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"Brilliant!" Harry said. He had been looking forward to the Hogsmeade weekend for weeks.
Then he caught himself and glanced at the young wizard still quietly reading. Sean didn't seem bothered at all that he couldn't go.
Harry saw the worried looks on everyone else's faces. His throat tightened. "Sean, you… really…"
Sean looked up. The sky-blue quill stopped moving across the parchment.
The Will of Potions—the book Snape had demanded—was finally finished.
Improved rituals, Will-Strengthening Method, Will-Guidance Method…
Together, Sean and Snape had perfected seven full potion rituals.
Even Libatius Borage had only managed that many improvements in his entire lifetime.
It was Borage's work that had first let Sean glimpse the true secrets of potion-making.
The note from Master Borage had gone strangely silent lately. Sean hadn't seen new words appear on it in a long time.
The parchment still carried the same line:
My effort gave the past a future.
"We can't just leave a third-year behind in the castle," Ron said. "Go ask Professor Flitwick, Sean—he likes you so much—"
"Sorry, Ron, I don't think Flitwick can decide that," Justin said gently. He looked at Sean, then stole a quick glance toward the staff table.
At the high table Dumbledore's pointed hat was decorated with flowers. Flitwick had just told him a joke, and the Headmaster was chuckling happily.
To his left, Snape's face was thunderous. He kept shooting dark looks down at the students; no one dared meet his eyes.
"Doesn't look like it…" Justin muttered.
"What?" Hermione's ears perked up.
"Oh, I just meant Black isn't stupid enough to cause trouble in Hogsmeade. Maybe Sean could talk to…"
Justin paused, then sighed. "But he probably won't listen…"
"Talk to who?" Hermione frowned. She had the distinct feeling Justin knew more than he was saying and pressed him.
"McGonagall!" Harry blurted.
"Harry, you've lost it? Sean's in Ravenclaw," Ron said, pressing a hand to Harry's forehead.
Harry's throat closed. He didn't dare answer.
For some reason he kept remembering the first day of third year—how McGonagall had been so unusually affectionate with Sean.
Only Justin looked startled. His eyes widened as he stared at Harry, then he fell into deep thought.
"Sean." Justin leaned closer.
Hermione was busy grilling Harry about McGonagall while Ron and Neville listened eagerly.
It gave Justin a moment alone with Sean.
"Are you planning to go to Hogsmeade?" he whispered.
Sean thought for a second, then nodded. "Yeah."
Leaving the castle was part of the plan.
If he couldn't go openly, he would just have to…
"Then it's simple!" Justin smiled.
"What?" Sean started to ask, but was cut off.
"Ow!" Ron roared, snatching up his bag. Crookshanks had sunk all four claws into it and was ripping it apart.
"Get off, you stupid furball!"
Ron tried to yank the bag away, but Crookshanks held on, snarling and tearing.
"Ron, don't hurt him!" Hermione shrieked.
Half the Hall was watching now.
Ron swung the bag in a circle. Crookshanks finally let go, leaped across the table, and chased after a terrified Scabbers.
George dove for the cat and missed.
Scabbers shot between twenty pairs of legs and vanished under an old sideboard.
Crookshanks skidded to a halt, dropped into a crouch, and shoved his paw underneath, scratching furiously.
Ron and Hermione rushed over.
Hermione grabbed Crookshanks around the middle and hauled him away.
Ron dropped to the floor, fished Scabbers out by the tail, and held him up in front of Hermione's face.
"Look at him! Skin and bones! Keep that cat away from him!"
"Crookshanks doesn't know any better!" Hermione's voice shook. "Cats chase rats, Ron!"
"That beast is mental!" Ron said, stuffing the wriggling rat back into his pocket while the rest of the Hall snickered. "He heard me say Scabbers was in my bag!"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "Crookshanks can smell him, Ron. You think—"
"He's obsessed with Scabbers!" Ron ignored the laughter and stormed out of the Hall.
