Just like the difficulties he'd always faced in transfiguration, the moment he tried to micromanage his creations, his mental stamina would collapse under the strain.
But what if he loosened his grip?
What if he only issued a simple command?
So while Marcus was blasting the vines and stone binding him with the Blasting Curse, those bindings quietly completed their job.
"With stone as the foundation, with grass and wood in shared flourishing—Vine-Stone Guardian!"
Sean recited a long incantation.
It was nearly as long as the one Voldemort used to resurrect—long enough to feel absurd.
And it was almost the limit of what Sean could do with transfiguration magic.
In the instant the spell ended, his body swayed, on the verge of collapse. The price of his drained mind was a horrifying sight:
A hand of stone wrapped in thick vines—so huge it was like a small hill—burst from the earth and, in a single beat, clenched an entire swath of land where Marcus stood.
Dust exploded upward. Rock shattered.
This wasn't purely magical transfiguration, nor purely material transfiguration, but a hybrid combination Sean had spent nearly half a year obsessing over.
The entire area around Marcus went silent.
The roaring fire dragon and the sprinting stone statue vanished instantly—clearly, they'd only been distractions to pull Marcus's attention.
They didn't really have "much" power.
After all, Sean could only keep them alive for a few seconds.
The empty field fell into stillness.
In the distance, the beech trees were still dusted with snow. Beneath the soft, whispering snowfall, the tabby cat froze, stunned.
The anticipation in her eyes turned into worry in a heartbeat.
Not for the boy—but for the old wizard who now seemed… not okay.
"Apparate—Expelliarmus—"
Right as she worried, the old wizard reappeared by the narrowest margin.
He stood beside the boy. His usual composed demeanor was gone, replaced by gravity and raw aftershock.
Merlin's beard—one second later and he would've become a Marcus biscuit.
A red flash snapped across the air, knocking Sean's wand away.
"Grandpa Marcus is really amazing," the boy said—then, without even trying to resist, dropped and sat flat on the ground.
"Ah-ha—of course—" Marcus wiped his face. It was damp.
Thank goodness: sweat.
"In combat, I'm afraid I can't teach you much more," Marcus said, slowly steadying his breathing, "but remember this—never let yourself fall into a state where you're powerless."
As his emotions settled, the excitement and wild pride returned.
A McGonagall had produced a wizard who would be carved into history; before long, his name would shine like Merlin's.
Just imagine what people would say—
Green's beard…
The thought made Marcus's grin impossible to suppress.
"Is that so? Petrificus Totalus."
Sean spoke suddenly.
In his hand was a brand-new wand—clearly the gift Marcus had only just given him.
Sean pointed it straight at Marcus.
Cold sweat exploded across Marcus's back. He instinctively tried to nod—
—and realized even blinking was hard.
Worse: everything around him had stopped. Snowflakes that should've been falling were frozen in midair.
Which meant one thing: Sean's Full Body-Bind was area-based.
No matter how small the radius was, it was already beyond the normal scope of the spell.
So the field became a bizarre tableau: a small wizard slumped on the soft ridge of earth, and an old wizard standing rigid with his wand raised, like a statue.
Sean felt snow settle against his hair and thought, So I really can contend with an elite Auror.
Marcus had "barely" escaped, but in truth Sean had deliberately slowed the casting—this was sparring, not an attempt to meet an old wizard beyond the Veil.
Still, if even Marcus—seasoned and battle-hardened—could be caught, then other Aurors wouldn't fare much better.
As long as he could restrict their Apparition, Sean didn't believe they could beat him head-on.
Master-level transfiguration and near-master dark magic gave him a clearer sense of his limits.
And he hadn't even called Whitey and Tirra in to assist—meaning he still hadn't fully unleashed his combat power.
With full preparation, Sean figured he could barely hold his own against a professor.
But only barely. Just as the professors couldn't fully predict Sean's methods, Sean didn't know theirs either.
That information gap was what decided duels.
Wizards—classic high-offense, low-defense—fought like rapid counters and reads.
And once a fight started, Sean already held a massive advantage: no one had ever seen his offensive toolkit.
"Dragon, spread your wings."
"Vine-Stone Guardian."
Whitey deploying in basilisk form…
Caught off guard, a wizard would get hit—fast.
As for Vine-Stone Guardian, it was Sean's proudest transfiguration work.
Its strength came from the complete "magical circuit" he'd built into it—like a magical creature's internal pathways—and from the unique ritual framework he'd invented.
The right incantation cadence, the right wand motions, the refined circuit—its ceiling was terrifyingly high.
So far, Sean had only manifested a part of it: a single hand.
Push further, and it wouldn't just be magical exhaustion—
he'd likely pass out on the spot.
"Brilliant! Brilliant!"
Marcus finally broke free of the petrification with a stumble. But there was no humiliation in his eyes—only pride and relief.
War's shadow was creeping closer to this land. What could be more exhilarating than seeing your descendant gain the strength and clarity to survive?
"Green's beard…"
Marcus stared at the boy—who clearly still had something in reserve—and seemed to understand something.
Maybe someone had been holding back.
So he muttered that old exclamation under his breath.
"What beard?" Sean thought he'd misheard.
"Ah—nothing, my dear little one. Lunch should be ready. What do you want—lamb, or sweet milk pudding…?"
Marcus hooked an arm under the worn-out boy and lifted him with one hand—only then remembering that, at the end of the day, this was still a child they were meant to protect.
But at this pace…
"Eat more, my dear little one," Marcus said.
Grow fast—so that one day, the dangers they feared wouldn't be dangers anymore.
Nothing stirred the heart like new hope.
In the distance, snow shook loose from the beech treetops.
Through the thinning fall, a tabby cat darted away, nimble as lightning.
~~~
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