised Cedric had not died at all.

It was only an illusion.

A bit like the Imperius Curse. If Harry slapped Cedric a few times, he would probably break through the Confundus effect and hear Cedric yelp in pain.

And this graveyard was not Little Hangleton, a thousand miles from Hogwarts.

They were still in the Triwizard maze.

They had simply used the Wayward Mirror hidden inside the Cup to enter the mirror world.

In the space within the mirror, the caster held the advantage.

Under the mask, Ethan’s mouth curved.

As if he would ever obediently follow Voldemort’s plan and set the fight on Voldemort’s home ground.

He almost wanted to see Voldemort’s face when the truth came out, shocked so hard he sat bolt upright.

But first, it was time to deal with this green, half-baked Saviour. Not deal with him, exactly. Teach him another lesson.

With a casual wave of Ethan’s hand, Harry was yanked into the air and thrown backward. He slammed into the stone carving on Tom Riddle’s tomb.

Ethan flicked his hand again.

Crack.

The tomb’s scythe-shaped carving snapped into place like a trap, clamping around Harry’s throat and pinning him there. Harry’s wand flew from his hand and skittered away into the grass.

“Let… let go of me!” Harry choked, thrashing. His legs kicked like a trapped grasshopper.

It did nothing.

Ethan’s voice was mild. “Lose your wand, lose your casting. Wizards really are inconvenient creatures.”

If the job were his, the first thing he would do as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor would be to train students in wandless magic.

Harry nearly spat blood.

One sentence, and he had just spat on centuries of Ollivanders.

That casual talent for ruining other people’s lives without even meaning to made Harry think, inexplicably, of someone he knew.

Could Ethan really be Mr Lamp?

That was impossible.

Harry ground out, “Just you wait. Ethan will notice something’s wrong soon. He’s the strongest wizard we know. When he gets here, you’re dead!”

Mr Lamp, Ethan himself, nodded with obvious satisfaction. “Go on. Say more.”

Harry: “…”

He was so furious his head spun and his chest ached.

This “Mr Lamp” was not talking like a human being. He felt like the same species as the monsters Ethan summoned.

Then another set of footsteps sounded.

Shff. Shff. Shff.

Heavier than Mr Lamp’s. Messier. Uneven.

When the figure stumbled into the moonlight, Harry held his breath.

A zombie?

Like the illustrations in their Defence textbook.

The man was corpse-pale, skin tinted a sickly blue-green. He staggered forward as if his legs barely remembered how to work. He cradled something wrapped like a bundle in his arms. On the exposed skin, swollen veins bulged in thick, branching lines like plant roots.

As he drew closer, Harry saw something even worse.

Clusters of brown mushrooms grew along the man’s neck. The darker spots on their caps formed shapes that almost looked like faces.

Harry felt cold dread and nausea twist together in his stomach.

Then a flash of recognition hit him.

Harry blurted, “You’re Crouch’s son… Barty Crouch Junior. A Death Eater.”

Once, because of his scar, Harry had gone to see Dumbledore. In the Headmaster’s office, through the Pensieve, he had watched the trial where Barty Crouch Junior was dragged in with the other Death Eaters and sentenced.

But that made no sense.

Barty Crouch Junior was supposed to have been sent to Azkaban years ago.

Rumour said he was dead.

So how could he be here?

Harry stared at the blank, stupid expression on the man’s face. Even hearing his shout did not seem to stir him.

The graveyard wind felt colder.

“Master…” Barty croaked, swaying beside Mr Lamp.

His face was crooked, eyes unfocused, mouth slack. The thin skin on his forehead showed those bulging, root-like veins.

Harry’s brow knotted in disgust. He could barely look.

And then Harry heard the most terrifying sentence yet.

“Harry, don’t be so rude,” Mr Lamp said mildly.

“Say hello to your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 468

Chapter 468: A New Life

“As you wish.”

Gavin’s face hardened, empty of grief or joy. He lifted his wand and gave a formal duelling salute. Borel stood where he was, slowly raising his wand in return. Gavin did not waste another word. His wand snapped forward, and a Disarming Charm shot straight at Borel.

At the same time, a halo of light appeared in Gavin’s eyes. In his vision, Borel’s counterattack path was already laid out. So when Borel flicked his wand to knock the Disarming Charm aside and then chopped down hard, cleaving out a scorching, blade-like arc of energy, Gavin dodged a heartbeat in advance and angled his wand upwards.

“Spiral Flip!”

Borel’s body spun as he was flung up, then slammed down onto the floor.

Gavin stepped in. His wand thrust forward like a sword.

“Spiral Pierce!”

A nearly invisible line shot from Gavin’s wand and arrived at Borel in an instant.

Feeling the force that seemed ready to bore through anything, Borel rolled across the ground to avoid the edge of it. He then swept his wand sideways. Black smoke burst out and transformed into dozens of venomous snakes, lunging at Gavin.

“Spiral Shred!”

Gavin drew a circle in front of him with his wand. Another near-invisible power formed into a high-speed spiral field. The moment the snakes reached it, they were ground into pulp and flung aside by the spinning force.

But as the mangled flesh hit the floor, it began to hiss.

The blood and meat were heavily corrosive.

“That magic,” Gavin said coldly. “Did Voldemort teach it to you?”

“As the price of my submission, the Dark Lord opened his magic to me completely!”

“You leave the family’s magic untouched and go learn Voldemort’s Dark magic instead. Pathetic.”

“The Dark Lord is the strongest wizard alive. What is wrong with learning from him?” Borel snarled. “You have never let me take a step on my own, but every timid breath Yadel took—you praised. Yadel, Yadel, always Yadel. He is a Squib, do you hear me? A low, useless Squib. He cannot even spark a match, and you hold him up over me? Over me? All my life you weighed me against that empty‑handed saint and called his weakness ‘virtue.’ He does not deserve to stand beside me, let alone be compared to me.”

With a furious shout, Borel whipped his wand. Thick black smoke poured from his body.

Sean raised an eyebrow.

Voldemort even taught him the Smoke-Rope Curse?

He really was willing to spend the effort.

The black smoke twisted into the heads of starving wolves that snapped at Gavin with slavering jaws.

Gavin watched the wolf-heads forming from the Smoke-Rope Curse and let out a quiet sigh.

“You say I always deny you,” he said. “But every time you throw away the foundation and chase something hollow. Magic is used by people. Anyone can cast a Killing Curse, but whose Killing Curse will ever be more terrifying than Voldemort’s?

“You look down on the family’s magic. Then I will show you just how powerful it truly is.”

“Spiral Domain!”

Gavin’s wand carved a curved arc in the air.

An invisible field expanded in an instant, swelling until it covered almost the entire Bulstrode Manor. Inside that field, a hidden shredding force appeared. Gavin moved like a conductor leading an orchestra, holding his wand between three fingers and drawing faint, effortless lines. Everything along the path of his wand was instantly torn apart and reduced to fragments.

Sean watched, shock flashing across his face.

The family had magic like this?

Once this was over, it would be worth finding an excuse to duel his grandfather seventeen or eighteen times.

Sean was not the only one stunned. Borel was too.

He watched his smoke vanish without even reaching Gavin and roared, “So you really were hiding it! This magic is not recorded anywhere in the family archives!”

“Hiding it?” Gavin looked at him now with nothing left but disappointment. “The family has a spell called the Spiral Charm. When you were at school, I specifically made you study it properly. You learned the basics, then told me you had mastered it and immediately turned around to study the Flint family’s private library. And now you tell me I hid it from you?”

“The Spiral Charm… the Spiral Charm…” Borel’s eyes shook. “Impossible. That spell, that rubbish spell that only spins things and throws them… it can actually… it can…”

“Rubbish?” Gavin said softly. “Borel, you truly do not understand what the ultimate form of magic is. Sean realised that back in his second or third year, and you still have not grasped it. What a waste.”

Gavin stopped holding back.

His wand stabbed forward.

The invisible shredding force instantly pulverised Borel’s wand and half his arm. Borel’s body was thrown high, then smashed down beside Doris’s unconscious form. Blood from his severed limb mixed with the blood leaking from Doris’s mouth and nose, indistinguishable.

Gavin walked to Borel’s side and levelled his wand at him.

