Chapter 539: Master of the Dark Arts
"Brilliant!"
Harry had been looking forward to Hogsmeade weekends since the moment he heard
they existed. But his excitement died down quickly as his gaze drifted to Sean.
The older boy was engrossed in his book, seemingly unbothered by the fact that
he was currently forbidden from leaving the castle.
Seeing the worry on his friends' faces, Sean finally looked up. His sky-blue
eagle-feather quill stopped its rhythmic scratching across the parchment.
He had finally finished the draft of The Volition of Potions, the treatise Snape
had demanded. Between his own research and Snape's relentless tutoring, they had
successfully reconstructed the magical rituals for seven high-level potions.
Libatius Borage, a legendary Master in his own right, had only managed a similar
feat over the course of an entire lifetime.
It was only through Sean's modern perspective—and his system's data—that they
were able to pierce the veil of the craft. A small note from Borage's original
manuscript flickered in Sean's mind: "My efforts allowed the past to have a
future."
"We can't just leave Sean behind," Ron said, shaking his head. "He's a
third-year now! Go ask Professor Flitwick, Sean. He's mad about you—he'll sign
the slip in a heartbeat."
"I'm afraid that isn't up to Professor Flitwick, Ron," Justin said softly. He
glanced at Sean, then stole a look at the High Table.
At the center of the table, Dumbledore was wearing a pointed wizard's hat
decorated with fresh flowers. Professor Flitwick had just told him a joke, and
the Headmaster was chuckling merrily. To his left, however, sat Professor Snape,
his face a mask of cold shadows as he scanned the hall. Not a single student
dared to meet his eye.
"It doesn't look likely..." Justin murmured.
"What doesn't?" Hermione asked, her ears perking up.
"Oh, just that Sirius Black isn't a fool," Justin said quickly. "He wouldn't
risk showing his face in Hogsmeade with all those Dementors about. Maybe Sean
can convince..." Justin trailed off with a sigh. "Actually, he's a hard man to
convince."
"Who? Flitwick?" Hermione pressed. She sensed Justin knew something she didn't.
"Professor McGonagall!" Harry blurted out.
"Harry, have you gone around the twist? Sean is a Ravenclaw," Ron said, reaching
out to feel Harry's forehead.
Harry's throat went tight, and he didn't answer. He couldn't help but remember
the way McGonagall had kissed Sean's forehead on the first day of term—the kind
of gesture usually reserved for a grandson.
Only Justin noticed Harry's reaction. His eyes widened in a "mental earthquake"
of realization before he fell into a deep, brooding silence.
"Sean," Justin whispered, leaning in while Hermione and Ron were busy
interrogating Harry about his weird comment. "Are you planning on going to
Hogsmeade?"
"Mmm," Sean nodded. "Leaving the castle is part of the plan."
If he couldn't go through the front doors with a signed slip, he would find
another way. He needed to reach Gringotts; most of the ancient, magically
binding contracts were held in the vaults of the Goblins, and he needed one for
Peter Pettigrew.
"Well, that's easy then!" Justin grinned.
Before Sean could ask what was so "easy" about it, a yell interrupted them.
"OUCH!"
Ron roared in pain, clutching his bag. Crookshanks had dug all four sets of
claws into the leather, hissing and tearing at the fabric with a wild fury.
"Get off, you mental beast!" Ron yelled, trying to shake the cat loose. But
Crookshanks held on, his yellow eyes flashing.
"Ron, don't hurt him!" Hermione shrieked.
Half the Great Hall was now watching the struggle. Ron swung his bag in a wide
circle, but the cat didn't budge. Suddenly, a small, grey lump went flying out
of the bag's opening.
"CATCH THAT CAT!" Ron bellowed.
Crookshanks dropped the bag instantly and bolted across the table, weaving
between plates in hot pursuit of a terrified Scabbers. George Weasley lunged for
the ginger cat but missed. Scabbers darted past twenty pairs of legs and dove
under a dusty old sideboard at the edge of the hall.
Crookshanks skidded to a halt, his bow-legs tensed as he reached a paw under the
furniture, batting frantically at the shadows. Ron and Hermione arrived a second
later. Hermione scooped up the cat by his middle and marched away.
