Getting another skill point had Sullivan buzzing with excitement. Over the next week in Muggle Studies, he'd jump on any excuse to award or deduct house points from the kids in every house.
It paid off with four new achievements. Just like he'd planned, he snagged "Enemy of Slytherin" and "Enemy of Hufflepuff" by docking more than 10 points from each.
But when he deducted over 10 from Ravenclaw, he got one called "Shame of Ravenclaw."
Due to your incompetence, Ravenclaw has lost 10 house points. This could cost us the House Cup. Step it up and win back the honor! Reward: 1 General Skill Point.
Then, when he awarded Ravenclaw 10 points, he unlocked "Glory of Ravenclaw."
Thanks to your outstanding performance, Ravenclaw gained 10 house points. This could help us win the House Cup—keep it going! Reward: 1 General Skill Point.
Sullivan could only roll his eyes at the system. Ravenclaw winning the House Cup? Dream on. Would Dumbledore allow it? Snape? Total fantasy.
Awarding points to the other three houses didn't trigger anything similar. Sullivan figured the next batch of skill points would probably come after hitting 100 points awarded or deducted.
Four skill points in one go? Pure bliss. By the weekend, he had 5 general skill points banked.
No hesitation—he stuck to the plan and bumped Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts up to LV7.
Now Magic Power, Charms, and DADA were all LV7. His personal combat strength had skyrocketed.
Things he'd never dreamed of before—like basic Occlumency and Legilimency—were finally clicking. His Patronus raven was bigger, more solid, with a wingspan around one and a half meters.
On the dark side, Fiendfyre, Cruciatus, and Imperius were coming along nicely. As for Avada Kedavra? That one needed serious killing intent and damaged your soul—Sullivan wasn't touching it lightly.
He slipped into the Room of Requirement for a quick test. His real combat level? Probably matching or beating an average Auror now.
With 1 general skill point left and no urgent needs, he decided to hold onto it as backup.
Weekend hit—no classes for students. Third-years and up could visit Hogsmeade Village with parental permission.
According to Sites of Historical Sorcery in the Hogwarts library, this was also the headquarters for the 1612 Goblin Rebellion.
Sullivan could visit too, of course, but unlike the shopping students, he had a different agenda.
Thanks to cross-progress from his other skills, his Alchemy had leaped forward. He felt like he was close to streamlining and mass-producing magical phones. Time to set up a factory and storefront in Hogsmeade for production and sales.
He wandered the village, scouting buildings for a factory while getting a feel for wizard and goblin wage levels.
In the movies, Hogsmeade seemed tiny—just a few shops. Reality? Way bigger. Thousands of wizards lived here, plus almost as many goblins.
As the old goblin rebellion hub, even after the failure, goblins still owned a chunk of property. Several spots Sullivan liked were goblin-owned.
And goblins? Notoriously greedy. Negotiating was a pain. Good thing his research wasn't fully done yet—no rush.
He hit the Three Broomsticks for a drink or two when he spotted a familiar face: that wild bubblegum-pink hair belonged to Tonks.
Even with a slightly different look today, that vibe was unmistakable. He spotted her in the crowd right away.
"Hey, gorgeous—can I buy you a drink?" Sullivan snuck up and tapped her shoulder, teasing a bit.
Tonks whipped around, stepping back into a defensive stance, hand darting toward her wand—ready to Stun any creep.
Sullivan backed up, hands raised. "Easy, Tonks. Forget me already?"
Her face softened instantly, hair flashing to bubblegum pink. "Sullivan ! It's really you? What are you doing here?"
"You forget—I'm a Hogwarts professor. Weekend off, so this is normal for me. You, on the other hand... shouldn't be here, right?" He shot back.
Tonks glanced around, pulled him to a corner, and whispered, "Norwegian Ridgeback reserve—lost a dragon egg. Intel says the dark wizard who did it fled to Hogsmeade."
Sullivan's brow shot up. Digging through fuzzy memories, it clicked: In the original story, Hagrid won a Norwegian Ridgeback egg in a pub bet first term.
If that's the case... with Tonks's info, Quirrell might be behind it?
Wait, no—Quirrell's been at Hogwarts all week, couldn't have stolen it from Norway. But maybe he's the mastermind, hired the wizard, and set up a handover in Hogsmeade.
All orchestrated by the big bad Voldemort, of course. Tonks chasing this solo? Kinda dangerous for a rookie.
"You here alone?" Sullivan asked.
"Nah, with my team leader, Kingsley. But you know—I'm a Metamorphmagus. He had me scout the pub for suspects first."
Sullivan facepalmed. "So you're undercover?"
"Pretty much!" Tonks blinked her big, mascaraed eyes and nodded.
He pointed at her hair. "Undercover with that flashy rainbow vibe? Afraid the bad guys won't notice you?"
