Chapter 87

The Great Hall.

A fire lizard at the edge suddenly shot into the air, spinning wildly through the room, spitting sparks with sharp crackles and loud bangs.

Percy scolded Fred and George in a hoarse voice. Orange-red stars shot from the fire lizard’s mouth, beautiful and spectacular.

It fled into the hearth fire with a series of explosions. All of this made Wizard Sean’s already cheerful and relaxed mood even more leisurely.

He planned to take a day off; Professor McGonagall had required him to walk through every part of Hogwarts.

The professor sternly warned him that young wizards who pushed their magical abilities too aggressively might suffer counter-effects.

The professor insisted he must get a good night’s sleep, relax his tense mind—balance and rest were timeless everywhere.

At the entrance to the Great Hall, two pairs of eyes were fixed on Wizard Sean:

“Jia Jia Siting, are you sure this will work?”

Hermione tilted her head upward; otherwise, she couldn’t see Jia Jia Siting past the mountain of books.

“Of course it will. Didn’t you forget what that knight said? He wears a knight’s medal from King Arthur’s time—you know, knights never lie.”

Jia Jia Siting walked over with full confidence.

Beneath the enchanted ceiling (gray and overcast this afternoon), the four house tables held bowls of porridge, platters of pickled herring, mountains of pork chops, and dishes of pudding.

Hermione and Jia Jia Siting sat beside Wizard Sean; Hermione’s *Intermediate Transfiguration* lay open atop a milk jug.

“Um, Wizard Sean—I mean, it’s the weekend, and I’m afraid I need a little help…”

Jia Jia Siting spoke with a hint of embarrassment.

Wizard Sean, pondering what it meant to maintain excellent magical proficiency, nodded silently.

“I need notes on Magical History…”

“I just finished updating the Arthurian period section. The latest Magical History assignment starts on page sixty-five.”

“And Herbology, Astronomy, and Potions too…”

“Hmm, but you’ll need to practice the specific details yourself—they’re laid out in full.”

“Oh—forgot to mention, I also need notes for Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms…”

Wizard Sean paused for a second, glancing helplessly at Jia Jia Siting.

“Charms notes are with Hermione. Defense Against the Dark Arts notes are with you.”

“You’re terrible! You got caught—”

Hermione’s face flushed red.

“That doesn’t matter, Hermione.”

Jia Jia Siting’s smile grew warmer.

“You and I both know—if Wizard Sean loses his notes, he can only rest.”

As they whispered among themselves,

Michael beside them had widened his eyes, and the next moment he began shaking Anthony:

“Look, look—this is what a friend is! A friend who saves your life on Death Weekend!

Hey! Can’t you two be a little more worthy of admiration?!”

Young wizards were always noisy; in a corner of the bustling table, Neville ate his toast, occasionally glancing at the commotion before lowering his head again.

Then suddenly Michael grabbed him in a hug:

“Hey, Neville, I gave up a whole week’s worth of pudding—have you gotten into that place yet?”

Neville shrank back, remembering now that every time Wizard Sean gave him guidance, it always ended at the second corridor.

He had never actually seen that place. His breathing grew heavy, his lips trembling with panic:

“N-no…”

“Merlin’s pants—”

Michael’s eyes widened even further.

…

Evening came,

Night blurred in from the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

Wizard Sean walked slowly, holding a magical lantern that illuminated the stone path beneath his feet.

Before the spell “Lumos” was invented, wizards had always used magical lanterns for light.

Wizard Sean could sense the spell array inside it—a lighting incantation different from “Lumos,” seemingly more powerful but also more draining.

If “Lumos” had a brightness of one and a maximum of seven,

then the magical lantern’s minimum brightness was three, and its maximum exceeded twenty.

This came from its older spell array, seemingly engraved with runes.

The magical world vaguely held the belief that older magic was stronger—not because magic itself hadn’t advanced, but because ancient magic, unlike simple, convenient *Standard Spells*, was brutally crude.

Everyday spells like “Open Sesame” carried considerable power and were often used by young wizards in duels, resulting in many injuries and deaths.

Ancient magic required an incredibly long casting time; records show this was clearly evident in the International Wizarding Dueling Championship:

Wizards often pursued greater power, only to be defeated because their incantations were too slow.

For example, one wizard once attempted a spell with an extremely long incantation—if successful, it would summon a mountain to crush his opponent. But his opponent simply cast “Expelliarmus” and knocked him out of the match.

Modern magic has been simplified over more than a millennium of magical history, resulting in spells that cast quickly but are far weaker than ancient ones, often serving entirely different purposes: for instance, the Cutting Charm, which in ancient times was typically used for executions.

But for Wizard Sean, once his proficiency reached a certain stage, Standard Spells would no longer satisfy him.

This gave Wizard Sean a revelation—no wonder so many powerful wizards, after reaching a certain level, actively studied runes and ancient magic; there was a ceiling to it.

Deep reflection on magic had become part of Wizard Sean’s daily life; in his relaxed state, it was, paradoxically, a form of relaxation.

Just as he pulled out Headmaster Dumbledore’s letter, pondering how to keep lingering at Hogwarts,

he spotted a figure pacing up and down the stairs, trying to hide in a corner.

“Wizard Sean—”

Neville nearly shouted it, summoning all his courage.

Wizard Sean stopped walking. When he turned, Neville turned too—as if he hadn’t been the one who called out.

This made Jia Jia Siting, who had been peeking from the classroom door, burst into laughter.

Inside the classroom, Hermione was practicing the Levitation Charm.

Her desk was piled high with all kinds of notes; several books borrowed from the library hadn’t been returned, already buried under new ones.

Wizard Sean’s desk was slightly different—he usually memorized unimportant books, while important ones he memorized but still carried with him.

Like that copy of *Magical Theory*—which meant his desk remained neat and orderly, save for the occasional fresh batch of delicious desserts, everything else traceable.

“Excellent magical proficiency clearly includes both practice and theory, and practice is the sole standard for testing theory…”

A shorthand quill hovered above the pale blue notes, recording:

“A wizard’s magical proficiency is typically demonstrated through spells and Transfiguration; Potions can also be counted among them…”

Headmaster Dumbledore’s requirements aligned perfectly with Wizard Sean’s current goals—he had already been preparing for potential dangers at Hogwarts (such as trolls, or those “pure-bloods” who discriminated against Muggle-borns).

So he made plans for his goals after Monday, then walked toward Neville.