Ron was on his hands and knees. After several frantic seconds, he managed to
grab Scabbers by the tail and pull him out.
"Look at him!" Ron hissed at Hermione, holding the trembling rat up to her face.
"He's skin and bones! You keep that monster away from him!"
"Crookshanks doesn't know any better!" Hermione's voice trembled. "Cats chase
rats, Ron! It's what they do!"
"That thing is weird!" Ron insisted, shoving Scabbers back into his pocket. "He
heard me say Scabbers was in my bag! He was waiting for him!"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Hermione huffed. "He smelled him, obviously. You
think—"
"That cat is out for blood!" Ron ignored the snickering students around them.
"Scabbers was here first, and he's sick!"
Ron marched out of the hall, fuming. Harry followed close behind. Hermione let
out a sharp "Hmph," grabbed Neville, and departed in the other direction.
Sean and Justin were left alone at the table.
"There's something wrong with Scabbers, isn't there?" Justin asked suddenly. "My
manager at the shop said Crookshanks has Kneazle blood. I know those creatures
can sense 'untrustworthiness' and guide people to the truth."
He looked at Sean with a piercing gaze.
"Yes," Sean said simply. "Scabbers is no ordinary rat."
"And Ron..." Justin looked worried, but then he shook it off. "Anyway, back to
Hogsmeade. If you want to go, Sean... just say the word."
The Dungeons.
The air in the Potions classroom was thick with the scent of simmering
ingredients. Even the afternoon sun seemed to avoid this part of the castle.
"Impedimenta!"
Sean's voice rang out in the empty room. A fly buzzing near the ceiling suddenly
froze mid-air, its wings moving with the agonizing slowness of a creature
trapped in honey.
[You have practiced the Impediment Jinx at a Master level. Proficiency +300]
Sean lowered his wand. By observing the slow-motion fly, he could feel the
fundamental shift in his magic. At the Master level, the jinx didn't just target
a single entity; it created a localized "Stasis Field."
He turned his wand toward a group of mice on a nearby table.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Instead of the spell hitting just one mouse, the magical resonance "branched"
out. Three of the mice went rigid at once, falling over like tiny statues.
The magic is overflowing, Sean realized.
Next, he focused on a heavy wooden chair topped with a ceramic pitcher.
"Reducto!"
Sean's gaze was sharp. The moment the spell left his wand, the chair and the
pitcher didn't just break—they disintegrated into a cloud of fine, grey dust.
At the Master level, curses became more than just projectiles; they became
expressions of a wizard's absolute will. Sean knew that "Master" was the
equivalent of a senior Professor's combat power. But Dumbledore and Voldemort
had long since moved beyond that. They occupied the realm of Legend.
To truly win, Sean knew he needed at least two of his magical branches to reach
that legendary status.
His quill began to scratch against his parchment, recording the data: phonetics,
wand-arcs, and power output.
[Wizard Sean Green: Dark Arts Talent - Gold (Black Magic Saint title active).
Note: Average wizard is Green.] [Evaluation: You are a historical rarity in the
Dark Arts. The magic of shadows embraces you. You are a natural King of the Dark
Arts.]
[Master-Level Spells:]
- Impediment Jinx: Master (3,000/?)
- Full Body-Bind Curse: Master (2,100/?)
- Sectumsempra: Master (2,700/?)
- Reductor Curse: Master (600/?)
- Confringo: Master (500/?)
- Flipendo: Master (500/?)
- Fiendfyre: Expert (29,900/30,000)...
"Adequate... I suppose."
A raspy voice echoed through the dungeon. Snape was watching from the doorway,
his eyes narrowed. He raised his own wand.
"Fiendfyre, Green. Show me."
Fiendfyre was so volatile that Sean was only permitted to practice it under the
direct supervision of a Master. The room was mostly bare now, save for some
reinforced scrap metal and stone blocks Snape had conjured as targets.
Sean raised his wand. A small, flickering tongue of flame erupted. Within
seconds, it had climbed the stone pillars, taking the shape of a roaring, hungry
serpent. Sean's face turned pale with the effort of holding back the tide of
rage and chaos that fueled the fire.
