Looking at the flood of side quests that had just popped up on the system, Sullivan thought to himself, This newbie tutorial the system designed is pretty reasonable… like hell it is!
If he really were a first-year wizard, these quests would actually be perfectly tailored—challenging, sure, but totally doable with a bit of effort.
And if he managed to finish them all, he could bump every skill up to Level 1. Pair that with the general skill points from the main quest, and he'd be the coolest kid in first year, hands down.
But he was a professor! Making him show off magic in other teachers' classes and earn their approval? That was straight-up nightmare difficulty.
Especially Snape—his old frenemy. Sullivan could already picture the sarcastic smirk on Snape's face if he ever saw him brewing a potion.
Getting mocked by anyone else? Fine, Sullivan could grit his teeth and deal. But Snape? No way. He'd rather pass on those skill points altogether than give that guy the satisfaction.
The students had all left the Great Hall, and Dumbledore asked Sullivan to hang back. "Sullivan , your room is ready," he said. "I've also arranged for a house-elf to help with chores. Jingjing!"
As soon as the words left Dumbledore's mouth, a young female house-elf appeared beside Sullivan. She bowed deeply. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore. Hello, Professor Sullivan . I'm Jingjing, and I'm very happy to serve you."
"Thanks for arranging that," Sullivan said. "Would you mind if we talked in your office? There are a few things I'd like to ask you."
"Of course. Follow me!" Dumbledore led the way to the headmaster's office.
The office was way bigger than Sullivan remembered from the movies. The walls were lined with packed bookshelves that looked like a mini library, and portraits of previous headmasters hung everywhere, all eyeing Sullivan curiously.
Of course, he spotted Fawkes the phoenix right away. Coalball—his kneazle—picked up on the phoenix instantly and poked his head out of Sullivan's arms, letting out a low hiss.
"Oh, Sullivan !" Dumbledore turned and glanced at Coalball. "I can hardly believe it—you've actually tamed a kneazle. Isn't it classified as a XXXXX magical creature?"
Sullivan explained, "Coalball's a little special. As you can see, she's naturally black, unlike most kneazles, and she's really gentle. She doesn't attack people unprovoked."
Dumbledore didn't press the issue. He settled into his chair and asked, "So, Sullivan , what did you want to talk about?"
Instead of jumping straight in, Sullivan reached into his Undetectable Extension Charm pouch at his waist and pulled out a huge pile of sweets—Cockroach Clusters, Buzzing Bee Sweets, White Rabbit Creamy Candies, the works.
"I remember you love sweets," he said. "Some of these are from New York, some from Diagon Alley. Hope you like them."
As someone with a Foreign soul, Sullivan figured you can't meet the boss without bringing a gift. Dumbledore wasn't into cigarettes or booze, so candy it was—load him up.
Sure enough, Dumbledore's eyes lit up at the sight. He eagerly opened a box, grabbed a jumping White Rabbit candy, and popped it into his mouth.
"Mmm, rich milky flavor," he said, closing his eyes in delight. "This one's from , isn't it?"
"You got it, Professor. Oh, and I've got one more thing—an experimental invention of mine." Before Dumbledore could finish savoring the candy, Sullivan handed over a magical cellphone.
He explained how the phone worked so far and mentioned he planned to give one to each of the other professors so they could set up a faculty group chat to test the new feature.
"Exquisite alchemy work and wildly creative thinking," Dumbledore said, running a finger over the phone. "Sullivan , you're going to be a master alchemist one day."
Perfect—the gifts had landed exactly as planned. Time for the real questions.
"By the way, Professor," Sullivan said casually, "is there something hidden in the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor? Your speech in the Great Hall really got me curious."
Of course Sullivan already knew what was there, but given how the system worked, just knowing wasn't enough—he had to hear it from someone else or investigate it himself.
Better to ask directly than sneak around and make Dumbledore suspicious.
As expected, Dumbledore grew serious at the question. He turned to look Sullivan in the eye, paused for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry, Sullivan . There is something hidden there, but I can't tell you right now. I'd appreciate it if you didn't go looking."
Sullivan raised an eyebrow. Fine—next question. "All right, Professor. Then could you tell me about Harry? I left before James and Lily… well, you know. As an old friend, I'd like to know how their son is doing."