Harry followed. Hermione huffed and left with Neville.
Sean and Justin turned back to each other.
"Scabbers is suspicious, isn't he?" Justin said quietly. "My boss told me Crookshanks has kneazle blood. Creatures like that can sense good and evil, find paths, guide people."
"Yes," Sean said. "Scabbers is probably not an ordinary rat."
"Then Ron…" Justin looked worried, then caught himself. "Oh, right. Sean—if you want to go to Hogsmeade, just say the word."
…
The dungeon.
Thick bubbles rose lazily in the cauldrons. Even afternoon sunlight seemed to avoid the underground classroom.
"Impedimenta!"
A clear voice rang out. The swarm of bees froze mid-flight.
You have practiced the Impediment Jinx at the Master standard. Proficiency +300.
Sean lowered his wand.
Through the bees moving in slow motion he could feel exactly how much Black Magic had changed now that it had reached Master level.
The Impediment Jinx now created a small area of hindrance.
The same was true for the Stunning Spell…
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Sean pointed at the rats on the desk. Instead of one, three rats froze solid.
Petrification… branching?
Or the Reductor Curse.
"Reducto!"
His gaze sharpened.
Where his wand pointed, a chair and the kettle on it exploded into dust.
The Reductor Curse was meant to destroy solid objects, not gas or liquid, and only one target at a time.
Now Sean could affect a small area.
Every spell in Black Magic seemed to have received a sudden, massive boost once it crossed into Master territory.
Sean didn't know if the change went to the very root of the magic, but the power was so overwhelming it spilled outward and began affecting small zones.
And beyond Master… what about Legend?
What kind of change would that bring?
Sean didn't know yet, but he had to reach it.
Master level matched a professor's combat strength. Dumbledore and Voldemort had already surpassed that in certain areas.
Sean believed both of them had reached Legend in at least one branch of magic.
To defeat Voldemort he would need to reach Legend in at least two branches himself.
The quill began scratching across the parchment again, faithfully recording data—pronunciation, wand movement, power output.
Sean glanced at the parchment, but his attention was elsewhere.
Wizard Sean, Black Magic Talent: Gold (enhanced by Black Magic Saint title). Note: Average wizard is Green.
Evaluation: You are a once-in-history genius in Black Magic. Black Magic embraces you willingly. You are the natural king of the Dark Arts.
Impediment Jinx: Master (3000/?)
Petrificus Totalus: Master (2100/?)
Sectumsempra: Master (2700/?)
Reductor Curse: Master (600/?)
Exploding Curse: Master (500/?)
Repello Muggletum: Master (500/?)
Fiendfyre: Expert (29900/30000)…
Advancement: Unlock the Master-level Black Magic title with seven Master spells (6/7).
"Not bad…" a hoarse voice said in the dungeon.
Snape narrowed his eyes and raised his wand.
"Fiendfyre, Green."
Fiendfyre's overwhelming power meant Sean always practiced it under the direct supervision of a Black Magic Master.
The dungeon had almost nothing left except a few pieces of junk Snape had deliberately left behind.
Sean lifted his wand and focused on the space ahead.
Weak flames roared to life. They climbed over the low-grade magical materials, the cabinets…
Sean's face turned deathly pale as he fought to control the raging thoughts inside the fire.
This was probably the hardest part of Black Magic.
As Bellatrix had once said: "You need to mean it, boy! You need to really want to cause pain—and enjoy it! Righteous anger won't hurt me for long…"
Black Magic drew power from a wizard's inner cruelty, and that was exactly how it corrupted the user.
Without near-demonic willpower, you could never wield truly powerful Dark spells.
Losing control had become the price of strength.
The real challenge was how to drive that cruel intent without letting it run wild.
Was there a way to make Black Magic… no longer cruel?
Ancient wizards had created cruel beliefs and forged devastating ancient magic. Modern wizards could reshape them.
Rebuild the Order.
That was Sean's exploration—and the key to his rapid progress in the later stages of Black Magic.