This was the core of the Dark Arts: to cast them, one had to tap into the most
primal, cruel parts of the human soul. This was how they corrupted. Without a
near-inhuman will to cause harm, the magic wouldn't respond.
But what if... Sean thought. What if I reconstruct the Order?
If the ancients built these spells on a foundation of malice, could a modern
wizard rebuild them on a foundation of pure intent?
[You have practiced Fiendfyre at a Master level. Proficiency +300] [A NEW REALM
HAS BEEN BREACHED.]
Sean's vision blurred. The system interface turned pitch black.
One second... two seconds... three...
A wand appeared in the darkness. It was charcoal-black, but as light rippled
over it, it revealed deep purple and crimson grains beneath the surface—the
Elder Wood and Phoenix Feather wand Sean held in his hand.
Visions of his journey flashed by: the first fly he had frozen with a jinx, the
first time he had used magic to save a life, the moment he had incinerated a
Horcrux.
Heavy, rune-carved letters appeared:
[THROUGH THE DARK ABYSS, BECOME THE SOVEREIGN.] [THE GATES OF DARK MAGIC HAVE
OPENED. THE HALL OF GLORY AWAITS THE LEGEND.] [ASCENSION TO THE MASTER RANK
INITIATED.] [THE CLIMB HAS BEGUN. MASTER IS NO LONGER THE LIMIT.] [SYSTEM
UPGRADED.]
Sean stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at his new
title.
[Title: Scion of the Dark Arts] Greatly increases control and CREATIVITY across
all Dark Magic disciplines.
Creativity? Sean pondered.
In his study of the dark, he had never surrendered to the malice. He had
reconstructed his own Order. He had created the Blinding Curse out of a simple
light charm.
Now, he realized he could do the same for the truly dangerous spells. He
wouldn't just use Dark Magic; he would change it.
[Master-Tier Advancement:]
- Impediment Jinx: Apprentice (3/30)
- Full Body-Bind: Apprentice (3/30)
- Sectumsempra: Apprentice (3/30)
- Fiendfyre: Apprentice (0/30)
[Evaluation: A wizard who reaches the rank of Master in the Dark Arts possesses
a base combat power of less than 5. However, this is merely the surface...]
Combat power less than five, Sean noted with a mental shrug. He was used to the
system's "Dragon Ball" style snark. He knew what it was hinting at: raw power
was nothing without the "Legendary" application of that power.
"Better... much better..."
The fire died down, and the light in Snape's eyes faded. He looked at Sean, a
flicker of genuine surprise passing over his face at the boy's sudden aura of
vitality. But the emotion was quickly suppressed.
"You should go, Green," Snape said.
"Professor..." Sean paused. He needed to get to Hogsmeade, and Justin's "easy
way" involved asking for permission. "May I... go to Hogsmeade this weekend?"
Snape's face went rigid. He stared at Sean as if the boy had suddenly grown two
heads. "What did you say?"
Sean stayed silent. It seemed Justin's plan was a failure. "My apologies,
Professor."
"Hmph. You would do well to remember, Green—"
Snape's voice trailed off. A thought occurred to him. For the first time, he
looked at Sean not just as a student, but as something more.
"Go then," Snape sneered, though the look in his eyes was anything but cold. "Go
buy some foolish trinkets and engage in some foolish behavior."
Snape looked stunned by his own words, as if he couldn't believe he had just
granted the permission.
"Thank you, Professor," Sean said, his voice full of surprise.
As he left the dungeon, Sean was intercepted by Sir Cadogan.
"Sir, good afternoon," Sean said.
"Nonsense! Absolute nonsense!" The knight was sprawled across the back of his
fat pony, laughing heartily. "Another leap forward, eh? Well done, little Green!
Off with you then!"
Once the boy was out of earshot, Sir Cadogan whispered to the portrait of The
Pink Lady. "You see? The boy's magic demands the soul. It asks for
everything—the temper, the quirks, the eighteen hundred flaws that make a
man."
"And what does he give in return, Sir Cadogan?" the lady asked.
"Unconditional love," the knight chuckled. "And that, my lady, is the only magic
that matters."
☆☆☆
-> SUPPORT ME WITH POWER STONE
-> FOR EVERY 200 PS = BOUNS CHAPTER
☆☆☆
-> 30 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you