He didn't actually expect Dumbledore to spill anything juicy. These two questions were mainly signals: I'm interested in Harry, and I'm interested in whatever you're hiding.
This time, though, Dumbledore didn't hold back. He told Sullivan pretty much everything about Harry.
As Dumbledore spoke, the system chimed in Sullivan's head:
Congratulations! You've completed the quest "The Boy Who Lived." Reward: 1 general skill point.
You've noticed that Headmaster Dumbledore seems to be using Harry Potter as part of some secret plan. You've decided to investigate thoroughly and uncover the truth. Accept the quest "The Boy Who Lived 2"?
Sullivan wanted to protest—Hey, I didn't notice anything! You're the one who figured it out, system! Why pin it on me?
But this quest was different; it wasn't forced on him. Maybe he'd finally graduated from the newbie tutorial phase?
No hesitation—he accepted. One more general skill point? He was still short on those, and you could never have too many.
"Thank you so much for sharing all that, Professor," Sullivan said once the story was done. "I should probably head out now."
Dumbledore walked him to the door. "Harry's had a tough life. If you have time, spend some with him. Tell him stories about his parents."
Sullivan grinned. "Haha, should I tell him about the time I hung James and Sirius upside-down from a tree all night?"
Dumbledore chuckled, clearly remembering the old days fondly. "If you'd like to, by all means."
After leaving the office, Sullivan called Jingjing the house-elf and had her guide him to the quarters of Professors Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Madam Pomfrey. He handed each of them a magical cellphone.
Why skip Professor Quirrell? Simple—Voldemort doesn't deserve a magical phone.
Once everyone had theirs, Sullivan created a group chat on the app and named it "Hogwarts Happy Family."
"Can you all see this?" Professor Flitwick was the first to message.
"Yes!" replied McGonagall.
"My goodness, this is incredible," Sprout chimed in. "If this catches on, owls will be out of a job!"
Sullivan typed back: "The crafting process isn't streamlined yet, and the cost is still high. Right now they have to be handmade."
Half-true, half an excuse—mostly just to remind everyone how valuable his gifts were.
Chapter 14: Snowflakes Falling, North Wind Howling
The professors in the group chat were chatting away excitedly, even adding each other as friends. Sullivan, meanwhile, glanced at a few of the latest revealing photos Yuna had posted, then set his phone aside.
Sullivan started thinking about his system. Right now, it had given him two main quest lines.
One revolved around the Savior, Harry Potter. The other centered on Dumbledore's arrangements.
He'd forgotten most of the finer details from the original story, but he still remembered the general direction. Both quests would probably end up pointing toward the same goal: Quirrell—or rather, Voldemort and the Sorcerer's Stone.
With Sullivan's current level, going head-to-head against Voldemort would be nothing short of suicide. So he needed to figure out how to complete the quests while grabbing the biggest possible rewards.
Aside from the quests, he also had those two new skill points to think about. Adding them to magical power was a solid option, but honestly, his magic reserves were already plenty for now.
Boosting alchemy didn't feel quite right either. With his talent, once he improved his magical power and control, he could probably push alchemy past level 9 on his own with a little time. No need to waste skill points on it.
Potions, Herbology, and Flying weren't priorities right now. That left Charms, Dark Arts and Defense, and Transfiguration.
After mulling it over for a while, Sullivan decided to hold off. He'd save the skill points. There were still tons of side quests out there—better to snag those exclusive skill points first, add them, and see what happened.
September 2nd—the first day of classes at Hogwarts. Since Muggle Studies was an elective with low enrollment, all four houses took it together.
That meant Sullivan only had five classes a week, and every single one was scheduled for the afternoon.
After tossing and turning over it last night, Sullivan finally decided he'd show up to Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class today and see if he could knock out that side quest.
So he got up bright and early, slipped into the crowd of first-year Ravenclaws, and walked into Professor McGonagall's classroom.
The little witches and wizards spotted him right away—hard not to when he towered over everyone. Just like in the books, Professor McGonagall had already transformed into a tabby cat and was perched on the desk.
When she saw Sullivan come in, she figured he must have something urgent and undid the transformation, shifting back to human form. "Sullivan , is there something you need to talk to me about?"
"Wow, your Animagus transformation is still absolutely flawless," Sullivan said, laying on the flattery thick. "I almost forgot for a second and thought that was a real cat!"
