Chapter 481: Do Less, Seek Emptiness

“Alright, Wizard Sean, let me tell you something interesting.”

Before leaving, Ron said with a mysterious grin.

At that moment, the twins also drifted over.

“Here’s the thing—Percy has a girlfriend.”

Ron said.

Fred dropped a stack of books onto George’s head.

“What?”

Fred asked.

“She’s the Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater.

Ginny told me—last summer, Percy wrote her so many letters.

Percy kept sneaking off to meet her all over the school. One day, Ginny even caught them kissing in an empty classroom.”

Ron spoke freely, adding a shrug,

“Hope you don’t tease him.”

“I’d never dream of it.”

Fred said, though his delighted expression made it seem like his birthday had come early.

“Absolutely not.”

George replied, smirking secretly.

And so the summer began.

Amidst bursts of laughter.

After the Hogwarts Express departed, Hogwarts Castle grew much quieter.

It gave Wizard Sean more space to practice the Fiendfyre Curse.

Now, even if he set the entire dungeon ablaze, he wouldn’t harm the Slytherins who also dwelled beneath the school.

Time became a vague unit during these days.

Wizard Sean knew only that his Fiendfyre Curse had progressed from [Apprentice] all the way to [Beginner].

The rapid advancement in his Dark Magic proficiency always left him slightly puzzled.

But once he achieved Mastery in Fiendfyre, he could claim his second Mastery title.

This summer.

So Wizard Sean’s life became thoroughly regular:

Rise early, practice Occlumency and Legilimency under Professor Snape’s watch;

At noon, practice a hundred methods of potion brewing;

In the afternoon, become a gas tank…

Occasionally, Dumbledore would suddenly appear with a twinkling smile and invite him for afternoon tea.

Soon, it was that afternoon.

Owls flew into the Great Hall—not many, just four or five of varying sizes.

Having stayed at Hogwarts for so long, Wizard Sean could identify the owls’ owners.

The short, chubby owl was Professor Flitwick’s messenger; the barn owl was Professor Sprout’s “Fluffball”—that’s what the professor called it; the elegant, snow-white one was Professor McGonagall’s pet; and the one in front, the fastest flyer, was Bai Yi.

It brought the latest newspaper. Wizard Sean gently unfurled it, but he wasn’t reading it.

His gaze fell on a side panel.

[Impedimenta: Mastery (1800/?)

Petrificus Totalus: Mastery (1100/?)

Sectumsempra: Mastery (2300/?)

Reducio: Mastery (100/?)

Bombarda: Mastery (100/?)

Depulso: Mastery (500/?)

Fiendfyre: Skilled (10/900)…

…]

[Advancement: Seven Mastery-level Dark Spells unlock the Mastery title in the Dark Magic domain (6/7)]

Fiendfyre had reached Skilled. Wizard Sean turned back and realized only half a month had passed.

Naturally, magical advancement slows the deeper one goes—but this pace was still too fast. Over lunch in the Great Hall, Wizard Sean couldn’t help but ponder the key.

He hadn’t chosen any cruel faith—why did Dark Magic always come to him on its own?

He also thought of something more important: How does a wizard truly grow stronger?

In the Great Hall.

Only one lonely young wizard remained at the tables, yet nearly all the professors sat at the head table.

“Another year ends, Minerva. Scotland’s spring is too short, winter too long—days fly by like a happy bird past the window.”

Dumbledore seemed to be musing.

“Hogwarts’ summer isn’t short.”

Professor McGonagall replied, her eyes settling on the newspaper—a moving magical photo showed a fat Ministry employee.

Beneath the photo: Ministry Employee Wins Grand Prize.

“Is that so? I know wizards always use clocks to measure time—but did you know some wizards use magic to record it?”

Dumbledore blinked, his gaze falling on the focused young wizard.

He held a large parchment, recording his magical progress and organizing his thoughts.

“In the [Blind] era, wizards excelled at channeling emotional power—they needed no spells, no wands; their magic was wild and savage.

In the [Order] era, ancient wizards emerged with archaic magic, nearly defeating all contemporary magical overlords.

Compared to today’s magic, archaic magic inherited the ferocity of the previous age.

Though wizards who fully mastered archaic magic were exceedingly rare, they were immensely powerful.

The most outstanding among them was the wizard Merlin.”

Wizard Sean pondered deeply, his quill trembling slightly, continuously filling gaps in “The Chronology of Wizarding Magic.”

“Wizards seek inward, building an unshakable order within—their magic is merely the external manifestation of that inner order.

What we call [Wisdom] is more like wizards’ attempt to find external patterns for magic…

After a certain period of study, all wizards eventually encounter spellless casting; once a wizard learns spellless casting, he finds it nearly impossible to return to spoken incantations.”

Just like Wizard Sean himself—he hadn’t spoken the Levitation or Cleaning Charm in a long time.

“After mastering spellless casting, wizards swiftly learned wandless casting.

For example, Headmaster Dumbledore simply pointed his finger at the sky when Harry’s broom lost control, protecting Harry; Professor Snape needed only to flick his robe to shut the window; Voldemort’s flight required neither spell nor wand.”

“If spells and wands enhance a wizard’s magical power, why do wizards always…”

Wizard Sean paused, then wrote a few words:

“Do less, seek emptiness.”

The Great Hall held only low murmurs and the brisk scratch of Wizard Sean’s quill:

“Does wizarding wisdom truly raise a wizard’s magical ceiling—or merely raise the floor, making it easier to spread?”

If this could be proven, Wizard Sean would know how wizarding magic truly becomes powerful.

Is it by mastering spells? By mastering gestures?

Or by defining magic through one’s own will—

“If wizards grow strong by mastering external patterns of magic, newly created magic should be primitive and weak.

But the opposite is true. For example, Dumbledore’s Fire God Clearing Path, or Grindelwald’s refined Fiendfyre…”

Wizard Sean suddenly understood.

Do less, seek emptiness—order endures.

Could this be the truth of magic?