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[Magic Power: Level 5 (4200/?)]
[Spells:
Levitation Charm (Level 5),
Transfiguration (Level 5, Dragon form optional),
Disillusionment Charm (Level 5),
Fiendfyre (Level 5),
Blasting Curse (Level 5),
Firestorm (Level 5),
Occlumency (Level 5),
Patronus Charm (Level 5),
Shield Charm (Level 5),
Petrification Spell (Level 5) …..]
[Skills:
Short Weapon Mastery (Level 7),
Greatsword Mastery (Level 6),
Hot Weapons Mastery (Level 2),
Runes Mastery (Level 6),
Alchemy Mastery (Level 6),
Ancient Magic Mastery (Level 3)....]
[Blessings: Strong Body, Quick Attack, Precision, Diligent Scollar 2.0, Pilot, Long-distance Runner, Sword Dance, Night Stalker, Troll Nemisis, Knight, Fire-Eater, Intimidation, Hardening, Dragon Speech, Botanist, Diligent Learner, Foresight, Invisibility, Insight, Minor Prophet, Soul Walker, Rewinder, Panic, All Things, Mind Invasion, Occlumency, Oak Mage, (Doomsday) Shadow of Distruction, Petrification, Death Gaze, Longevity, Parseltongue....]
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Calling up the interface, aside from the added buffs, not much had changed.
He had five free stat points. John looked through his various spells.
The Petrification Spell had reached Level 5 thanks to his fusion with basilisk blood.
Ancient Magic was still at Level 3—it seemed upgrading it would require a lot more knowledge. Runes and Alchemy were greyed out.
Even though he hadn't slacked off in practice this past year, it still wasn't enough to light them up.
"Let's upgrade Transfiguration, and also the Shield Charm."
John allocated two of the free stat points—Transfiguration rose to Level 6, and so did the Shield Charm.
He gave it a try—without even needing to recite the incantation, he directly transformed a cup into a lifelike mouse.
At this level, he was about on par with what Professor McGonagall had demonstrated in his first year.
Next was the Shield Charm. A suit-of-armor-like projection appeared on his body.
The projection remained solid without dissipating. When he tapped it with his hand, it felt like hitting actual armor.
"Level 6 is when it becomes a qualitative change," John murmured thoughtfully.
Level 5 could be considered the peak of ordinary wizards. Going beyond that required talent—and personal insight.
He had 3 free stat points left. After a moment's hesitation, John decided to upgrade the Blasting Curse.
It had been the first offensive spell he learned, and also the one he used most naturally.
The Blasting Curse at Level 6 had undergone a huge transformation.
With a thought, he tapped his wand—white light rippled outward in a wave, instantly shattering everything it touched.
He focused the light at the wand's tip, then swung it—turning the Blasting Curse into a whip of lightning.
"Damn.. I can now cast the Blasting Curse in all kinds of shapes."
The Blasting Curse scattered like a barrage of bullets, striking the table—John had successfully unlocked a new form.
So far, there were four forms of the Blasting Curse, each with different power and effects.
The first was the Ripple Form. Its destructive power was a bit weaker, but it had a large area of effect.
The second was Lightning. Its range was average and damage wasn't that high, but it was highly flexible and versatile.
The third was Scatter, like a shotgun blast, firing off multiple small-scale Blasting Curses and covering a wide area.
The fourth was Charged, the most powerful version. Though its appearance wasn't much different from the regular Blasting Curse, its force was significantly greater.
John's favorite was the Ripple Form—it covered a wide area. Next in line was the Charged Form.
Lightning looked cool, but in actual use, it wasn't all that effective.
With 2 stat points left, he did what he always did: He saved them for emergencies.
…
John had been back for nearly a week now.
That day, he was in the attic when he saw someone running past below. The figure looked vaguely familiar.
"…Was that… Dudley?"
He blinked, then rubbed his eyes.
John looked at Dudley down below—still a little chubby, but already much slimmer—and felt genuinely surprised.
This wasn't the same fat kid from a year ago. He wasn't exactly skinny now either.
He had a medium build, and most of the fat under his skin had turned into muscle.
Word was, he'd even won the Southeast Region Youth Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Championship.
He really had changed a lot, and John's meal plan had given him a huge boost in confidence.
Compared to those awful vegetables, Dudley much preferred the beef-heavy meals.
After eating so much, Petunia Dursley had made him start working out.
But Dudley didn't like boring, traditional exercises—until about a week before Christmas, when he ran into John's uncle, Andrei.
He had watched with his own eyes as Andrei snapped a thick tree trunk in half in under a minute—and from that moment on, Dudley was obsessed with boxing.
