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HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 100
🕑 Added 2025-11-19 17:37:57 +0000 UTCChapter 100: Harry
Shawn thought Harry and Ron were being rather too sincere.
"Yes," Ron said, face scarlet, expression resigned. He needed those notes too badly to back down.
Harry dropped his gaze, tense.
"All right," Shawn said with a nod.
Professor Snape was waiting in the dungeons. Harry and Ron had surprised him, certainly, but he did not intend to waste time here.
"He is nothing like we thought," Ron said, relief flooding his face the moment it was over.
"Mr Green is… well, at least he is not Percy. And he is not Hermione. I can still read Green's notes. Merlin, that is brilliant…"
As Shawn turned to leave, Harry remembered Wood's words: find out if Shawn had joined the Quidditch team.
But he could not bring himself to ask. For Gryffindor's sake, he had to say something, though.
So—
"Shawn, you—" Harry blurted.
Shawn turned back.
Harry's mind went blank. There was no way he could ask now.
He had only just been forgiven. To turn around and start prying into Ravenclaw Quidditch tactics felt impossible.
But he had to say something. When he spotted Neville and Justin in the distance, the words tumbled out.
"Could you teach us some spells? Like you do with Neville?"
It was instinct, but not entirely nonsense. He had been drowning in homework for weeks.
Wood wanted them to pour every waking second into Quidditch training. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to finish all the assignments on top of that.
What he had not expected was that, after a brief pause, Shawn nodded.
On the way back to the Great Hall,
Harry and Ron walked in silence for a good while.
They stared at the notebooks in their hands as if they were priceless relics.
"Harry… I was wrong. I was so completely wrong. Shawn is like Professor Sprout – oh, Merlin, why did we not find him sooner?" Ron groaned.
"From now on, I will not hear a single bad word about Shawn."
Harry, watching Ron's total reversal, nodded firmly in agreement.
…
At the far end of the corridor, Shawn walked on, thinking.
Harry had surprised him several times now. It was unexpected, but Shawn was happy to help.
When he had looked at that thin boy with the broken glasses and the lightning scar on his forehead, something had clicked into place.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He had never chosen to be the Chosen One. As an infant, Voldemort's curse had killed his parents.
He had grown up in a cupboard at the Dursleys', where even a decent birthday present was a distant dream.
His scar – the wizarding world saw it as a badge of honour. Shawn saw the mark of an attempted murder.
Harry's fate had never truly belonged to him.
Trelawney's prophecy may have tied him to Voldemort, but what made Harry a hero was the choice he made, again and again.
In his first year, he faced Voldemort and chose to protect the Stone. In the Chamber, he risked his life to save Ginny. At the Triwizard Tournament, he insisted on bringing Cedric's body home to Hogwarts.
A person's worth was never measured by how much glory they could bring. It was measured by whether they deserved to be treated with fairness.
Harry Potter was not just the orphan of martyrs. More than that, he deserved a little kindness.
Once Shawn understood that, he found it hard to take Harry's sacrifices for granted. Wherever he could help, even in small ways, he would.
He knew it was nothing compared to the long, struggling years Harry would face at Hogwarts. But Shawn did not mind.
In the dungeons,
Professor Snape had been waiting a long time.
He always lurked in the darkest corners. Shawn could not see his face.
If Shawn made a mistake, Snape would not hesitate to sneer. When the error was serious – like yesterday – it was a full‑blown storm.
Preparing ingredients, lighting the cauldron, controlling the heat…
His Entry‑level proficiency in Deflating Draught made Shawn's movements smooth and precise. Once this batch was done, he would move on to the Swelling Solution.
Of the three potions he had learned, only Swelling Solution was not yet at Entry.
Once it reached Entry, a new Potions title would unlock.
Shawn felt a flicker of anticipation.
Apprentice‑level titles usually gave a small boost to perception and raw talent in a particular branch. At Novice, perception improved significantly.
Perception was like the ability to observe and measure. In potions, it helped Shawn record a brew's state and quality with precision, so he could adjust his technique and method accordingly.
White steam rose in the dungeon again. Snape's dark eyes held a flicker of something complicated.
He was certain the potion's quality had changed. But this Green boy's method was entirely unfamiliar to him.
He had no interest in understanding it. That did not mean he would tolerate reckless experimentation in his domain.
Did the boy think Potions was like Quidditch? That brainless sport whose tactics had not changed in decades?
So he watched the student closely.
Hmph. As long as he does not blow up the dungeon.
[You brewed a Deflating Draught at Entry standard, Proficiency +3]
Deflating Draught was familiar ground by now. Even without the improved ritual or Guidance Method, Shawn had produced an Entry‑level potion, very close to Proficient.
Progress was slow, but steady.
After extinguishing the cauldron and storing the potion in the cabinet – in a shelf Snape had said was the only place fit for his rubbish – Shawn pulled out his notebook.
"The stirring arc is too wide. You should increase the heat when adding the second ingredient. Shawn Green, with talent like that, you dare tamper with a potion ritual?" Snape sneered.
Shawn ignored the second half and wrote down the first.
His green eyes gleamed faintly. He had just found the last piece of the puzzle to reach Proficient.
The biggest difference between Proficient and Entry was that Proficient‑level potions met the standard for sale.
Another stable source of income, Shawn thought.
He left the notebook on the dungeon workbench and turned to the supply cabinet.
Dried nettles, pufferfish eyes, bat spleens – all on the second shelf, left side.
Time slipped away in the cold dungeon air.
When Shawn had tidied everything on the table, he walked silently into the shadows.
