Just as Sullivan expected, once he hit 100 deducted points, the system dropped another general skill point into his account. His mood instantly brightened, and when he glanced at young Malfoy again, the kid didn't seem quite so annoying anymore.
Right then, Harry flew back down with the Remembrall. He caught sight of Malfoy still dangling upside-down, puking up slugs, and couldn't help feeling a little worried.
Professor Sullivan was strict—would he end up the same way?
"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, head down. "I just… I just wanted to get Neville's Remembrall back."
"I told everyone no flying higher than ten meters," Sullivan replied. "You openly broke the safety rules. That's twenty points from Gryffindor."
The Gryffindor first-years wilted like frostbitten eggplants. Hermione looked especially crushed—twenty points? How many questions would she have to answer perfectly to earn those back?
But Sullivan wasn't finished. "However, for showing real Gryffindor courage by risking yourself for a friend, I'm awarding fifteen points to Gryffindor!"
"Yesss!" The little lions flipped from gloom to glee in seconds, conveniently forgetting they were still down five points overall.
Just then, Professor McGonagall came striding over. She gasped when she saw Malfoy, quickly lowered him to the ground, then turned to Sullivan with a stern look.
"Professor Sullivan, you need to explain this. At Hogwarts, professors are absolutely not allowed to use curses like that on students."
Sullivan stayed calm and recounted exactly what had happened. When he finished, McGonagall glanced at Malfoy and said, "Professor Sullivan, while Malfoy was certainly out of line, at Hogwarts we recommend professors avoid using curses on students."
Malfoy, still spitting slugs, stared at her in shock—his eyes screaming, "You just said SullivanabsolutelySullivan!"
"Noted, Professor McGonagall. I'll keep that in mind next time." Outwardly polite, inwardly Sullivan was thinking, SullivanHogwarts recommendations are just suggestions—I don't have to follow them.Sullivan
"All right, Professor Sullivan, please remove the curse from Mr. Malfoy. I have something else to discuss with Potter." McGonagall nodded.
"Of course." Watching her lead Harry away, Sullivan knew exactly what was coming—Harry was about to get a special exception to join the Quidditch team.
He glanced at Malfoy, still retching slugs, and had zero desire to touch him. "Crabbe, Goyle—take him to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing."
As they dragged him off, Malfoy shot Sullivan one last glare that clearly said, "I'm telling my father!"
Sullivan brushed it off, had the rest of the class keep practicing broom skills until Madam Hooch returned, then headed out.
Madam Hooch suddenly stopped him, looking a bit shy. "Professor Sullivan, I heard the headmaster and the others recently got some new communication devices—magical phones, I think they're called?"
Sullivan instantly got it. "Sorry, Madam Hooch. The crafting process isn't perfected yet—still purely handmade. I only made a limited number before, so…"
"No worries at all!" she said quickly. "Whenever you make more, please set one aside for me. I can put down a deposit—how much will it be?"
Sullivan waved it off. She'd given him a skill point, after all—a phone was nothing. "No need. I'm actually working on mass production right now. It shouldn't be long before they're available. I'll just give you one."
After saying goodbye to Hooch, he headed back to the library to keep grinding Transfiguration until it was time for his own class.
"I've never seen a professor as studious as you," Madam Pince teased. "You seem more like a student!"
"Is that your way of saying I look young?" Sullivan grinned.
"Haha, of course! You look fresh out of school. Who'd guess you're over thirty? If I were thirty years younger, I might even make a play for you."
"Thanks for the compliment!"
Sullivan left the library and went to his classroom. By now, Muggle Studies was the most popular elective for third-years and up—everyone dreaming of winning that awesome magical revolver at the end of term.
After class, he planned to head straight to his office. He had a growing pile of projects: perfecting mass-production for the magical phones, a squib-friendly magical handgun, and a Moonstone-based server concept for a wizarding network.
All tough nuts to crack.
But before he could leave, Hermione came bursting in, looking frantic. "Professor Sullivan, could you help with something?"
"What's up?" He was always patient with the bright little witch.
"Malfoy challenged Harry to a duel tonight at midnight in the trophy room. I need you to stop them!"
Ah, that. Sullivan dug up the old memory—this was the night Harry and the others would end up in the room with Fluffy, the three-headed dog.