But as he was about to cast, the light at his wand tip flickered, bright then dim, refusing to settle. The finishing spell would not come.

In the end, he could not do it.

No matter what, that was his child. A child he had once held in his own arms.

Even if that child had tried to kill him, he was still his child.

Sean stepped forward. He reached out and clasped the hand Gavin held his wand with, pressing it down gently.

“Leave it to me, Grandfather.”

“And what do you intend to do?” Gavin asked hoarsely.

“I will erase the memories of the three of them, then implant false ones,” Sean said. “After that, I will use alchemy to permanently change their appearances. I will send them to America as an ordinary immigrant family and let them live out their lives in the American wizarding world. That should be a decent ending.”

Gavin pressed his lips together, then nodded slowly.

“Thank you, Sean,” he said in a low voice.

“No need,” Sean replied. “Killing blood relatives is not a habit of mine.”

Sean raised his wand.

“Obliviate!”

He erased Borel’s memories, then Doris’s.

Sean went upstairs and stopped in front of Marcellus, who was kneeling there, dazed and unmoving.

"Sean," Marcellus said, his voice hollow and broken. "You won."

Sean looked down at him, his expression unmoved. "I never once considered you an opponent."

Marcellus flinched at the words. He stayed silent for a long moment, staring at the floor where his mother lay unconscious. Then he slowly lifted his head, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked.

"Thank you for not killing my parents. Thank you for giving them a new life." He swallowed hard, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks. "If possible... could you give them memories where they don't hate each other? Where they're loving and devoted? Could you do that for them?"

Sean's gaze softened, just barely. "Yes. I will."

"Thank you," Marcellus whispered, closing his eyes as the tears fell freely now.

Sean raised his wand, his voice quiet but firm. "No need to thank me."

Then, almost gently: "Obliviate."

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 438

Chapter 438: Reunion, Into Hell

"Sirius!" Harry all but crashed into him, arms locking around his godfather as if he were afraid to ever let go.

"Harry." Sirius staggered back a step and then squeezed him just as tightly, his voice rough with relief. He pulled Harry far enough away to frame his face in both hands, thumbs brushing the sharp lines of his cheeks. "Merlin, what have they done to you? You look years older."

Harry’s throat tightened. "It… it is a long story," he said, the words shaking into a smile. "But I am really, really glad to see you." For the first time in months, the weight on his chest eased. For a heartbeat he felt like the boy who had first come to Hogwarts again, not the hunted thing he had become.

"Family. What a beautiful thing," someone said softly behind them.

Harry turned. Two elderly men had risen from a corner table, tankards in hand, lamplight catching in one familiar pair of half-moon spectacles.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry, Hermione, and Ron shouted together.

"I… you… but…" Harry stared, words tangling uselessly. It was too much. For one wild second he was certain this had to be a trick, another nightmare, an illusion dredged up just to break him.

"Wait. I am not dreaming, am I?" He shook his head hard and took a step back, as if distance might somehow make sense of what he was seeing.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes crinkled exactly as Harry remembered. "Let Sirius explain," he said gently, giving his familiar little wink. "For now, my boy, I think your time is better spent with your family than with an old man like me, do you not agree?"

With that, he laid a light hand on the shoulder of the grey-bearded man beside him and turned toward the stairs, leaving Harry still clutching at Sirius’s sleeve as if afraid that, if he looked away, both of them might vanish.

"Sirius, what is going on?" The moment Dumbledore was gone, Harry, Hermione, and Ron crowded around Sirius.

"Long story," Sirius said, lifting his brows in smug triumph.

"It is basically Aiden’s arrangement," Ethan said from behind the bar, polishing a glass and ruining Sirius’ carefully built mystery.

"You…" Sirius’s grand atmosphere popped like a bubble.

Watching the two of them bicker with the ease of long habit, Harry felt a strange, unreal sort of disbelief. "You two are that close?"

"Who is close with him?" they snapped in unison.

Then Sirius told Harry how Dumbledore had survived, how Sirius had met Ethan, and how the two of them had been wandering around playing vigilante.

Harry, in turn, told Sirius about the Horcruxes they had destroyed and the months of running and hiding.

Godfather and godson sat by the fire and talked. Their friends kept their distance, quietly letting Harry have this. For the first time in far too long, warmth settled in his chest, something that felt like home.

"Right. Aiden said you know where Voldemort’s next Horcrux is?" Harry remembered Aiden’s instructions and asked at once.

"Yes." Sirius’ expression sobered. "When Ethan and I slipped into the Deep Realm, we saw it. That miserable, hateful soul, burning under Fiendfyre on the First Layer."

"What do you mean, we?" Ethan pouted. "I was the one who took you in. Without me, your body and mind would have been corroded to nothing."

"Oi, my godson is right here. Show some respect," Sirius whispered into Ethan’s ear.

"Tch." Ethan set the glass down.

"But why is Voldemort’s soul in the Deep Realm?" Hermione asked, catching the wrongness immediately.

Ethan sighed. "Besides my irresponsible roommate, who else has the ability to send Voldemort into the Deep Realm?"

"Then what are we waiting for? Let us go destroy her," Ron said, eager, the Sword of Gryffindor already in his hands.

"Not so fast. Rest tonight," Sirius said, stopping him. "You have been on the road. You are exhausted."

"All right," Harry agreed without hesitation. He still had too much he wanted to say to Sirius.

The next morning, with Aberforth’s hospitality, the trio ate a breakfast they would never forget.

“Merlin’s beard, how can something this tasty look this bad?” Ron’s face was pale; every bite went down like a dare, and it took real effort not to gag at the sight.

"Please. When we were living rough, we ate rats," Sirius said, utterly unimpressed.

"You ready?" Ethan stood in a patch of open ground, laying down protective charms around them.

"Coming," Harry said, gripping his wand and the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione stepped in behind him.

The five of them gathered together. Ethan pointed his wand down and stabbed it into the earth.

“Outsiders who do not belong to this world, Sea of Consciousness… yeah, I forgot the rest. Aiden, give me a hand here,” Ethan said with a shameless grin up at the sky.

A sigh echoed out of empty air.

An alchemical array flared under their feet.

Ethan poured his power into it. The ground sank away. The five wizards plunged down in a dizzying spiral, dropping into the First Layer of the Deep Realm, the Barren Courtyard.

The Barren Courtyard looked much as it had before: a small, colourless world, bleak and dead. The starlight that had once glimmered around it was gone, and its surface was pitted with craters, as if meteors had struck it again and again.

"Bloody hell, Ethan, what is wrong with you…" Ron blinked at the only light source and startled badly.

"This is where hell’s power is thickest. A little reaction is normal," Ethan said.

His whole body was wreathed in ghostly blue flame. You could barely still make out a human outline. Even his hair had become a wavering tuft of fire.

Ethan pressed his hand to the ground. The flames covering him flowed outward, racing across the little planet until it became a sea of fire. The heat felt fierce enough to melt metal and stone, yet under his control it never touched the other four, and the Deep Realm’s corrosion was held back by the burning barrier.

"Come on. Her remnant soul is up ahead," Ethan warned. "Be ready to fight."

"I came for that," Harry said.

There was only steel in his eyes now. From the moment he started this road, he had already decided. Voldemort would be destroyed, even if it took the rest of his life.

They walked for a while, and then they saw her.

A woman pierced through the chest by a small sword made of blood.

She held a posture like a worshipper in prayer, and the tableau was grotesque, yet energy streamed in from somewhere else without end, keeping the nun-like figure alive.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Ethan called her name.

The praying woman opened her eyes and swept her gaze over them. When she did not see the person she wanted, contempt curled at her mouth.

"He did not come? Why is it only you? Or has he grown arrogant enough to think a few lackeys can deal with me?" Her body began to shrink, but the Chaos radiating from her spiked violently upward.

"Is that so? Then let us see what a lackey can do," Harry said.

His pupils flashed gold.

"Sectumsempra!"

The invisible blade cleaved Voldemort in two and severed the blood sword at the same time.

"Ah. Freedom," female Tom murmured, rising to her feet.

With the restraint gone, the Sixth Layer and Chaos fed her even more power.

Black slime swelled out of thin air and wrapped around her. A gorgon nearly three storeys tall clawed its way up from the ground.

Harry lifted his wand.