Professor McGonagall didn't take the bait. She frowned at him, her eyes clearly saying: If you've got something to say, spit it out—don't hold up my class.
Sullivan felt a little awkward, rubbed his nose, and said, "It's nothing urgent, Professor. I just haven't sat in on one of your classes in ages and kinda missed it. Mind if I audit?"
McGonagall shrugged. "Of course you can, Sullivan . Though if it were me, I'd suggest you sit in on the seventh-year lessons. First-year Transfiguration is way too basic for you."
"Heh, that's exactly why I want to start simple," Sullivan said with a chuckle. "My Transfiguration grades weren't exactly stellar back in the day."
"Very well. In that case, let's begin," McGonagall said, turning to the front of the room. "Sullivan , take a seat in the back row."
Sullivan obediently sat in the back. The incantation for transfiguration was simple: Vera Verto! It worked no matter what you wanted to turn something into.
The real challenge wasn't the spell itself. As McGonagall explained, it came down to belief and a deep understanding of the object you were transforming.
But Sullivan knew there were two more key factors: the amount of magical power you had and your fine control over it.
McGonagall didn't mention those, of course—not because she didn't know, but because there was no point bringing them up in a first-year class.
First-years had very little magic to work with, and control was mostly down to natural talent. Plus, their first object was a matchstick into a needle—something pretty much everyone understood well. So all the kids really needed was strong belief. Firm, unwavering belief.
Maybe because Sullivan was there, McGonagall went into a bit more detail during her explanation, and he actually picked up a few useful tips.
The first half of class was theory; the second half was practice. That's what Sullivan had been waiting for.
When McGonagall started handing out matches to the students, Sullivan quickly spoke up. "Professor, could I get one too?"
McGonagall looked at him, paused for about two seconds, and said, "Of course."
Sullivan drew his wand, pointed it at the match on his desk, and said, "Vera Verto!"
The next instant, the match turned into a thin, perfect needle—indistinguishable from a real one.
Sure, Sullivan wasn't a genius in most branches of magic outside of alchemy, but his Transfiguration was still at level 4. Turning a match into a needle? Piece of cake.
After finishing, he looked up at McGonagall with his big, sparkling eyes, practically begging: Praise me! Come on, praise me!
McGonagall stared back, but her expression was pure confusion, like she was thinking: You're a professor yourself—why are you staring at me like that over a needle? You want me to clap for you?
They locked eyes for a good ten seconds before McGonagall finally said, "Sullivan , you really are better suited to alchemy."
Sullivan's face froze. Wait, that's not how this was supposed to go! And Professor, are you low-key roasting me? What do you mean I'm better suited to alchemy?
McGonagall ignored him and went to check on the other students' attempts. In Sullivan's head, a sad little soundtrack started playing: Snowflakes drifting down, north wind howling through the air~
After class, Sullivan decided he had to clear the air. He hurried to catch up with her. "Professor, wait a second."
"Oh, Sullivan ? Something wrong?" McGonagall turned around.
Sullivan gathered his thoughts and said, "Here's the thing, Professor. I think when a student successfully completes the assignment their teacher gave them in class, the teacher should give that student some recognition and encouragement."
McGonagall nodded. "You're right, Sullivan . Positive feedback motivates students to keep learning. So in your own classes, make sure you encourage the young witches and wizards. And when it's appropriate, you can award house points too—just don't go over five at a time."
Sullivan was speechless. That's not what I was talking about!
So he went straight for it. "Back in class just now, I think I did pretty well!"
"Are you saying I should have praised you?" McGonagall asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
Sullivan pressed his lips together, nodded a little sheepishly, but her next words sent an icy chill straight through him:
"I'm sorry, Sullivan , but honestly… your Transfiguration hasn't improved at all since you graduated. Not… one… bit…"
The sad soundtrack kicked in again in his mind: Snowflakes drifting down, north wind howling through the air~
Chapter 15: East Side Dark? West Side Bright!
Sullivan was pissed. He'd given the gift, done everything they'd asked, put in all this effort—why couldn't they just give him a little recognition to complete the task?
Ravenclaw had Potions first thing in the morning, so Sullivan figured he'd give it one more shot.
But Snape didn't even glance at him the whole class, completely ignoring him. After the bell, Sullivan cornered the old bat. With friends like this, he could skip the polite stuff.
