Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 391 - 392: The Seeds of Dark Arts Mastery

Tonight, the starlight over Ravenclaw Tower was exceptionally clear.

Sean sat on a small velvet sofa by the window, clutching a book. A miniature, enchanted fireplace hopped over on its spindly legs and settled nearby, its flames burning with a quiet, steady warmth.

His thoughts drifted, circling back to the words Professor Dumbledore had spoken in the Great Hall. Sean realized with a start that the Headmaster was becoming increasingly... approachable. There was a newfound gentleness in the way the old man looked at him.

As a soft breeze flipped the page of his book, Sean mused that things were finally as they should be.

Far away in the Headmaster's office, the portraits on the walls were also more talkative than usual.

"Yes, Albus. To choose trust is no easy thing, especially when dealing with those who have made such grave errors," the portrait of Dilys Derwent said with a joyful smile.

Albus Dumbledore remained silent. He stood by the window, gazing out at the vast, darkened landscape. In the Forbidden Forest, the black treetops swayed like ink-colored ocean waves under a sky of pale lavender and starlight.

With a flick of his fingers, he guided a quill to sign a flourish across a document: a formal "Approved" was marked on the application for a Care of Magical Creatures Student Assistant.

Long ago, another student had stood in this office and asked for a teaching post. On that day, Dumbledore had rejected the request without a second thought. Today, he found he couldn't be happier to grant one.

"A man does not step into the same river twice..." Dumbledore murmured, his voice a mix of a sigh and a contented reflection.

After the boisterous energy of the final day of the Christmas break, the students were forced to knuckle down and return to their studies. Within the thick academic atmosphere of the Room of Hope, the members of the circle soon realized that Sean had become a ghost.

Even in the Great Hall, they only caught fleeting glimpses of his retreating back.

The reason for his erratic schedule was simple: after Professor Flitwick had thanked Snape for the third time regarding Sean's "extra-curricular" help, Snape had effectively locked Sean in the dungeons for a permanent detention. Furthermore, the Wampus Biscuits were in their final stages of development, requiring Sean to pour every spare second into the construction of the magical ritual.

For the last few days, a weak winter sun had graced Hogwarts with its presence. Inside the castle, the mood was lifting.

One afternoon, while helping in the greenhouses, Professor Sprout happily informed them that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive. This was a sure sign that they were rapidly leaving their childhood behind.

"The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for repotting," she explained as the group listened intently. "And then, it won't be long before we can cut them up and stew them. That is the secret to the Mandrake Restorative Draught. It is powerful enough to return anyone who has been transformed or cursed to their original state."

This was no simple brew. For Sean, whose natural Potions talent sat in the "Blue" tier, the complexity of the Restorative Draught was a greater challenge than facing a Basilisk head-on.

Naturally, the task of brewing it fell to him. Professor Snape had announced it with a chilling sneer:

"How very impressive, 'Hero' Green—let us hope the brewing of this draught proves simpler for you than the slaying of a serpent."

Consequently, Sean studied Professor Sprout's handling techniques with clinical precision. He planned to construct a mental-guiding ritual for the potion within three days. If he succeeded, he would effectively complete his entire week's worth of detention early.

Regarding those detentions: while they were officially for "brewing practice," Sean spent the vast majority of that time studying the Dark Arts and their corresponding counters.

Lockhart's Duelling Club became Sean's primary laboratory for practical application. Every weekend, "volunteer" Slytherin upper-years would attempt to last more than a few seconds against him. Unfortunately for them, after the first week, none had been able to manage it.

Defeating Sean had become a point of obsession for the older Slytherins. Since everyone was restricted to basic hexes, minor curses, and defensive shields, their constant losses could only be attributed to a massive gap in technical skill. Admitting that a second-year was their superior in combat logic was a bitter pill to swallow.

Whenever a group of ambitious Slytherins stepped up to challenge Sean, the sneer on Snape's face became impossible to suppress. Only he truly understood the absurdity of the situation. Hoping to beat him in the Dark Arts? Snape would muse. They'd have better luck trying to out-transfigure him.

In the midst of this relentless cycle of study and combat, Sean's Sectumsempra reached the [Master] level.

He was now only two Master-level Dark spells away from achieving the title of Dark Arts Master. While it wasn't a title he intended to broadcast, he knew that in the coming war, one could never have too many hidden daggers.

And now, it was time to finalize the ritual for the Wampus Biscuits.

January bled into February, yet the bone-chilling cold remained unchanged. Shortly into the new month, Hufflepuff played Slytherin in the second Quidditch match of the term.

Slytherin won, but only by a hair.

According to Oliver Wood, this was excellent news for Gryffindor. If they could defeat Hufflepuff in their next match, they would move into second place. Driven by this hope, Wood increased their training schedule to five nights a week. This meant Harry had only two nights a week to handle his entire mountain of homework.

Harry found himself forced to admit that his heart was no longer entirely in the sport. He had begun to value his time spent studying magic far more than his time on a broom. Sometimes, he even considered skipping practice.

But whenever he looked for a study partner, Sean was nowhere to be found. Harry couldn't even accurately gauge his own progress in Charms because his benchmark was always busy in the dungeons. He was left to challenge Sean during the Duelling Club, only to be knocked flat by a single, effortless flick of a wand.

Despite Sean's frantic schedule, he never appeared stressed or high-strung, unlike Hermione. The self-imposed burden of her massive course load was finally beginning to crush her.

Every evening, Hermione could be found in the Room of Hope, her desk buried under a landslide of parchment: Ancient Runic dictionaries, Muggle diagrams on structural engineering, and stack after stack of dense notes. She had stopped speaking to almost everyone. If interrupted, she would snap with a sharp tongue. She was even harder on herself:

"Do you know why Sean had to face the Basilisk alone? Because you were useless!" she would hiss under her breath.

Compared to the frayed nerves of his friends, Sean remained in his familiar state of focused industry. He successfully completed the Mandrake Restorative Draught—though Snape had taken one sip and declared that "not even a total fool would drink such swill."

And then, he completed the Wampus Biscuits.

[End of Chapter 392]

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