The battle was about to begin.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 467

Chapter 467: Borel and Doris

Bang. Bang.
Crack.

Sean gave his wand a light flick, like shaking blood from a blade after a kill. He and Gavin stepped over the two servants who had tried to stop them and formally entered Bulstrode Manor.

In this world, the only people who could truly withstand Sean and Gavin together were probably Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Gavin was outstanding in his own right, and with his Spirit Vision, he could even hold his own against Voldemort for quite some time. Paired with Sean, the servants and wizards under Borel’s command inside Bulstrode Manor were not even enough for the two of them to warm up.

Walking into the manor, Gavin’s gaze landed on the statue in the entrance hall. His favourite Nordic valkyrie had been replaced by a different sculpture, a Greek-style nude woman missing both arms. The corner of his mouth twitched with anger. He lifted his wand and blasted the statue’s head clean off.

Then, in a low voice, he said, “Borel. I am here.”

“Father. You look to be in good condition.”

Borel, pale-faced, walked slowly down the staircase.

Sean watched him, ears twitching faintly. He tilted his head towards the right-side corridor on the second floor, where Borel had emerged. There stood Borel’s wife, Doris Flint, and his son, Marcellus Bulstrode. Both were deathly pale, staring at Sean and Gavin with terror written across their faces.

Each generation was worse than the last.

Sean turned his eyes back to Borel, then to his grandfather. He walked aside, sat down on the sofa, and quietly watched as his grandfather handled what came next.

“Father, I do not know how you survived the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse,” Borel said. “But I do know it cannot have been easy for you to come back. So why return at all? You could have gone to America, or South Africa, or even the East. You could have lived on there. Why come back?”

Hearing this, Sean understood at once. His uncle had no idea what had happened after Gavin sealed the manor. He did not know about last night’s aftermath, nor that the Ministry had already set things right, nor that Voldemort and the Death Eaters had been driven back into hiding.

With that thought, Sean suddenly raised his wand and tapped it gently to his temple. A thread of silver light was drawn out. With a small flick of his wand, the strand floated up, burst into a silver glow above the hall, and spread into a luminous screen before the eyes of Borel, Millicent, and Doris.

What appeared on it were scenes from last night, shown from Sean’s perspective. They revealed, in broad strokes, the battle and the Ministry’s reversal of the chaos.

When the images faded, the silver mist collapsed back into a thin strand and returned to Sean’s wand. Borel stared at Gavin, then at Sean, his face filled with disbelief.

“N-no… That is impossible. Impossible!”

"There is nothing impossible, Borel," Sean said quietly. "From the very start, Grandfather and I have been laying out a counterattack against Voldemort. I’ve spent years setting pieces in place, waiting for last night to unleash them all at once—and it worked. Grandfather never imagined you would sell out your own blood, sell him out, or turn your back on Grandmother after everything she did for you. But for me, it no longer matters. The tide has already turned. Whether you choose to stand with us or stab us in the back, the ending is the same."

Sean lifted his head and looked up at Doris Flint. A malicious smile spread across his face.

“Of course, it is not that there will be no consequences at all. For example, you will vanish from the wizarding world completely. And your helpers, the Flint family, will be reshuffled from top to bottom. From now on, the Flint family will belong entirely to Jennifer Flint.”

“That is impossible. You are talking nonsense!” Doris shrieked.

Sean looked at her calmly.

“If you believe it is nonsense, then fine, this can be arranged. You can go back to the Flint family and see for yourself. But do not say you were not warned. As of now, aside from Jennifer, the only legally recognised heir to the Flint name, every other Flint has been identified by the Ministry as a Death Eater. If you return, the only result will be this: you will be taken to the Ministry, tried as a Death Eater, and sent to Azkaban. That is your only destination.”

“Impossible! How could I be sent to Azkaban? Impossible, impossible! You are lying, you are deceiving me!”

Doris screamed as she drew her wand, trying to curse Sean. Marcellus still had a shred of sense and tried to grab his mother’s arm. But Doris was already half-mad. She flung her hand violently. Her long, sharp nails raked across Millicent’s face, leaving a bleeding scratch and knocking him to the floor.

At that moment, Doris could see nothing else. Wand raised, she tried to charge down the staircase to attack Sean.

But the beautiful shoes she wore, utterly unsuited for running, made her ankle twist.

She tumbled down the stairs.

Face-first.

She landed right at Borel’s feet, snapping off one and a half of her front teeth. Her right ankle broke, her foot twisted at an unnatural angle. Her right arm was trapped beneath her, the bone clearly fractured. Blood ran from her nose and mouth. She looked wretched.

Pain and humiliation erased the last of her reason. She forced her head up and screamed at Borel, who stood beside her.

“Borel! Borel, you pathetic excuse for a wizard! You spineless worm! Out of the whole Bulstrode family, you’re the runt they should have drowned at birth! I told my father not to make me marry you, I begged him! And look what you’ve done—you’ve destroyed us! Everything I built, everything the Flints gave you, wasted on a coward who can’t even raise his wand! Kill them! KILL THEM! Are you deaf as well as useless? I’m broken at your feet and you do NOTHING! You never do anything! You’re not a man, you’re a disgrace, a mistake! My father was right about you—you’re nothing but dead weight with a famous name! Worthless! Pathetic! USELESS!”

Looking down at Doris sprawled at his feet, filthy and broken yet still as overbearing as ever, Borel ignored Marcellus’s plea for him to help his mother.

He took two slow steps forward.

His face still wore that same gentle, indulgent fondness he had always shown her.

Then he kicked her in the face.

Again.

And again.

With every kick, Borel’s smile grew brighter, more radiant, until Doris finally stopped screaming and fell unconscious.

He withdrew his foot and scraped his shoe hard against the floor, rubbing the blood off as if it were something disgusting. He did not spare a glance for Marcellus, who stood there blank-faced, as though his soul had already died.

Borel turned to Gavin, who looked pained and grief-stricken, and spoke softly.

"Don't look at me like that, Father. I don't need it anymore. I've already betrayed you. There's no taking it back now.

"Kill me with your own hands.

"Or I'll kill you with mine. Again."

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 309

Chapter 309: Cleared! Cedric: Mate, Do We Really Have to Touch the Cup Together?

Harry looked down at the blood-red rose in his hand.

The tip of its stem was as sharp as an arrowhead.

"I get it. Leave it to me, Cedric!"

Harry forced the noise out of his head and clenched the “rose arrow” tight, feeling the thorns bite into his palm.

Cedric bared his teeth in a grin, gripped his greatsword again, and roared at the statue, “Your opponent is me, you mad Queen of Hearts who rules this cursed garden!”

“AAAAAH!”

The statue’s voice boomed with grief and rage as she raised her arms high and spread her fingers.

Crack, crack.

Fragments of stone spun and gathered in her palm.

In the end, they formed a sceptre, set with a deep red heart.

Clang!

Like a declaration of royal authority, the sceptre smashed down.

The ground shook violently.

“Urgh!”

Cedric barely kept his footing.

Then thorny vines shot out from cracks in the earth and wrapped around his ankles.

And then.

Clatter, clatter.

A chilling scraping sound came from the shadows beside the Queen.

For an instant, Cedric’s heart actually stopped.

He stared ahead, stunned.

Fortunately, Ethan was still, at least technically, a primate.

What the Queen called forth was not the black knight.

It was row after row of Hearts playing-card soldiers, carrying spears, axes, swords, and every kind of weapon, advancing in perfect formation.

“…Phew.”

Cedric let out the breath he had been holding.

Thank goodness. Just minions.

If another “black knight, white knight” popped out right now, he would seriously consider investigating his respected club president’s ancestral origins.

Just in case he traced them back far enough to end up in the deep sea.

“What do we do?!” Harry’s head felt like it was swelling as he faced the onrushing soldiers.

This made it even harder to get close to the Queen of Hearts.

“Let me handle it, Harry,” Cedric said, voice low.

He drew a deep breath and raised the sword hilt high, squeezing out his last ounce of strength as he poured all his magic into the greatsword.

In an instant, the blade swelled larger, blazing with dazzling light.

“Come on, then!” Cedric roared.

He brought the greatsword down with everything he had.

Boom!

Like a mountain range cleaved in two, a wall of light rose straight up through the playing-card soldiers.