"I've changed my appearance! They won't recognize me. Wizarding world's full of weirdos—no one's paying attention!" She beamed confidently.
Huh, she had a point. Sullivan pulled a pendant from his pocket. "Here, let me put this on you."
"Uh... s-so sudden? I-I haven't said yes yet..." Hair blazing fiery red, she stammered as he moved to clasp the necklace.
He glared. "What are you thinking? It's an alchemical item—auto-activates a 360-degree Protego. Just loaning it to you."
"O-oh, right. I meant I haven't agreed to borrow a necklace yet." Hair shifting purple, she backpedaled awkwardly.
"Whatever. Lift your hair—I'm putting it on."
Tonks's brain short-circuited; she just obeyed, tilting her head as he fastened it. Her hair flickered colors like an RGB gaming mouse, betraying her nerves.
Her neck was long, pale, beautiful. Clasping it, he caught the scent of her hair—shampoo—and a faint milky warmth from her skin.
His fingers brushed her neck accidentally; pink flushed across it instantly. Adorable.
The whole thing took under a minute, but to Tonks, it felt like a year. Weirdly, part of her wished it lasted longer.
Necklace on, Sullivan warned, "There. But don't get cocky—stay safe!"
"G-got it!" She mumbled, head down, unsure what to say.
He stopped teasing. "Alright, do your thing. I'll wander more. Owl me if anything comes up."
To ease her embarrassment, he left the Three Broomsticks and headed to the Hog's Head on the other side of the village.
Compared to the bustling Three Broomsticks, the Hog's Head was dead quiet. From afar, Sullivan spotted a cloaked figure in a big hood sneaking inside.
But that telltale turban under the hood? Definitely Quirrell, Hogwarts' current DADA professor.
If Quirrell's here, maybe the egg thief is too? Curious, Sullivan approached—but didn't go in.
Instead, he deployed a Scout Ward. The eyeball vanished instantly; dark red tentacles spidered up the window into the pub.
Sullivan ducked into a shop across the street, tapped his glasses' side, and linked to the ward's view.
Soon, it found Quirrell in a booth, facing a skinny wizard with facial scars.
"Got the goods?" Quirrell snarled—totally different from his stuttering school persona, pure menace.
The skinny guy smirked. "You got the gold? This job nearly killed me. On top of the 2000 Galleons, add 500."
Quirrell's face darkened. "Price gouging? Looking to die?"
"Heh, I'm not scared. Go ahead—try to take me. But if you fail, your cover's blown."
"You..." Quirrell gritted his teeth, hesitated five seconds, then tossed over a small Undetectable Extension pouch.
The wizard counted the coins, nodded, and pulled out a box—clearly charmed too.
"Troll, dragon egg, and high-grade vitality potion—all in there. 2500 Galleons, total bargain. Anything else?"
Bingo. Dragon egg for prying info from Hagrid; troll to distract the professors.
Quirrell had this planned from day one. Sullivan's mind raced—maybe he could meddle a bit, get a glimpse of the legendary pinnacle of alchemy: the Philosopher's Stone.
As he plotted, Quirrell suddenly glanced toward the Scout Ward, whipped out his wand, and fired a Diffindo.
Crap—spotted! As the curse flew, Sullivan triggered self-destruct.
Voldemort had seen the original Scout Ward; even at version 8.0, the shape was similar. Couldn't risk exposure.
Pop! The eyeball burst, spewing thick green acid at Quirrell and the wizard.
Quirrell was ready—Protego blocked it all. But the skinny guy? Too slow, no wand out, just arms up.
This corrosive goo was custom-brewed by a famous American Potions master: basilisk gastric juice, graphorn venom, Acromantula poison—insanely corrosive and toxic.
Skin sizzled on contact, smoking as flesh melted to bone, creeping up his arm.
Ruthless, the wizard severed his forearm with Diffindo to stop the spread.
Too late—toxin hit his heart. Breathing ragged, skin turning green. He tried a couple antidotes—nothing.
Frantic, he dug potions from his bag, chugging them—but collapsed unconscious, gone.
Quirrell fumed, tempted to loot his gold or try saving him.
But the voice in his head urged escape. Exposure was worse.
Two seconds' hesitation—then Apparition, gone.
Sullivan hadn't expected one Scout Ward to take out a dark wizard.
He rushed into the Hog's Head, into the booth, and rifled the guy's Undetectable Extension Bag.
Jackpot: over 5000 Galleons, magical creature parts, ores, herbs.
Old saying: No windfall, no wealth; no night grass, no fat horse. No wonder cultivation novels love kill-and-loot—cliché, but damn satisfying.
He pocketed the bag, then stuffed some dark artifacts onto the body for framing.
Phone out—text to Tonks: "Think I found your dark wizard. Hog's Head, booth XX. Come quick."
Three seconds later: "Don't do anything rash! Stay safe—wait for us!"