He not only couldn't stop it—he needed to tag along. It'd push the main quests forward a ton.
So he reassured her, "Don't worry, Hermione. Malfoy won't show up. I bet he's just tricking Harry so Filch can catch him and dock Gryffindor points."
Hermione's eyes lit up. "You're right! That has to be it. I've got to go tell Harry not to go!"
She zoomed off like a whirlwind—full of energy. Too bad Potters weren't known for listening to good advice.
Back in his office, Sullivan set an alarm, buried himself in research, and at eleven sharp, scooped up Coalball, cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and headed to the Gryffindor common room entrance.
He didn't wait long. The trio slipped out, Hermione still trying desperately to talk sense into them.
"Harry, Ron—are your heads full of cotton? Professor Sullivan already said Malfoy won't show. He's just trying to get you in trouble. Maybe he's already reported you to Filch!"
"Get lost!" Ron snapped.
Hermione ignored him and grabbed Harry. "Don't you care about Gryffindor? I don't want Slytherin winning the House Cup again or you losing all the points I earned us from Professor McGonagall!"
Harry wavered, but Ron tugged him along. "Come on, Harry. You want Malfoy telling everyone tomorrow that you're a coward?"
That sealed it. Harry sped up. Hermione, defeated, turned to go back—only to find the Fat Lady missing from her portrait. She was locked out.
With no choice, she ran after them. "Fine, I'm coming too."
"You're not!" Ron shot back.
"Then what am I supposed to do? The Fat Lady's gone. Should I just wait here for Filch to catch me?" Hermione grumbled. She blamed Harry and Ron entirely.
They hadn't gone far when they ran into someone else at a corridor corner—Neville Longbottom, the kid who'd broken his wrist that morning.
Neville had come back from the hospital wing to find the common room closed and had forgotten the password. He'd been waiting alone.
"The password's 'pig snout,' Neville," Harry whispered. "Wait here—the Fat Lady will be back soon. We've got something to do."
"Don't leave me!" Neville pleaded, voice trembling. "The Bloody Baron's floated past three times already. I'm terrified!"
So the trio became a quartet. They tiptoed to the third-floor trophy room, Sullivan trailing invisibly behind, recording their nervous sneaking for later laughs with Yuna and Tonks.
Midnight came and went—no Malfoy.
Ron smirked. "He's late. Bet he chickened out. Tomorrow we can tell everyone Malfoy's a coward!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're impossible. Can't you see this was a trap? He was never coming."
Just then, a voice echoed from outside: "Sniff around, my sweet—they might be hiding in a corner. Find them quick so I can lock them all up!"
Filch sounded almost cheerful, holding the wand Sullivan had given him, its tip glowing with Lumos.
The four panicked. In the dark, they grabbed each other's robes and inched forward, trying to slip away unnoticed.
But the trophy room was cluttered. Neville tripped over a medieval suit of armor's leg, stumbled forward, and crashed into Ron. Together they knocked the whole suit over.
The clatter was deafening—enough to wake the whole castle. Filch shouted, "Got you, you little rats!"
"Run!" Harry yelled, bolting first.
They ran forever, thinking they'd lost Filch—then ran straight into Peeves, the castle's biggest troublemaker.
Peeves lit up at the sight. "Naughty little wizards out of bed! Naughty little wizards out of bed! Hahaha—you're gonna get expelled!"
Furious but helpless against a poltergeist, they dashed toward the fourth floor—the forbidden corridor Dumbledore had warned everyone about at the start-of-term feast.
They ducked through a door. The noise outside faded—Peeves and Filch were gone.
Just as they breathed a sigh of relief, they looked up and froze.
Facing them was an enormous three-headed dog.
Each of its six eyes was the size of a grown man's fist, staring right at them. Yellowed fangs dripped thick saliva from three gaping maws.
"W-what is that thing?" Neville stammered, teeth chattering.
"No idea," Harry whispered, "but we should get out of here—now!"
They flung the door open and sprinted away faster than they'd arrived.
Sullivan stood just outside the door. He didn't follow the kids. Instead he stared down the dark corridor the other way.
He wasn't avoiding the chase—he'd sensed a powerful presence locked onto him. Best to stay perfectly still.
Soon a figure emerged from the shadows: Dumbledore.