The surge of air burst outward to both sides like storm waves.

Soldier after soldier was thrown away.

A straight, clean path to the Queen of Hearts opened.

“Argh!”

Cedric dropped to one knee, completely drained.

The magic greatsword scattered into light.

Breath surged out of his chest and exploded from his throat. “Go, Harry!”

Harry’s eyes snapped wide.

In that roar, his legs moved almost on their own.

He charged at the Queen of Hearts with every scrap of strength he had.

Clang!

A heavy axe blade chopped down at Harry’s heel.

He did not even look back.

He stumbled, then leapt onto the Queen’s arm and ran up it.

At the top he jumped again, landing over her left breast.

He clung to the hollow in her chest.

The stone heart wrapped in black mist was right in front of him.

“Ungh!”

Harry raised the rose stem high.

He was about to drive the sharp tip into the Queen’s heart.

If he struck, the curse would end, and the task would be cleared.
Right?

Harry’s hand froze halfway.

A question he could not push down rose in his mind.

Was he ending a curse, or ending the person who had been cursed?

Thump, thump.

Even though it was stone.

Even though this was only a monster Ethan had carved out of rock.

In that moment, Harry swore he could hear a living heartbeat.

In the few seconds he hesitated.

Rumble.

The statue shook violently.

A huge force grabbed Harry from behind and flung him away.

“Ah!”

Harry yelped as he tumbled across the ground.

He looked up in horror and saw the winning rose had slipped from his hand, landing right at the statue’s feet.

The next second.

Clatter, clatter!

The playing-card soldiers stacked up in layers, blocking the path.

They completely cut off Harry’s view.

It was over.

That was the only thought in Harry’s head.

He turned and saw Cedric, grey with exhaustion, kneeling on one knee like a warrior’s gravestone.

He had burned out completely.

Then Harry remembered Fred, tossed aside by a single swing of the glaive.

A heavy, sick weight dropped into his stomach.

Harry slammed his fist into the ground and growled through his teeth, “Damn it!”

“Everyone fought with everything they had just to give me one chance, and I wasted it with my stupidity!”

Harry could not even bear to imagine the contempt on the faces of the students outside the maze.

“Is this what Ethan wanted to teach us? To throw away useless hesitation and kill the enemy without delay, no matter what…”

Harry muttered, head drooping.

A deep sense of failure swallowed him.

And then.

Several seconds passed.

No playing-card soldier came forward to stab him or knock him out.

“Huh?”

Harry lifted his head, confused.

The Queen of Hearts, who had been so violent moments ago, reached down and picked up the unopened rosebud.

In her grey-white eyes, empty of pupils, something human flickered.

[You actually… did not kill me…]

When a normal voice came from the statue’s mouth, not a howl, Harry realised how young it sounded.

Pitch-black tears rolled down her petrified cheeks.

The Queen of Hearts turned her head and looked down at Harry.

Slowly, she asked:

[Why? Why did you not kill me, the source of the curse?]

Harry froze.

He had no idea what was happening.

Maybe once she finished asking, she would snap into a combat expression, laugh cruelly, and ram her sceptre straight into the ground with him.

That would be very Ethan.

Harry swallowed hard and stood up, answering from the bottom of his heart, “B-because if I did that, it would not be ending a curse.”

“I do not want to hurt innocent people.”

By the time he said the last sentence, his voice had steadied and his back had straightened.

Harry knew it clearly.

Even if given a second chance, he would probably choose the same again.

Just like in the second task, when Fleur’s sister was being controlled by that Obscurus.

To lift the curse, was he supposed to hurt an innocent girl like that?

Harry braced himself for being buried in the ground.

But the Queen of Hearts did change her expression, just not into a fighting face.

She smiled.

“…Ethan, I might disappoint you,” she thought

In the gentlest tone, she said with profound gratitude:

[Thank you for your choice. Thank you for allowing my existence…]

[Ah. That boy was right. The ones who reach me in the end are all true champions…]

[I cannot keep causing trouble for others any longer.]

Harry stood there, mouth open.

Not just him.

Everyone watching beyond the water screen looked just as stunned, holding their breath as this unexpected turn unfolded.

Before everyone’s eyes, the Queen of Hearts lifted the rose.

Then she drove it hard into her own chest.

“No!”

Dumbledore took an unconscious step forward outside the maze, reaching toward the water screen as if he could stop it.

The next second.

Aaaaah!

The black mist shrieked, a piercing wail, and surged uncontrollably into the rose.

It was swallowed, devoured, and turned into nourishment.

Whoosh.

The rose burst into bloom.

Its vivid colour pulsed in waves of light, illuminating the dark maze.

A drop of potion-like liquid fell from the flower, landing on the Queen’s grey stone skin.

Crack, crack.

Spiderweb fractures appeared.

They spread quickly across the statue.

Then everything shattered.

Rumble!

Great slabs of stone shell crashed to the ground, raising thick smoke.

In the smoke, a pale, serene face appeared, an oval face framed by smooth, long hair and marked by delicate features.

Her body was still enormous, and she still wore the dazzling dark red gown of a queen and held a golden sceptre.

But now the aura she gave off was completely different: gentle, quiet, softly restrained.

[…Eh? I am still alive…]

Even though it was her own action, the girl looked as surprised as they were.

She lowered her head to her left chest.

In the heart-shaped hollow, like something from a cartoon, a complete ruby heart gleamed.

Thump. Thump.

It beat strongly, feeding energy through her whole body.

[…So no matter what, I would be “healed”…?]

Even if a challenger had truly stabbed the rose arrow into her heart, the absorbed curse and the falling liquid would still return her to life.

As for what happened to the challenger afterwards, that was another matter.

[Ah… was all of this within your expectations, Lord Ethan?]

[So brilliant. So powerful…]

Tears streamed down Ariana’s cheeks.

This time, they were not tar-black tears shaped by a curse.

They were clear, transparent tears.

Drop after drop fell into the pool.

Soon it filled with water so clear that the bottom could be seen.

And then.

The Triwizard Cup, the prize every champion had dreamed of, floated up.

It rose within arm’s reach.

At the same time, golden words appeared in the air:

[A true champion is not defined by how great their power is.]

[It is knowing when to sheathe the blade.]

[Congratulations, Champion who held fast to justice.]

[Pick up the cup. You have passed every trial.]

As Harry read the shining lines, tears flooded his eyes.

Finally.

The torment was finally over.

He wiped his face and tightened his grip on his wand, but his mouth stretched into a grin of pure pride.

He was proud to be a member of the Morning Star Club, led by Ethan.

“This is incredible,” Harry thought, laughing through his tears. “I probably will not forget these three tasks Ethan designed for as long as I live.”

Outside the maze.

“…That was unbelievable.”

Bagman stared at the water screen, muttering to himself.

For the first time, he thought the tournament Ethan had designed was bloody brilliant.

He turned, eager to share the excitement—then froze at the look on Dumbledore’s face.

The white wizard, usually steadier than the Alps, had tears on his aged cheeks.

Dumbledore gazed at the living face of his sister, a face he had buried in memory long ago, and rasped, “I misjudged you, Mr Vincent. You are far beyond what I thought. No, your vision is broader, deeper, farther than mine.”

It was like standing atop a mountain range, looking out toward a distance no ordinary person could reach in a lifetime.

Even beyond the earth, toward the heavens.

Extraordinary beyond measure, and yet still holding kindness in his heart.

A King of Mercy.

That talent, and the madness it produced, also made Ethan stand out painfully among ordinary people.

Though with Ethan’s personality, he probably did not care at all.

Thinking of the people Ethan had tormented, Dumbledore’s lips lifted.

Under Bagman’s horrified stare, Dumbledore considered it very seriously. “Perhaps the handover process for the Headmaster’s position can be started… Hmm. Should Ethan serve one year as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor first, to gain experience?”

After all, professors came and went, but Defence Against the Dark Arts was eternal—a new face every year, never the same twice.

Then Dumbledore’s smile vanished. He tightened his grip around the old wand he had deliberately brought with him. His eyes went cold, all warmth stripped away.

Next.

It would be Voldemort.

At the centre of the maze.

[Go on. Go and claim the honour that belongs to you.]

Ariana lay gracefully on her side, smiling warmly at Harry. With an elegant wave of her hand, the Hearts playing-card soldiers dropped to one knee in salute.

