Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 385 386: The Second Encounter

The space within the Wizard's Tome was expanding by the day, a direct result of Sean's relentless grinding of the artifact's proficiency.

Currently, the Tome had reached the [Entry] level. At this rate, Sean estimated he would have two Master-level High-Tier Alchemical constructs completed by the end of his second year. If he could finalize a third category, he would achieve the title of Alchemy Master before his thirteenth birthday. This would significantly bolster his arsenal, providing him with a diverse set of "trump cards" to handle the increasingly volatile nature of the Wizarding World.

Aside from his alchemical pursuits, Sean had been looking for the right moment to ask Uncle Marcus for another practice session.

The opportunity arrived on the third morning of the break.

Marcus was sitting comfortably on his usual sofa, hidden behind a copy of The Daily Prophet. Wisps of steam rose from his cup of Earl Grey.

"Uncle Marcus..."

At Sean's voice, Marcus lowered the paper and offered the boy a warm, crinkly-eyed smile. Upon hearing the request for a duel, however, he hesitated for a heartbeat. He hadn't forgotten the "unrefined" display from their last encounter.

"It seems you've made considerable strides again. How very heartening," Marcus said tentatively.

"I've made a few minor breakthroughs," Sean replied honestly.

"Excellent! Then by all means, show me the full extent of your magic. You should know, your old Uncle Marcus was once hailed by the Auror Office as an 'Immovable Wall'!"

Marcus's confidence surged. To be fair, his "Little Green" was a rare prodigy, perhaps the greatest in centuries. But even a prodigy had to obey the laws of physics and experience. A twelve-year-old wizard defeating a veteran with ten years of front-line combat experience? It was unheard of in magical history.

Sean felt a spark of excitement. As they walked out into the frozen fields, he summoned his status panel:

[Name: Sean Green]

[Transfiguration Talent: Purple (Master Title active)]

[Transfiguration Categories]

Magical Transfiguration: Entry (Master) (70/900)

Material Transfiguration: Adept (Master) (50/3000)

Soul Transfiguration: Adept (Master) (200/3000)

[Evaluation: A wizard who has reached the Master realm of Transfiguration. Your combat prowess is beginning to manifest. You possess a depth of Transfiguration magic that is incomprehensible to those below your tier.]

With Master-level Transfiguration and a gold-tier Dark Arts affinity, Sean estimated he could technically hold his own against an elite Ministry Auror, despite his young age and average physical stamina.

He scrolled down further:

[Dark Arts Talent: Gold (Saint Title active)]

Impediment Jinx: Master (700/?)

Petrification Curse: Master (100/?)

Sectumsempra: Master (300/?)

Explosion Curse (Confringo): Expert (2000/9000)

[Promotion: Seven Master-level Dark Arts spells required to unlock 'Dark Arts Master' title.]

[Evaluation: You are a talent rarely seen in the history of the Dark Arts. The darkness seeks to embrace you. You are a natural King of the Dark Arts.]

The Dark Arts had always provided Sean with the highest return on his time investment. Even without the "emotional fuel" most wizards required for such spells, his technical understanding was so precise that he mastered them almost instantly.

Thanks to his frequent detentions in the dungeons, his progress in the Dark Arts was moving as fast as Professor Snape's mood swings. With three Master-level spells under his belt, he predicted he would reach the rank of Dark Arts Master by his third year.

He was roughly on schedule. The only question was whether "on schedule" was enough to topple a man like Marcus.

They reached a wide, snow-covered clearing behind the barns.

"Don't hold back!" Marcus shouted, raising his wand with an air of theatrical bravado.

"I'm ready," Sean said.

"Come then—show me what you've learned!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Sean whipped his wand forward. Flashes of grey and white light streaked through the air. The Elder Wand seemed to hum with satisfaction; it had been far too long since it had been allowed to release such concentrated power.

"Finite Incantatem!"

"Protego!"

Marcus responded with practiced ease. But he had made one critical oversight. During their last duel, Sean had been practicing his Animagus forms and using silent casting. Now, Sean was using verbal incantations.

In magic, a spoken word provided a much stronger anchor for intent. The increase in power was exponential.

"Something's not right..." Marcus muttered. He Disapparated with a sharp crack just as the space he had been standing in was hit. The frozen wheat stalks on the ground didn't just slow down; they were instantly petrified into brittle, grey stone.

"Not bad! But it'll take more than that to catch me, lad!" Marcus shouted from his new position twenty yards away.

"I understand, Uncle Marcus," Sean nodded.

He made a sudden internal resolution. As he opened his eyes, the excitement faded, replaced by a look of lethal, razor-sharp focus.

"Hebridean Flight!"

Sean jabbed his wand toward the sky. Under Marcus's incredulous gaze, a horrifying construct materialized. A five-meter-tall dragon made of living, roaring flame erupted into existence. It possessed a crown of strange, jagged horns around its face and began spitting mushroom-shaped clouds of fire into the freezing air.

But Sean wasn't finished. He thrust his wand toward the earth.

"Piertotum Locomotor!"

Marcus felt a sudden weakness in his knees—partly from the shock, partly from the tremor in the ground. He watched in a daze as a five-meter-tall stone sentinel tore itself from the soil and charged toward him, each heavy footfall shaking the very foundations of the farm.

Opposite him, Sean's face went pale. Controlling two High-Tier Transfigurations simultaneously was pushing his mental limits.

He had realized something recently: if magic was belief and ritual, then why couldn't Transfiguration be treated as a ritual itself? Spells like the ones he just used were his first experiments in that theory. By using specific rhythmic commands and visualization, he could drastically reduce the mental strain required to maintain such complex constructs.

"Uncle Marcus, I'm going all out now!" Sean warned.

"What—?!"

Marcus prepared to Apparate again, but he was interrupted. He realized that the reason he couldn't feel his legs wasn't just shock—it was because thick, magical vines had erupted from the snow and lashed around his ankles. Even worse, the very stones of the field had morphed into hands, gripping his boots with an iron hold.

Sean leaned into the exhaustion, his eyes burning.

"Watch yourself, Uncle Marcus—"

His robes snapped in the winter wind as a blinding light began to gather at the tip of his wand.

[End of Chapter 386]

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