At first, Vernon had just let him try it out. But once Dudley got started, he couldn't stop.
He got into a fight with an upperclassman, knocked the guy down, and then got beaten up by a few others who jumped in after.
That only fueled his competitive spirit. Now, not only was he the school's boxing champ, he had even signed himself up for a Youth Cup boxing tournament.
A manager scouted him and exclaimed that he was a born power puncher.
That brought Dudley both fame and attention—he had quickly become the star of the boxing gym.
As soon as he was old enough, he'd be stepping into the ring for real.
And it was all thanks to John's meal plan.
He knew Harry had come back—so that meant John had returned too.
But after several days without seeing him, Dudley finally spotted John and mustered up the courage to call out.
"Hey, John!"
He waved from below, and a smile appeared on John's lips.
"Dudley, your transformation really impressed me."
John gave him a thumbs-up. It was the first time Dudley had ever been praised by John.
That feeling—it was even more thrilling than lifting a championship trophy.
"Thanks! Have a good day!"
Dudley pumped his fists and jogged off. He had plans to meet a few friends for training.
He was still a bit of a schoolyard bully, but he rarely picked on little kids anymore.
Now, his fists were aimed at stronger opponents—he'd grown bored of the weak.
Seeing that fired-up expression on his face, John felt a sense of satisfaction.
"I need to go study that potion," John muttered to himself.
Just as he was heading to the basement, a sharp, loud bang rang out.
A car alarm started blaring, and curious neighbors opened their windows to see what had happened.
John frowned as he looked at the lingering traces of magic.
"Apparition?"
Someone had Apparated—in broad daylight, in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood. And judging by the noise, the person clearly wasn't very skilled at it.
He had been too distracted talking to Dudley earlier to notice if anyone suspicious had been nearby.
"Doesn't seem like they were here for me."
The protective enchantments on the house hadn't been triggered, which meant whoever it was hadn't come looking for him.
There were only two wizards living in this area—John, and Harry.
"Then it has nothing to do with me."
Without changing expression, John turned and walked off.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vernon Dursley step outside, hastily apologizing to the neighbors and claiming he'd accidentally triggered the car alarm.
…
In the basement.
John's expression was a bit strange.
"This is too weird. Most of the materials in here are ordinary, but a few are extremely rare even in the magical world—and there's one I can't even identify."
What did that mean?
John's alchemy skills were fully developed—calling him a master alchemist was no exaggeration.
Potions masters were rare, sure, but there were still maybe eight or nine of them around.
Master alchemists, though? Fewer than three had emerged in the last hundred years.
To reach John's level usually meant starting at age eighty or older.
So far, John had only encountered one person with Level 7 alchemy—his own teacher, Nicolas Flamel.
Godric Gryffindor could be considered a half-master. He wasn't deeply versed in alchemy, but he had real skill when it came to forging weapons.
Probably driven crazy by the goblins back then, he thought, "Screw it, I'll just make my own sword."
Too bad he didn't have the goblins' craftsmanship level, so he didn't leave behind any actual alchemic items of note.
Among the other three founders, there might have been another Level 7 alchemist.
The Room of Requirement alone was proof—it was a remarkable piece of magic that needed powerful alchemical constructs to support it.
Salazar Slytherin's legacy—the Chamber of Secrets—also hinted at his strong alchemical abilities. Whether or not it was truly him, though, remained uncertain.
Back to the main point.
If even someone with Level 6 alchemy like John couldn't identify it, then it was very likely that this substance didn't originate from the magical world.
"What is this thing? And why would Jovanovich have it?"
He was finding the Jovanovich family more and more incomprehensible—they were shrouded in mystery.
John even started to suspect that his maternal grandfather's family might also be wizards.
Aleksei had clearly discovered something, which was why he had left behind this potion.
Could they really be wizards?
As he was deep in thought, the magic on the basement table was suddenly triggered.
John's expression turned serious. He looked up, and the map projected on the table wasn't showing the inside of the house—but the outside.
It was almost dark out, and he spotted a familiar figure… except it looked like it had been stripped of its cloak.
"A Dementor? Nice! I need some~"
…
Near the park, Dudley was just finishing his training and heading back.
"Hey, Big D!"
Dudley had just parted ways with a few of his buddies when he turned around and saw Harry.
"Oh, it's you." Dudley didn't really want to be around Harry.
Not just because he used to treat Harry like a punching bag, but also because he was still afraid of that wand.
Harry asked, "Since when did you become 'Big-D'?"
"None of your business." Dudley didn't want to deal with Harry and turned to walk away.