It was ridiculously impressive, absurdly ceremonial.

Harry’s face went hot.

He started forward in a hurry, walking as if his arms and legs belonged to different people, desperate to pick up the cup.

Then he remembered something and stopped.

He turned and looked at Cedric, who had spent every last bit of strength and could barely move on the ground.

A huge smile spread across Harry’s face.

He turned and hurried back in three quick steps.

He hauled Cedric up, supporting him.

“Come on,” Harry said. “Without you, I would never have made it this far. Let’s touch the cup together.”

Cedric’s eyes shone. “Harry…”

Staggering, they walked toward the pool.

They looked at each other, excitement and joy surging in their chests.

Together, they reached out and grabbed the cup.

Pop.

In an instant, both of them vanished.

“Huh?”

In the stands, Hermione frowned, exchanging baffled looks with the students around her. “The cup… is a Portkey?”

Then Hermione caught sight of Professor McGonagall standing up so fast her chair nearly went over, shock written plainly across her face.

In that instant, Hermione’s heart dropped into the abyss.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 437

Chapter 437: The Deathly Hallows, the Potter Family, and the Department of Mysteries

The next morning, Hermione came rushing in and shook her two companions awake.

"We have to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood," she said, tugging at their blankets. Ron clutched his blanket and curled deeper into the corner.

"Who?" Harry frowned, thoroughly confused.

"Luna’s father. Look at this." Hermione pulled out the book she had taken from Bathilda’s house. Inside were letters Dumbledore had written to Grindelwald.

"See this symbol? Krum said it was Grindelwald’s mark. Maybe we should ask Mr Lovegood about it." Hermione grabbed Harry as if she meant to haul him up by force.

"I think I have seen that sign before. Outside Gregorovitch’s shop?" Harry sat up.

His movement shoved Lada, who had been asleep on top of the bedding, straight off the pile. She flipped over and thumped onto the floor.

"Mrrrow. Why are we up so early?" Lada’s lazy voice drifted out as she stretched hard enough to arch her back.

"Lada, do you recognise this?" Hermione had a sudden idea and thrust the book toward her.

It turned out to be a lucky hit.

As the one who effectively held sway over Britain’s magical creatures, Lada had access to a kind of intelligence most wizards could never reach. Wizards did not bother hiding their conversations from goblins, house-elves, pixies, or fairies, just like even the most careful Muggle official would never check the floor for ants before chatting.

"Hm. The Deathly Hallows symbol?" Lada said.

That answer cut off their plan to look for Lovegood entirely.

"The Deathly Hallows? So that storybook Dumbledore left me… I get it. Was he hinting at this, in his own roundabout way?" Hermione blurted, instantly connecting it to the copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard Dumbledore had given her.

"But what does the Deathly Hallows have to do with Horcruxes?" Harry scratched his head.

"Maybe Dumbledore meant for us to use the Deathly Hallows to defeat Voldemort," Ron said, forcing himself upright.

"That makes sense. But does that mean we have to collect them?" Harry said, feeling the weight on his shoulders double.

"No need. One of the Hallows, the Invisibility Cloak, is already in your hands," Lada said.

She hopped onto Harry’s rucksack, rummaged, and a nearly transparent cloak slid out.

"The three Peverell brothers. But why would that have anything to do with Harry?" Hermione flipped open The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"Let me explain," Lada said.

A pleasant teenage voice suddenly spoke through the cat.

"Aiden!" all three of them shouted.

"Looks like you destroyed the Horcrux I left at the Ministry," Aiden said, using Lada’s body. He absentmindedly licked his paw twice, like he could not help it.

"That means you have the baseline strength to handle the next Horcrux. If you can destroy the next one, the last two should not be able to stop you."

Harry and Hermione both wanted to crack his skull open and see what he was thinking. He clearly knew where Horcruxes were and still chose to hide it.

"Heh," Aiden said, acting as if he could not hear their murderous thoughts. "Back in the twelfth century, in Stinchcombe, there was a wizard named Linfred. He was known for gathering herbs, making remedies, and treating illness. Locals called him the Potterer."

"So he is my ancestor?" Harry asked, unable to hold it in.

"Do not interrupt him," Hermione snapped, poking Harry.

"Later, Linfred’s eldest son, Hardwin, married a beautiful witch named Iolanthe Peverell. After they married, they moved to Godric’s Hollow. From then on, Hardwin shortened his father’s nickname and laid the foundation for the Potter family that would last for centuries," Aiden said, calmly laying out Harry’s family history.

"Peverell. Descended from the three brothers? That is where Harry’s Hallow comes from," Hermione said, compressing the information into something her two one-track-minded friends could actually digest.

"And now comes the Department of Mysteries’ confidential part," Aiden said. "The Death from The Tales of Beedle the Bard is, in truth, the first chairman of the Mind Alchemy Society, the organisation that later became the Department’s predecessor."

"The Peverell family funded the Mind Alchemy Society when it was founded, but they pulled out halfway. They left with three objects that had been tainted by Protocol power."

"Were they hunted down for it?" Hermione asked.

"No. Protocols, the power of Death especially, are not so easy to control. They died when the alchemical items went out of control. Still, you do not need to worry," Aiden said.

He saw Harry’s hand twitch toward the cloak, as if Harry meant to throw it away on the spot, and quickly stopped him.

"The Invisibility Cloak is the most complete of the three. Its side effects are not obvious."

"What will it do to me?" Harry asked.

"It will not kill you outright. But it will make you naturally give off an aura of death, and that will attract some very strange people, like that female Tom. If you want to become an Auror later, though, it is not the worst trait to have," Aiden replied.

"So we already have one Deathly Hallow. If we find the other two, we become the Master of Death and beat You-Know-Who?" Ron said, closing the storybook. He had just finished rereading the tale of the three brothers.

"Two corrections," Aiden said. "First, you only need to find one more Hallow. Second, next you need to go to the Hog’s Head Inn in Hogsmeade and meet someone. He will lead you to the next Horcrux."

Aiden waved a hand. Grey fog began to seep across Lada’s fur.

"Mrrp? Why do I suddenly feel so sleepy? Did you do something?" Lada asked, blinking at them.

"Lada, you…" Ron started.

The fog abruptly thickened and swallowed her whole, leaving only the Sword of Gryffindor to drop onto the ground with a sharp clink.

"Now what?" Hermione asked, looking at Harry. Ron picked up the sword.

"We go to Hogsmeade," Harry decided.

They packed quickly, folded the tent, slung their gear, and set off on foot for Hogsmeade.

Hogsmeade was half-dead. Many shops were shuttered, and wanted posters for Harry and the others were plastered everywhere.

There should have been Snatchers patrolling, but lately a mysterious two-person vigilante pair had been hammering the patrols so badly that fear had spread through the ranks.

On the surface, Voldemort had tightened and reinforced the patrol range. In reality, most of the search parties were just putting on a show. The Death Eaters were not being paid enough to risk their lives.

Under the Invisibility Cloak, the trio knocked on the Hog’s Head Inn’s door. Aberforth yanked it open, face grim and hostile, and Harry lifted one corner of the cloak so the man could see him.

"Troublesome. Get in," Aberforth snapped, turning away.

Harry and the others followed him inside.

There, Harry saw a figure he had been yearning for for far too long…

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 466

Chapter 466: Setting Things Right

Sean opened his eyes.

He checked the time and realised dinner had long since passed. He yawned, sat up, and rapped his knuckles on the table. A house-elf appeared in front of him at once. She looked terribly stiff, as if she hardly dared to breathe.

“Could you please bring me something to eat and drink? The Ministry should have that sort of thing, yes?”

“Of course, Mr Bulstrode. I will prepare it for you immediately.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“N-no, not at all. It is Mira’s honour to serve you, Mr Bulstrode.”

“No need to be nervous. Off you go.”

At Sean’s words, Mira vanished from the temporary room the Ministry had arranged for him.

After last night’s duel with Voldemort, Sean had not paused to catch his breath. He had gone straight into meetings with the Ministry’s officials, setting things right and dealing with the chaos, damage, and lingering consequences left behind by the Fudge era and the Umbridge era.

The meeting ran through the entire night and into the following morning.

