"Then why must we learn Dark magic with caution?"
Professor Flitwick stood atop the little wooden table, waiting. He knew this Ravenclaw he favored would say something different. He'd heard "it's destructive and hard to control" a thousand times.
"Dark magic is generally believed to have an irreversible, corrosive effect on the caster. That's one of the reasons it's called dark," Sean said.
He knew Dark magic well—thanks to the books' deep treatment of it. Dumbledore specifically noted: acts of Dark magic involving murder damage the soul. He told Snape that Malfoy's soul "had not yet been so gravely injured," meaning he likely hadn't killed—but if he did, his soul would be "torn apart." In other words, using very dark spells—like the Killing Curse—harm the soul. And the making of Horcruxes literally splits the soul to pursue the unnatural goal of immortality.
"Second," Sean added, "just as every spell requires a clear intent to be cast properly, powerful Dark magic likewise requires malicious intent to succeed."
This point stuck with him most. To wield Dark magic, a wizard must summon pure malice—a psychic demand that can warp a first-year's still-forming mind.
"Incredible answer!" Flitwick nearly bounced. "Remember, Mr. Green—Dark magic is as varied as the sea: endless forms and changes; strike off one head and a fiercer, craftier one grows back. We wrestle with something protean and indestructible. However—"
He pivoted. "Dark magic is a blade. In unclean hands, it cuts foully—but the result depends on the wielder's purpose. Flipendo!"
His wand snapped; the squirrel that had just climbed in went flying—then drifted gently down under Flitwick's silent Levitation, unharmed.
"Flipendo!" Again—this time a stack of books wasn't so lucky; they slammed into the wall.
Sean nodded, thoughtful. In the end it's the wizard—his purpose—that matters. Dumbledore's last memories: Snape's killing him—"helping an old man avoid pain and ignominy"—would not harm Snape's soul. A knife used in a robbery and a knife used to fight off the robber both cut; they are not the same act.
"Clear enough, Mr. Green?" Flitwick hadn't seen a student this bright and diligent in years. He savored it—and was extra patient.
"Yes, Professor." Sean raised his wand—focused, with a glint of expectation. Talent shows early.
Flitwick kept his wand in hand—students sometimes misjudge force; that's why the professor stays close.
"Flipendo!"
Power surged from Sean's wandtip—instantly sweeping the room. Desks, chairs, kettles—even the squirrel—blew back from Sean in a rush. Flitwick, unprepared, shot to the ceiling, then instantly used a silent charm.
Sean blinked. Inspiration skipped through his mind; he swung his wand and—unguided—cast along the opposite path, brimming with the feeling of "pushing everything back back." The room returned.
[You practiced Knockback Jinx once at Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
[You practiced Knockback Jinx once at Expert standard. Proficiency +50]
[A new title in the Dark Magic domain has been unlocked. Please check]
[A new wizarding talent has been unlocked. Please check]
Uh-oh. I'm actually a Dark magic prodigy. That was Sean's first thought.
Worse—Professor Flitwick was airborne. That was his second.
"Jaw-dropping talent!" Flitwick cried—no scolding, only delight. He flicked his wand to alight lightly and paced, voice high and trembling—joy or shock, who could say.
Sean took the chance to open his panel:
[Title: Dark Magic Acolyte]
[Slightly increases perception of Dark magic; slightly improves Dark magic talent]
As expected, he held his breath and scrolled:
[Wizard Sean — Dark Magic Talent: Gold (boosted by 'Dark Magic Acolyte'). Note: average wizard is Green]
[Assessment: You are a once-in-generations genius in Dark magic. Dark magic will reach for you. You are a born king of Dark magic.]
King of Dark magic?
Isn't that the Dark Lord?
Sean stared. Bulsshit.
…
Friday.
Sean had met every condition for the scholarship—Herbology, Potions, Astronomy, History, DADA, Charms, Transfiguration—within a month he had essentially mastered everything a first-year should.
Especially in Transfiguration and Charms, he'd gone far—on par with some upper-years. As for History… his notes were rumored to be popular even among graduates. He had no idea how they'd heard—or what they used them for.
Today, he stood outside the Headmaster's office, nervous and eager for the big moment—the scholarship award.
From the start he'd pushed toward this goal; focus and love for magic had filled most of his Hogwarts life.
In the spacious, lovely circular office, silver instruments gleamed; beside them the blackened kettle still bubbled.
"Ah, Minerva—do you think Mr. Green will win it?" Albus Dumbledore sat behind the broad oak desk, half-moon glasses slipped halfway down his nose, deep blue eyes peering over the top at the twilight outside. He plucked, almost idly, a letter from the elegant stack:
[To the Hogwarts Scholarship Committee:
I hereby, in the strongest and most formal terms, recommend Mr. Sean Green for this special scholarship.
Mr. Green is the most exceptional student I have taught in years—in both talent and character. He has mastered all core subjects with top marks; his precision in Charms and his gift in Transfiguration far exceed his year.
More precious still, this young gentleman—relying only on himself—has shown resilience, discipline, and kindness beyond his age. The light of his character, talent, and effort can no longer be hidden by his modesty.
He is fully deserving of this support and has the potential to become a pride of Hogwarts.
—Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House.]
~~~
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