You have practiced Fiendfyre at the Master standard. Proficiency +300.
A new realm has been entered.
Sean stared. This was the second time he had heard that message.
The panel suddenly went completely black.
One second. Two. Three.
A wand appeared in the darkness—jet black, yet when light moved across it faint deep-purple and dark-red veins shimmered beneath the surface.
Sean's pulse quickened. He knew it was his own wand, made from elder wood and phoenix tail feather.
Scenes flashed between the wand's phantom images—
The first time he cast Impedimenta to stop bees.
The first time he used Repello Muggletum to catch a falling squirrel.
The first time he burned a Horcrux with Fiendfyre…
Thick, mysterious lettering appeared:
Having passed through the abyss, you become the ruler.
Black Magic has opened its gates. The hall forged in glory awaits the arrival of legend—
The path to Master has been unlocked.
The climb has begun. Master is no longer the limit.
Panel upgraded.
Sean stood frozen, heart racing, and looked down.
Title: Black Magic Saint
Greatly increases control and creativity of all Black Magic.
Increased control? That was easy to understand—exactly what he had expected.
But creativity?
Sean felt the answer stirring inside him.
While learning Black Magic he had never let himself embrace cruel intent.
He had even reshaped parts of the Order so he would not drown in the savage power.
In reshaping that Order he had created spells like the strong light charm—entirely original.
It seemed he could… bring brand-new changes to Black Magic.
Master-tier Black Magic classification:
Impediment Jinx: Apprentice (3/30)
Petrificus Totalus: Apprentice (3/30)
Sectumsempra: Apprentice (3/30)
Reductor Curse: Apprentice (1/30)
Exploding Curse: Apprentice (1/30)
Repello Muggletum: Apprentice (1/30)
Fiendfyre: Apprentice (0/30)
Evaluation: A wizard who has reached Master in Black Magic usually has combat strength below five… but that may only be surface appearance…
Combat strength below five.
Sean had seen that rating before and was used to it.
When Transfiguration had reached Master the panel had said the same thing.
But it may only be surface appearance…
Sean understood what the panel was hinting at. He simply refused to embrace that kind of belief.
After all, baseness was the passport of the base.
"Not bad… not bad at all…" Snape said once the raging Fiendfyre had consumed everything.
His face was blank, but his tone was openly pleased. He looked at the revitalized young wizard and a flicker of confusion crossed his mind.
Then it was swallowed by an inexplicable warmth.
"You may go, Green," Snape said.
"Professor…" Sean paused. He still needed to reach Hogsmeade, and Justin's suggestion had only been…
"May I go to Hogsmeade?" he asked softly.
Snape's cold face froze solid. He stared at the boy as if wondering whether he had heard correctly.
"What did you say?" Snape asked, voice icy.
Sean stayed silent. It looked like Justin's idea had been wrong.
"Sorry, Professor," he said.
"Hmph—you had better remember, Green—" Snape's expression grew strangely strained. A thought had suddenly appeared in his mind.
This might be the first time…
"Go, Green. Buy some foolish trinkets. Engage in some foolish activities," Snape said with a cold laugh.
The moment the words left his mouth his face stiffened, as if he couldn't believe what he had just said.
"Thank you, Professor," Sean replied, equally surprised.
As he left the dungeon, the portrait of Sir Cadogan at the door blocked his path.
"Sir, good afternoon," Sean greeted.
"Most unreasonable! Utterly unreasonable!" Sir Cadogan lounged on his horse, laughing heartily. "Another step forward—how could it be otherwise? Off you go, little Green, off you go."
Once the young wizard was out of earshot, Sir Cadogan leaned toward the portrait of Violet and whispered, "See? That thing demands we give it our entire soul, along with all its quirks, tantrums, mood swings, and eighteen hundred bad habits.
It really is awful… except for one thing that's true."
"What's that, Sir?" Violet asked, smoothing her long dress.
"Unconditional love," the knight chuckled.