Even with Pepperup and other potions to keep them going, many of the older witches and wizards could not hold out any longer. They brought it to a stop, but the important decisions had already been agreed upon by everyone present.

They confirmed the crimes of Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge.

The Ministry publicly cleared Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and Harry Potter of all charges, restoring their names and positions with a full formal apology.

At the same time, they branded Dolores Umbridge, Borel Bulstrode, and the entire Flint family as confirmed Death Eaters and put bounties on their heads.

They would select new officials and Wizengamot members as quickly as possible to fill vacant seats.

They confirmed Amelia Bones as Acting Minister for Magic and Rufus Scrimgeour as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

And then came the words that shattered the illusion of peace.

The Dark Lord had returned. Voldemort was back.

Worse still, his followers—convicted Death Eaters locked in Azkaban for more than a decade—had escaped.

After Sean finished the food Mira brought him, he nodded with satisfaction. The Ministry really did have its advantages. Even the food was better than what he usually got at Hogwarts.

Mira took the plates and cutlery away. Sean cast a simple Cleaning Charm on himself, got dressed, and left the room. Under the gaze of the Ministry officials and Aurors who were still on duty, looking at him with a mix of respect and admiration, he made his way to the office of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Amelia, Scrimgeour, and Sean’s grandfather Gavin, were already there, drinking tea. When they saw him come in, they beckoned him over at once.

“Sean, come and sit. How was your rest?”

“Not bad, Grandfather.”

Gavin smiled, patted Sean on the shoulder, and said nothing more. He sat down beside him and went quiet.

Sean looked to Amelia and Scrimgeour.

“The matter I mentioned before,” he said. “Have you decided?”

Amelia smiled.

“With your reputation inside the Ministry, and with the influence you hold in the shadows, even if we opposed you, you could still get what you want, could you not?”

“But that would be ugly,” Sean replied. “I do not like doing things that way. Besides, you have both helped me more than once, so I will be straightforward in return. After I graduate, I will formally take the position of Minister for Magic, but I will not hold it for long. Once Voldemort is dead and the Death Eaters are wiped out, I will step down immediately. As for which of you takes the post then, you can decide between yourselves.”

Amelia glanced at Scrimgeour. He nodded.

She turned back to Sean.

“Fine. Then it is settled. For now, I will serve as Acting Minister. When you graduate in three months, Scrimgeour and I will both support you for Minister.”

“Thank you, both of you.”

Sean lifted the tea at his side and took a sip before continuing.

“When I become Minister, the futures in which you both die will be broken completely. You will not need to worry any longer.”

Even Amelia, who had long since set aside her own life and cared only about killing Voldemort to avenge her brothers, could not help smiling. Scrimgeour looked positively delighted.

The four of them discussed matters a while longer before Sean and Gavin rose to leave.

Amelia and Scrimgeour both knew exactly what Sean and Gavin were about to do, so they did not try to keep them. They only told them to be careful, then took their leave.

Sean and Gavin said nothing as they walked. Under the respectful stares of those still in the Ministry, they entered one of the fireplaces that had only just been restored to service and left the building.

They emerged from a shop fireplace in Diagon Alley. The street looked desolate. Sean knew this was the direct result of the Ministry confirming Voldemort’s return. Once the Ministry began heavily promoting Sean, the atmosphere might improve, but before that, Diagon Alley was bound to feel like this.

They did not linger. The moment they left the shop, Sean and Gavin Apparated to the iron gates of Bulstrode Manor.

The estate loomed before them, dark windows watching like hollow eyes, the grounds silent and overgrown. It had been sealed for years, left to rot under Ministry wards and old family protections. Now it was time to take back Bulstrode Manor.

Gavin stepped forward, wand raised. For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the layered enchantments shimmering faintly across the threshold.

Then, with a sharp gesture and a low incantation, he tore through them. The wards shattered like glass, the air itself shuddering as the manor’s entrance swung open.

Sean followed him inside. The moment he crossed the threshold, a barrage of spells came flying straight at him, a welcoming committee put together by Borel’s servants and hired wizards.

Sean’s wand moved lightly. Blue-white mist flowed around the tip.

After seeing the sheer power of Voldemort’s Shield Charm last night, the level-five Shield Charm Sean had obtained from Barty Crouch Junior no longer felt impressive at all.

His wand tapped and flicked. The incoming spells were knocked aside one after another. Two unlucky Dark wizards who rushed at him were struck by the rebounded magic and dropped unconscious where they stood.

“With standards like this,” Sean said, “my uncle really does not mind what he hires.”

“Your words do not make me happy,” Gavin said flatly.

Sean shrugged. He knew his grandfather could not possibly feel good about his son doing this, so he stopped talking around it and asked directly, “Grandfather, what do you plan to do next?”

“That boy is in the manor,” Gavin said. “Yesterday, before going to the Ministry, I came here first and sealed the place shut. He cannot run to Voldemort.

“As for how to deal with him…”

Gavin’s voice went cold.

“Leave that to me.”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 308

Chapter 308: Kill the Cursed Queen and Win the Tournament… Right?

Outside the maze, up in the stands, a huge curtain of water displayed the progress of the task, slightly blurred.

They watched as Aurors helped the eliminated Fleur to her feet.

They watched Cedric swing a massive sword of magic, driving its razor edge into the black knight’s breastplate.

And they watched, at the very centre of the maze, the stone Queen of Hearts slap Durmstrang’s top seed, Viktor Krum, flying with a single blow.

The students all went stupid with shock.

"Wait, what? That terrifying black knight is not the final boss?!"

"So the last task is not balanced at all, it is just Ethan showing off his own stuff!"

"Ethan, how many surprises are you still hiding?!"

Ron even muttered, "Right, then. In a bit, we can go dig Harry out of the ground."

If one slap could turn a burly bloke into a full-body fracture case, then Harry’s skinny build would get hammered straight into the earth.

Hermione clasped her hands together as if she were about to change class and become a healer on the spot, praying nonstop.

"Ethan would not create a monster that cannot be beaten. The weak point has to be the heart, right? It has to be the heart…"

She stared at the roiling black mist on the water screen, frowning.

It looked disturbingly similar to the Black Egg after it shattered in the second task.

It felt like this was not going to be as simple as "defeat the statue".

Off to one side, Ludo Bagman kept wiping sweat from his forehead.

The other two headmasters’ stares were practically flaying him alive.

Still, if Harry and the others made it through this last hurdle, then a Hogwarts victory would be set in stone.

Bagman glanced at Dumbledore, expecting pride, relief, something.

Instead, he froze.

Dumbledore’s face held a kind of shock Bagman had never seen before.

His eyes were wide.

As though he were staring at something that simply should not exist.

The man who did not flinch even before Dark Lords stood rigid, utterly locked in place.

If that shameless Rita Skeeter were here, Bagman thought, she would be right in his face snapping pictures like mad.

He turned back to the water screen, confused.

Yes, the statue that had swatted Krum away was terrifying, but they had seen dragons.

Surely a moving statue was not enough to make Dumbledore look like this.

Bagman did not understand.

That statue had a history.

"Ariana…"

Dumbledore stared at the familiar face carved in stone.

His lips moved, barely forming the name.

His heart trembled, pain slicing through him like a knife.

After so many years, after wrinkles had crept across his brow and brown hair had turned white, after even the Muggle boys who had once hurt her had long since become bones in the ground…

He recognised that face in an instant.

The Queen of Hearts, the final boss of the third task.

It was his sister.

Ariana.

But how could Ethan know about her?

Had he gone to the Hog’s Head?

Dumbledore knew his brother, Aberforth, was not someone who spoke of the past lightly.

Ariana’s death had become a secret kept by silence.

A wound that never healed, stretching between him and his brother like a scar.

And the black mist churning at the statue’s chest…

That was an Obscurus, the same one used in the second task.

Behind the half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore’s eyes darkened.

Magic leaked from him, lifting his beard and hair slightly in the air.

Nearby, Durmstrang’s headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, turned in alarm and edged back several steps.

Dumbledore… furious?

In Karkaroff’s memory, only the Dark Lord had ever drawn that kind of anger from Dumbledore.

But the Dark Lord was not here.

"Ethan Vincent," Dumbledore murmured, robes stirring, "is this what you meant by reunion?"

