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Sullivan crouched on the floor, the red Philosopher's Stone heavy in his palm. He could feel the raw, compressed power surging inside it, the intricate, overlapping runes glowing across its surface like living circuits.
This was the pinnacle of alchemy—the stone that turned lead to gold, brewed the Elixir of Life, and granted endless magic, wealth, and time. Holding it, Sullivan understood exactly why so many had gone mad chasing it. He felt like Gollum in The Lord of the Rings, one wrong move away from being consumed by the very thing he craved.
He closed his eyes, took a slow breath, then forced himself to place the stone back in Harry's limp hand.
Don't rush. Dumbledore already promised you a week with it. You can make your own someday.
He let go, sat back hard on the stone floor, and sucked in air like he'd just surfaced from underwater.
"Well done, my boy," Dumbledore's calm voice came from behind him. "You faced your own greed and chose your true self."
Sullivan startled so badly he rolled sideways, wand and enchanted revolver both snapping up at the old man. When he saw who it was, he lowered his weapons with a groan. "Professor, you're going to give someone a heart attack pulling that crap."
He realized then that Dumbledore had been here the whole time. This wasn't just a test for Harry—it had been one for him too. If he'd tried to keep the stone, the old man wouldn't have hesitated.
Note to self: never underestimate Dumbledore again.
"Anyway, my part's done," Sullivan said, climbing to his feet. "I'll head out. We had a deal about the stone—"
"You'll have your week," Dumbledore promised. "Every afternoon after classes, my office is yours."
Sullivan was almost at the door when the headmaster spoke again. "One more thing, Su. Summer break is still over a month away. I was hoping you might temporarily take over Defense Against the Dark Arts as well?"
"Nope," Sullivan answered instantly. No way. Between Muggle Studies and everything else, he was already slammed. Adding the cursed DADA position on top of that? Hard pass.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "If you agree, once the stone is destroyed you may keep three of the largest fragments as a personal collection."
Sullivan spun on his heel, bowing deeply. "Professor, I misspoke earlier. The stone is whatever. I've always wanted to try teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Dumbledore returned the bow with a warm chuckle. "Thank you, Su. Truly."
The next week passed quietly. Someone leaked the story of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's adventure through the traps, and the whole school buzzed with it. Ron held court in the Gryffindor common room every night, retelling the tale with ever more dramatic flair—though his versions tended to get… creative.
Hermione kept threatening to hex him if he didn't shut up and study for finals.
Sullivan, now doubling as Defense professor, quickly became the students' favorite. No garlic stench, for one. More importantly, he'd installed a dozen enchanted training dummies that could fire back with real (but safe) spells. Every class turned into live combat drills tailored to each year.
He also dug up every past exam paper from the last decade and turned fifth- and seventh-years into exam-cramming machines. "Ten years of real questions, twenty years of practice tests," he told them cheerfully. Kids were writing essays until midnight and calling it mercy.
Between his regular five Muggle Studies classes and twenty-four Defense periods a week (split classes for the younger years), Sullivan was teaching almost six periods a day. Even by Muggle standards, that schedule was brutal.
After classes he headed straight to Dumbledore's office to study the stone. The runes were insanely complex—far beyond anything in the Defense textbooks. He stayed until midnight most nights, recording thousands of rune combinations he didn't fully understand yet. When he finally left, he dumped all the grading on the Raven's Feather kids.
The arrangement created a funny sight: Sullivan bolting for the headmaster's office the second the bell rang, while Gemma, the Weasley twins, Cedric, and Alice marched into his office to grade papers and work on the Wizard's Chess app.
The week flew by. On the final afternoon, Sullivan had used every scanning tool he owned on the stone. He still didn't grasp most of it, but he'd documented everything.
"Professor, are you really going to destroy this?" Sullivan asked, voice tinged with regret. "It's practically perfect. Calling it art doesn't feel like enough."
Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, Su. It must be done. As long as it exists, Voldemort has a path back."
"Why fear his return?" Sullivan pressed. "With your power you could beat him."
Dumbledore's smile was tired. "I'm not as strong as you think. Voldemort is the most gifted dark wizard I've ever seen. I cannot defeat him outright, and even if I could, he would simply flee. I'm old, Su. I won't be here forever. I refuse to leave this problem for the next generation."
Sullivan shrugged. "In the Muggle world, scientists have a saying: life finds a way. Even if you destroy the stone, he'll probably find another method to come back."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Perhaps. But at least I've closed one door."
He drew the Elder Wand from his sleeve. Sullivan had never seen it used before. The old man levitated the stone, pointed the wand, and unleashed a storm of crimson lightning.
The stone erupted like a tiny nuclear reaction. Blinding light poured out, along with a torrent of magic so dense Sullivan's glasses flashed red warnings and maxed out their sensors. He could only watch in awe.
The runes on the stone fractured, reformed, fractured again in endless cycles. Sullivan frantically recorded every new combination that appeared.
After nearly ten minutes the light died. The immense magic didn't vanish—it flowed into the very walls of Hogwarts Castle. Sullivan finally understood: the castle itself was an alchemical masterpiece, possibly even greater than the stone.
In Dumbledore's palm lay twelve red diamond-like fragments, some the size of fingernails, others no bigger than grains of rice.
Sullivan's eyes lit up. These were his payment for covering Defense. He picked the three largest pieces and tucked them away carefully.
The week of midnight research sessions was over, but Sullivan's workload only grew. He threw himself into finishing the Magical Network server, barely coming up for air.
The Raven's Feather kids grumbled—he was the ultimate hands-off boss—but two weeks before summer break, the server was finally complete.
It looked like an ornate trophy. The base was troll bone (perfect for containing magic leakage). The cup itself was forged from dragon-egg shell—Norbert's alone wasn't enough, so Sullivan had bought more fragments from Charlie Weasley in Romania. The edge was inlaid with three fingernail-sized red gems: repaired Philosopher's Stone shards that could store enormous amounts of power. At the very top sat the moonstone core of the network itself.
The design was elegant. Dragon-egg runes gathered ambient magic, stored it in the stone fragments, then fed it into the moonstone server to handle requests. After weeks of optimization, the server could now support thirty thousand phones at once. Any more and Sullivan would literally have to park it in lava.
The moment the final rune locked into place, his Alchemy skill shot from LV8 straight to LV9.
Then, because he'd already finished the two main quests by taking down Quirrell, Sullivan dumped every free skill point he had. LV9 to LV10 needed four points—he spent them without hesitation.
A flood of alchemical knowledge poured into his mind. Many of the rune combinations he'd recorded from the stone suddenly made perfect sense. He realized the stone itself was beyond even LV10 alchemy.
The system chimed:
Ding! Alchemy has reached LV10. New epic quest unlocked: Proof of Legend (Alchemy).
Requirement: Create one epic-grade alchemical item.
Reward: Choose one of the following epic traits:
1. Alchemical material cost reduced by 30%.
2. Alchemical success rate increased by 30%.
3. Flash of Genius – Once per week, gain a sudden insight when facing an alchemical bottleneck. It might help. It might not.