"Snape, I brewed that Cure for Boils potion perfectly. Don't you think you owe me some props?"
"Props? You mean for that sloppy stirring or the chaotic magic swirl?"
"I didn't call you out in class—that's the biggest props you're getting. Go tinker with your alchemy and quit wasting time on Potions!"
Snape fired back just as brutally, tearing Sullivan's performance to shreds.
Two failures in a row? Sullivan was fuming. Next up was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Quirrell for the Ravenclaws.
He'd been ready to skip it. He didn't know Quirrell, hadn't sent any gifts—fat chance of recognition there.
But weirdly, Quirrell sought him out: "P-Professor Sullivan , I h-heard you sat in on Professor McGonagall's and Professor Snape's classes this m-morning. Got time to g-guide my lesson this afternoon?"
Sullivan glanced at his LV3 Defense Against the Dark Arts skill and waved it off. "My DADA's pretty lousy. Can't help you there."
"N-no problem, Professor Sullivan . This is my f-first time teaching DADA too. Just come listen—m-maybe you'll have some tips I haven't thought of." Quirrell stammered through the invite.
No choice—Sullivan followed him into the classroom.
After the morning drama, the students barely batted an eye at Sullivan showing up. They were pumped for some Dark Arts know-how.
But Quirrell's lesson? Total snoozefest. Tiny voice, constant stuttering, and he was just reading straight from the book. No real teaching.
Soon, the young witches and wizards were half-asleep, propping their heads on their arms to avoid face-planting on desks. Some started goofing off underneath, and Quirrell didn't notice a thing, lost in his book.
Sullivan knew it was probably Voldemort on the back of his head messing with his brain, but this was unbearable.
He shot to his feet. "Professor Quirrell, I think Defense Against the Dark Arts should be hands-on. All the theory in the world doesn't beat letting kids cast a few spells—like Expelliarmus."
He'd just meant to vent and bail.
But Quirrell lit up. "Oh, Professor Sullivan , you're r-right! Why don't you d-demonstrate Expelliarmus for the class?"
Wait, what? Climbing right on that ladder, huh? Under the watchful eyes of the first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Sullivan stepped to the front, wand out.
"The Expelliarmus incantation is: Expelliarmus! It knocks the enemy witch or wizard off their feet or sends them flying, making them drop their wand."
"Stress the 'Ex-' when you say it, and add a little wrist flick with some arc. That'll tweak the wand's flight path so you can snag it easier."
He pulled a dummy wizard from his Undetectable Extension Charm bag—a mannequin like you'd see in a Muggle shop window. One of his own inventions, of course.
This dummy wasn't just a target—it could store magic, fire spells back, and even double as a trap. Hide it in a corner, and bam—curses anyone who trips the trigger.
Right now, it was inactive, just standing there with a wand in hand.
Sullivan flicked his wand: "Expelliarmus!"
A red bolt blasted from the tip, slamming the dummy. It flew back, crashing into the back wall, wand soaring high—but a bit off-target.
Sullivan sidestepped left, caught it clean. Nailed the demo.
"B-brilliant demonstration! Thank you, Professor Sullivan !" Quirrell started clapping.
The kids snapped out of it, cheering and applauding.
Sullivan's DADA was only LV3, but he had Expelliarmus down pat. The praise felt good.
Then the system pinged: Congratulations! Your stunning Expelliarmus in Defense Against the Dark Arts earned Quirrell's and the students' approval.
Side Quest: DADA Newbie Complete! +1 DADA Skill Point. Keep it up!
Done? Just like that? Morning with those two: gifts, max effort—one says zero progress, the other calls him trash.
Afternoon DADA: casual suggestion, quick demo, boom—quest cleared. Magical much?
Staring at Quirrell now, Sullivan thought, Hey, this guy's kinda handsome. Good dude!
For the rest of class, Sullivan loaned out the dummy. The kids loved blasting it, howling "Expelliarmus!" even if half the spells fizzled.
Quirrell taught two sections that day: morning for Gryffindor and Slytherin.
After theirs ended, the Gryffindor lion cubs rushed to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.
"So? DADA's super boring, right? Just reading the textbook."
But the others were buzzing: "Nah, ours was awesome! We were Expelliarmusing dummy wizards!"
Same class, same teacher—why the difference? Big question marks over the lions' and snakes' heads.