"Watching my sister, possessed by an Obscurus… and then being killed once again, by someone else?"

He should have known.

Ethan did not feel the way ordinary people did.

So long as it served his mad art, it was enough.

And he was only a fourth-year, after all.

How could a child truly understand another person’s pain?

Dumbledore closed his eyes.

He forced down the urge to storm into the maze that very second.

He did what he had done for decades.

He stayed silent.

He endured.

Inside the maze.

Boom.

The giant palm slammed down again, as though the statue could not bear its own agony.

Dust surged up like a breaking wave.

Harry barely dodged, only to be thrown off his feet by the gale it raised.

He scrambled up, plastered in mud, a complete mess.

There was no time to mourn Krum.

Only the statue mattered now.

Harry raised his wand and shouted at the black mist at its heart, "Incendio!"

A pillar of fire blasted out.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts, it would have earned an Outstanding.

But the instant it struck the mist, it was swallowed without a trace.

Damn it. It cannot even hurt it.

Only now did Harry truly understand.

How terrifyingly strong Luna and Ethan had been to dispel that darkness in a single blow.

"Aaaaaah!"

The wailing scream tore into the sky, making the thorns and roses tremble.

Tar-like black tears poured from the statue’s grey-white eyes, turning its face vicious and twisted.

The mist surged, spilling outward.

It poured into the ground and rose up into several warped human shapes.

Like Dementors without cloaks.

Each one turned a black, hollow face toward Harry.

It summons minions too?!

Harry swore in his head and snapped his wand toward the staggering shadows. "Incendio!"

Flames swallowed one of them.

"Aaaah! Kill me! Kill me!"

It shrieked as it burned to ash.

The cry was the same as the statue’s, but closer, more real.

Like a real girl, helpless and in pain.

Harry froze.

The flash of triumph from destroying a shadow died instantly.

He held his wand up, unable to form another spell.

In that moment of hesitation, a gust of wind slammed into his side.

No.

Harry’s pupils shrank.

There was not even time to turn his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the massive palm roaring toward him.

For an instant, Harry’s mind went blank, and one question would not leave him.

Why would Ethan design a hurdle like this?

Was the point to tell them that no matter what stood in front of them, they had to harden their hearts and fight?

Even if the enemy was a little girl controlled by an Obscurus?

Then.

Clang!

Harry did not become "Harry paste".

A huge metallic crash rang out.

The onrushing wind snapped back as if it had struck an unbreakable wall.

Cedric.

When Cedric’s figure appeared on the water screen, Harry and every Hogwarts student in the stands shot to their feet.

Cheers rolled like an avalanche.

"Diggory! Diggory! Diggory!"

"That is my son! That is my son!"

Mr Diggory bounced in place, arms spread wide, proclaiming it to anyone within reach, pride and boastfulness completely unhidden.

George Weasley grinned. "I always thought that bloke’s smug face was a bit annoying. But right now he is sort of… adorable."

"Still, hmph. Should have been me out there."

He looked at the brother being carried out, half scowling and half worried.

On the water screen, Cedric gripped a glowing greatsword of magic in both hands.

His clothes were shredded.

Blood stained him.

But his stance was solid, his feet dug into the earth like roots.

His whole body had become a shield.

He held the line, stopping the statue’s palm dead.

Boom.

The collision detonated into a shockwave that blasted outward from where he stood.

"Cedric! The champion who fought the black knight has arrived at the final stage!"

Lee Jordan screamed himself hoarse, practically climbing the railings as he howled.

His eyes shone with excitement, bright as fire.

Even high above, watching, Ethan’s mouth curled slightly.

"See? People just need a push, and they will squeeze out power they never knew they had."

The Morning Star Club’s training methods were questionable.

"But the timing… it is about right for me to step in."

Ethan’s deep blue eyes looked down at the two fighting side by side in the maze’s centre, and then fixed on Harry’s stunned face.

"The real test is only about to begin."

"Saviour, Harry Potter."

He swept his hand.

A pitch-black portal opened in front of him.

Ethan took one last look at the desperate battle, then stepped into the darkness.

His figure vanished in an instant.

After the warm-up, it was time to face the real enemy.

Voldemort.

At the maze’s centre, grit and dust hung in the air.

Harry forced his eyes wide, staring at Cedric, who had almost appeared out of nowhere in front of him.

Cedric turned his head.

Mud covered his face, but he wore the kind of grin a righteous hero in an adventure story would wear.

"Do you know something, Harry?"

"That armour’s thick as a dragon’s hide, but there’s nothing inside it."

As he spoke, magic poured off him in waves, the air around Cedric rippling with heat.

He growled, "Hah!"

With a boom, he forced the statue’s palm back.

At the same time, his body flew backwards, and he crashed to the ground.

"Cedric!" Harry shouted.

He blasted apart a shadow that lunged at them, then hurried to brace Cedric and pull him up.

"Agh, agh…"

Cedric panted heavily, struggling to stand.

From inside his robe he pulled out a rose branch, still tightly budded.

His voice was raw. "This is the weapon to kill that statue. It dropped off the black knight."

He pressed it into Harry’s hand.

His gaze was fierce, every word deliberate.

"Go, Harry. Drive it into the statue’s heart."

"End this Tournament."

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 311

Chapter 311: “She Will Return.”

After a heartfelt, sincere apology, Evans finally watched the Dark Wizard King draw back the black mist coiled around her arm, and he let out a quiet breath.

Then his gaze flicked to the bound lump of fog on the ground before he looked away again, turning toward the old woman who was still fussing over the hippogriff.

The earlier fight had not lasted long, and Lady Hufflepuff’s echo had not been directly injured. Even so, being controlled by that mist had still damaged this body of hers.

It was subtle, but if you looked closely, the old woman had become faintly translucent. You could make out the scenery behind her through her figure.

Evans did not know the workings of this kind of phantom spell, but he did know one thing. Any being that was neither alive nor a true soul, yet still possessed independent consciousness, required an enormous amount of energy to maintain.

He had no idea how much power this space could supply, but it could not be infinite. If it were, Lady Hufflepuff’s echo would never have been vulnerable enough for that mist to exploit.

Her time was running short.

As much as he hated interrupting a Hogwarts founder’s interaction with his companion, there were questions he needed answered, and quickly.

Because if what this old woman had said earlier was true, Sothia’s current position was probably not a safe one.

“Ma’am, earlier you said Herpo sealed the body he stole, along with himself, inside a space somewhere nearby, is that right?”

Hufflepuff withdrew the hand she had been using to stroke the hippogriff’s neck. She looked at Evans with a kindly smile and nodded.

“That is true, but there is no need to panic.”

“I told you before. Herpo pursued this plan because the body he occupied was already close to its limit.”

“After all, no matter how suitable that child’s body was, it could not bear two souls at once for long. Once the flesh rotted away, he would have to return to the state of a wandering spirit and wait for another body that could host him.”

“I imagine he had long since grown tired of the cycle. Every few years, he had to change bodies and spend most of his magic just to stay alive. That is why he tried to seize the ritual that governs this space.”

“Because once Merlin sealed that era away, a Horcrux maker like him could no longer return to the Hall of Lost Dreams that wandering spirits belonged to.”

“Or rather, other wandering spirits might still be able to slip in through loopholes. But he certainly could not.”

“Because he is Herpo, and that era and that realm belong to Morgana.”

As she spoke, Hufflepuff lifted her head and glanced at the bright, sunny sky above the pasture.

“Morgana will not allow him to enter the Hall of Lost Dreams again. So he must make that body endure permanently.”

“But it has been over a thousand years since his body was meant to be at its limit,” Evans said, frowning. “How did he survive all this time?”

If Herpo had truly lost his body, he should have been unable to cast magic at all. And if he could not cast magic, how could he seize this space?

Hufflepuff smiled gently. “Since you mentioned the Great Lake before, why not guess why he created a lake like that in the first place?”

“Because that lake can preserve his body?” Evans said, confused.

Then his eyes widened.

“Avalon?”

A lake, and the power to keep a decaying body from disappearing. The answer sprang into his mind at once.

In legend, Avalon was the dwelling of the Spring Nymphs, a mythical paradise where time stood still and everything remained peaceful and serene.

Because of Sothia, Evans had studied every record he could find connected to the Spring Nymphs, especially anything tied to that fabled blessed land.