"That name's kinda cool," Harry grinned and walked alongside him. "But to me, you'll always be 'Dudders the little darling'."
Dudley clenched both fists. He remembered what Vernon had told him—don't pick a fight with Harry.
Seemed like Vernon had really taken John's words to heart. If Harry ever got expelled and came to loiter around the Dursley house, not even the police could help them.
Harry had been doing alright at the Dursleys lately, but he couldn't help remembering the days when he was bullied.
On top of that, he'd been feeling isolated these past few days. Not just Hermione and Ron—even Sirius had repeatedly reminded him not to leave the Dursley house.
Hermione and Ron were probably staying at the Burrow, and he wasn't allowed to go. The frustration was killing him.
He even thought—he was the first one to witness Voldemort's return, and yet now he felt like an outsider.
And then there was Sirius, constantly telling him not to act rashly. That part made Harry want to laugh. After all, Sirius was the most impulsive one—he broke out of Azkaban after spending over ten years in there.
"Who'd you beat up tonight?" Harry kept walking after Dudley, no longer smiling. "Another ten-year-old kid? I know you beat up Mark Evans two days ago."
Although Mark Evans had the same last name as Harry's mother, they weren't related—just a coincidence.
Dudley also remembered that little brat. The kid had called him a hairless gorilla, and Dudley had given him a solid beating in return.
"He brought it on himself. He insulted me," Dudley snapped.
"Oh yeah? Did he say you look like a pig walking on two legs?" Harry chuckled. "Come on, Dudders, that's not an insult—that's just facts."
Dudley's facial muscles twitched. He wanted nothing more than to smash that mouthy face of Harry's with a single punch.
Seeing Dudley this upset helped Harry let out some of the frustration he'd been holding in from being ignored and isolated.
But it still wasn't enough. He wasn't going to stop.
They turned into a narrow alleyway—the same one where Harry had once seen the big black dog.
It was darker than the other streets around, since there were no streetlights.
Dudley was already thinking of roughing Harry up here—beat him before he could even pull out his wand.
Harry, still taunting relentlessly, seemed like he was actually waiting for Dudley to make a move.
Just then, the air suddenly turned cold.
The feeling was eerily familiar to Harry.
The sky lost all light, and it was like someone had snatched away their eyes.
Dudley thought it was one of Harry's tricks and swung a terrified punch at him to make it stop.
"Ugh!"
Unfortunately—or perhaps all too fortunately—that punch landed squarely on Harry, knocking him to the ground. His wand flew from his hand, and he nearly passed out.
This was, after all, a punch from the so-called future heavy-hitter. The impact spoke for itself.
In the end, Harry managed to hang on. Gritting through the pain, he called out "Lumos!" and found his wand by the glow of the spell.
That's when a hooded figure appeared—a Dementor.
Before Harry could reach his wand, two Dementors drifted toward him and Dudley.
There wasn't time to cast a spell. One slammed Harry against the wall.
It began draining his joy, its skeletal face inching closer, clearly aiming for a soul-sucking kiss.
Suddenly, black threads slithered along the ground and wrapped around the Dementor looming over Dudley.
To Harry's horror, the creature screamed—a high, sharp shriek of pure terror.
No matter how it struggled, it couldn't shake off the black threads that bound it. The web dragged it relentlessly toward the shadowy corner of the street.
The Dementor near Harry froze for a second, clearly startled. In that instant, Harry rolled, grabbed his wand, and shouted:
"Expecto Patronum!"
The silver light of the Patronus blasted the Dementor back—but just as it was about to surge toward that shadowy corner, Harry felt a strange pulse at the center of his brow. The silver light halted, unable to go any farther.
As the glow faded, Harry glanced nervously toward that spot. He had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him.
Swallowing hard, he hurried over, grabbed Dudley with all his strength, and dragged him away in a panicked escape.
After they left, deep within the dark corner, two wisps of silvery-white, purified souls floated in John's palm.
He hadn't stepped in to help Harry—but the boy had reacted quickly and turned the situation around on his own.
Glancing at the two soul wisps, John casually sealed them inside a vial.
"Dementors showing up here... Seems the ones from Azkaban aren't quite as loyal as advertised."
He could just guess this must be some idiot's idea, this was so reckless, he wondered if magic had fried the person's brain.
With a cold smile, John muttered, "Since they're useless now, might as well serve as alchemical materials."
He'd long had his eye on the Dementors of Azkaban—they were perfect ingredients.
These two? He'd refine them into a soul potion and send it over to Nagini.
As for Harry's involvement in this incident—it was about to stir up quite the storm in the Dursley household.
(Damn.. 2566 Words!)
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