He looked at Sullivan like they'd bumped into each other at a friendly gathering. "Professor Sullivan, what brings you here so late?"
Seeing it was Dumbledore, Sullivan relaxed—he'd half-expected Voldemort. He put on a friendly smile.
"Ah, Professor Dumbledore. This afternoon Hermione Granger told me Draco Malfoy challenged Harry Potter to a midnight duel in the trophy room."
"I came to make sure they didn't get into too much trouble. I never expected a three-headed dog in here. Those four kids must be terrified."
Dumbledore didn't reply right away. He just stared, eyes twinkling like starlight, as if seeing straight through him.
A burning sensation around Sullivan's neck told him the old man was using Legilimency. Coalball sensed the threat too—she poked her head out and hissed at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore snapped out of it, glanced at Coalball, and smiled. "Kneazles—truly remarkable creatures."
Sullivan smiled back. "Yeah. They're natural Legilimens themselves—and very sensitive to it."
"It's late, Sullivan . You should get some rest." Dumbledore clearly wasn't in the mood for more chit-chat.
Sullivan wanted to say something else but hesitated, then just nodded. "All right, Professor. Good night."
Whew. Only once he was far away did Sullivan let out a long breath. Dumbledore's presence was overwhelming—his magical power had to be Level 10 or higher, maybe way higher.
This little adventure had definitely put him on Dumbledore's radar. Good thing he'd come prepared with his anti-Legilimency pendant and Coalball—otherwise a lot of secrets might've spilled.
On the bright side, both main quests—"The Headmaster's Secret" and "The Boy Who Lived 2"—had jumped forward a bunch.
To avoid unnecessary trouble, he'd lay low for the next few weeks and steer clear of Dumbledore's sensitive spots.
For the following days, Sullivan fell back into his routine: library, meals, classes, office. The only fun was chatting with Yuna and Tonks, sending photos, that kind of thing.
Until Friday evening, when he had Jingjing summon Filch to his office at 6:30. The first version of the custom squib-friendly magical handgun was finally done.
He'd tested it himself—worked great. But whether it really suited a squib? Only Filch could say for sure.
---------------------
Protagonist's Current Abilities Summary
As of the latest update (around Chapter 27, mid-December 2025 in-story)
Core Skills:
- Magic Power: LV7 (base 5 + 2 from Chapter 7)
- Charms: LV7 (base 4 + 3 from Chapter 19) + 1 dedicated Charms skill point remaining
- Defense Against the Dark Arts: LV7 (base 3 + 4 from Chapter 19)
- Transfiguration: LV7 (base 4 + 3 from Chapter 27)
- Potions: LV3
- Herbology: LV5
- Alchemy: LV8 (naturally high due to his talent and inventions)
- Flying: LV4 (base 3 + 1 from Chapter 25)
Remaining Skill Points:
- 1 General Skill Point
- 1 Dedicated Charms Skill Point
Combat Strength Comparison (based on the author's benchmarks):
- Average Auror: Magic Power ≥ LV7; Charms, DADA, Transfiguration ≥ LV6 (with at least one ≥ LV7). Example: Tonks.
- Elite Auror: Magic Power ≥ LV8; Charms, DADA, Transfiguration ≥ LV7 (with at least one ≥ LV8). Example: Kingsley Shacklebolt.
- Legendary Auror: Magic Power ≥ LV9; Charms, DADA, Transfiguration ≥ LV8 (with at least one ≥ LV9). Example: Mad-Eye Moody.
Sullivan's Current Standing:
He's solidly at or slightly above the level of an average Auror. His Magic Power, Charms, DADA, and Transfiguration are all LV7, meeting the core requirements. His standout edge is Alchemy LV8, which gives him unique tools (magical handguns, Scout Wards, amplifiers, etc.) that most Aurors don't have. In a straight duel, he'd hold his own against a typical Auror, and with prep or gadgets, he could punch even higher.
He's still growing fast thanks to the system, but as the author notes—he's fundamentally an ordinary guy with advantages, good alchemy talent, and a cautious (sometimes opportunistic) personality. Not a fearless hero yet, but on the path to becoming stronger while picking up some real bonds along the way.
Pretty exciting trajectory—can't wait to see how those remaining points get spent!