“Only an imitation. Not the true Avalon,” Hufflepuff said softly. “Otherwise, he would not need to use ritual magic to seize our space.”

“A time that long would break anyone. Even if the springwater he created really could imitate the sacred land of legend, he would not be able to maintain it forever.”

“Your arrival was the final straw.”

Hufflepuff looked at Evans with gentle eyes. “You know what a lich becomes once it loses its body, don’t you?”

“I do,” Evans said, nodding.

After learning that Voldemort was a lich, he had dug up every scrap of knowledge he could find on Horcruxes. The methods and effects were so vile that much of it had been lost to history, but a fair amount still remained.

And he had seen with his own eyes how Voldemort possessed Quirrell and confronted Harry. If anything, he was one of the best-informed wizards alive when it came to liches.

And just so happened, one of the few people who understood them as well was part of his team.

“Then I need not explain it again.” Hufflepuff nodded, her expression turning solemn. “Find that rotting body and kill him.”

“Then find a way to imprison the wandering spirit, and if possible, locate his remaining Horcruxes and erase him completely. How far you can go will depend on you.”

After speaking, Hufflepuff paused, as if giving Evans time to digest it.

But as Evans lowered his head to sort through the information, something else occurred to him.

“Oh, right. Ma’am. Do you remember leaving an inheritance at the edge of the Forbidden Forest?”

Hufflepuff nodded. “I did, but it was only a small gift for those who came after.”

Then, as though she had realised something, a smile returned to her face.

“You saw the message I left behind, and you want to ask about the final line, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Evans said without hesitation.

To be honest, those riddle-like words had tormented him for a long time. Now that he had found the one who wrote them, he wanted the truth, at least that much.

Hufflepuff did not tease him. She merely gathered her thoughts for a moment, then spoke slowly.

“I have always said Merlin sealed that era away. And since it was sealed, that means it was not truly destroyed.”

“Or rather, as long as Morgana’s corrupted will still exists, that era will never be destroyed.”

Her voice remained gentle, but sorrow showed clearly in her eyes.

“I do not know what Merlin did over these thousand years. But before he vanished without a word, he once said he would find an inheritor, someone to help him complete what came next.”

“But by then he was already… constrained. I think he could not warn you effectively.”

“That is why I left those lines in that inheritance.”

“And just as I said back then…”

“She will return.”

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 310

Chapter 310: The Sinister, Wicked, Peerless Dark Lady

Staring at the line of heavy-armoured knights, the already terrified dove leader backed all the way into the corner of the space. If it had known how to leave, it would have fled on the spot.

Sothia, however, did not notice the dove’s panic at all. She looked down the corridor, and the corner of her mouth slowly lifted.

“Let’s see how much power you can afford to waste.”

As she spoke, Sothia flicked her hand lightly. The heavily armoured knights, standing bolt upright, began to march forward in slow but unwavering steps.

The instant they entered the corridor, the same attacks that had destroyed the watery silhouette earlier erupted again. Countless fireballs mixed with the glare of curses, streaking toward the knights and exploding into brilliant bursts of flame at the corridor entrance.

Knights struck by fireballs instantly turned into water vapour. Those hit by curses were gradually stained a dark green and melted away.

A whole row of more than a dozen heavily armoured knights did not last even a few seconds. They all dispersed, leaving only puddles on the floor to prove they had ever existed.

But that was only the beginning.

Sothia did not care in the slightest about losing a dozen of them. She beckoned again, and an even greater volume of water drifted out of the waterfall and poured into the water sphere in front of her.

Then, one after another, heavy-armoured knights with lances stepped out of the sphere and marched forward.

Every step triggered another cluster of preset traps. Curses, fireballs, even gigantic axe blades swung from absurd angles. Each burst of attacks erased countless knights in midair.

Yet compared with the endless stream of knights Sothia produced, the traps were pitifully few. In less than half a minute, the knights had carved out a safe route nearly a hundred metres long, and they kept pushing forward.

By rights, even pre-set traps should carry rules to counter Transfiguration, preventing a master from using conjured creations to bypass the mechanisms unharmed. But a spring nymph’s water avatars were each a part of herself. They were not “created objects” at all, so there was nothing for those rules to counter.

It was a shame that water tainted by curses could no longer be recalled, but it did not matter. With that waterfall here, there was as much water as she could ever want.

Looking at the corridor ahead, now quiet near the entrance, and listening to the explosions still echoing from deeper within, Sothia waved her hand. The water sphere began to roll forward. At the same time, she reached out, snatched up the dove leader that had been cowering to one side, and vigorously rubbed it a few times in her arms.

“Come on. Let’s go see what good stuff is hidden in here.”

“Such a beautiful child.”

In the middle of the pasture, a kind-faced old woman was stroking the neck of a hippogriff. Her eyes brimmed with warmth, and she kept patting here and kneading there, her face full of open affection.

The hippogriff did not seem to appreciate it. It held its head high, looking smug and aloof. But rather than discouraging the old woman, that attitude only made her look even more delighted.

To her, this hippogriff seemed a little different from the one she remembered. It was larger and more imposing, and in the earlier fight it had displayed abilities far beyond an ordinary hippogriff.

Not only it. The other magical creatures playing not far away also seemed to have changed in small ways, and that made her intensely curious.

Was it simply that nearly a thousand years had altered magical creatures? Or did Merlin’s inheritor possess abilities that differed from Merlin’s in certain ways? She wanted to understand the reason behind these changes.

Perhaps the attention had finally become irritating. Anka the hippogriff flicked its neck in displeasure. It did not understand how this elderly human woman could be fighting them a moment ago, then suddenly start acting like this in the blink of an eye.

Could this be some sort of plot? Was she trying to ambush it?

Still, the massage did feel remarkably good. It was comfortable.

Fine. Let her keep going for now. When it stopped being comfortable, it would resist.

On the other side of the pasture, Evans crouched down and studied the mass of mist sealed by lines of blood-red patterns. Not far from him, a richly dressed woman floated in midair, watching Hufflepuff in the centre of the pasture with a thoughtful expression.

Earlier, while fighting that Hufflepuff wreathed in black fog, Evans kept staring at the mist around her and feeling it looked familiar. In the end, he had simply called the Dark Wizard King and asked her to help suppress the mist for a moment.

As expected, specialist work was best handled by a specialist. The Dark Wizard King appeared and immediately pinned down the mist beside Hufflepuff. In under half a minute, she drew all of it out and sealed it into this lump.

Evans prodded the sealed mass of mist and asked curiously, “What even is this thing? I remember there was a ring of it around your pyramid too, and it could turn into those things that wouldn’t die.”

“Those were my people, not ‘things that wouldn’t die’,” the Dark Wizard King corrected coolly. “I simply have ways to ensure they are not completely destroyed by ordinary attacks.”

She looked at the mist and explained quietly, “This is malice, a collection of negative emotions. Among ancient wizards, only a very small number had the talent to control malice. It can be a special form of mental attack, and it can also serve as an energy source for many spells and artefacts. It is one of the foundations of ancient dark magic.”

“Only a very small number can control it?” Evans poked the grey-black mist again. “Do I have that talent?”

The Dark Wizard King shot him a flat look. “Talent aside, to control malice, you first have to create enough negative emotion. It can come from yourself or from others, but there has to be enough of it to form at all.”

“So what is the plan? Start a bloody massacre, or torture yourself until your family falls apart, then use your own negative emotions?”

“Let’s not,” Evans said at once, shaking his head hard. He felt his current strength was already more than sufficient. Even if he met someone he could not beat, he could always call in reinforcements. There was no need for this flashy external power.

But if all malice had to be created like that…

Evans glanced at the woman floating beside him and could not help shivering.

Perhaps she noticed what he was thinking. The Dark Wizard King clicked her tongue and said with a sigh, “Those are methods for Dark wizards with no backing. My first strand of malice was a gift from my teacher. There was nothing so dramatic behind it.”

Evans relaxed a little. “Good. For a moment I thought I’d let out some sinister, wicked, peerless Dark lady…”

“But the malice after that,” she said, fixing him with a distinctly unfriendly gaze, “was something I carved out myself.”

She lifted her hand slightly. A coil of mist twined around her palm.

“Now, what was it you just called me?”