Christmas Eve

In the days leading up to Christmas, Harry kept pondering how he could get Ron and the others to learn his meditation method. After all, he had tried it himself and observed its effects.

This meditation method really could greatly accelerate the growth of magical power.

By contrast, so far, neither their school lessons nor the books in the Library had mentioned any methods for increasing magical power or mental strength.

There was something about the pattern of magical growth, which Harry had skimmed. Simply put, it increased with age.

Did that mean Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard of the age because he had lived the longest? That didn't seem right either. Apparently, Dumbledore had already been a world-renowned wizard fifty years ago, and he had defeated a German Dark wizard, too. What was his name again? Harry had forgotten. Whoever he was, he seemed to have been pretty formidable.

Hmm, then it probably wasn't just age. Talent might have something to do with it, too.

This reminded Harry of a saying about magical training from the Aegean World, which he had learned from Neil: three percent depended on opportunity, seven percent on hard work, and the remaining ninety percent on talent...

As for finding clues about the Philosopher's Stone, Harry and the others had hit a wall.

So far, their searches through medieval documents had turned up a few descriptions of the Philosopher's Stone, detailing the first time it had been created.

That had been nearly two thousand years ago. The prophet Ptolemy and an alchemist described as coming from the east had proposed the earliest theory of the Philosopher's Stone, then produced only a prototype.

This Philosopher's Stone could turn stone into gold. The alchemists of the time had mainly wanted to exchange gold for large quantities of other magical materials. There was no mention of an elixir of immortality or any other abilities, however.

This was the earliest record of the Philosopher's Stone that Harry and the others could find. Even so, it still offered nothing of any practical use.

Young people rarely had much staying power.

Although something like the Philosopher's Stone was fascinating, the constant lack of tangible results gradually wore down Harry and Ron's enthusiasm for the search. Spending over a month searching the Library, cutting into their homework and leisure time, was already their limit.

Over the past few days, even Hermione, the most enthusiastic of them-mainly because she wanted to fill the gaps in her knowledge-had begun to flag.

Harry and Ron had already started slacking off. Right now, for instance, they were playing wizard's chess.

Harry had bought his own wizard's chess set long ago, but he wasn't particularly keen on playing Ron. Even now, with his pieces obeying him and his skills considerably improved, Ron still routed him every time.

Hermione had refused to accept defeat for a while, but now she barely ever mentioned playing chess.

If Harry wanted a game against Ron that offered them both a decent experience, Ron had to give him at least a knight and a bishop as a handicap. Even then, Harry still lost more often than he won. Besides, what was the point of winning like that?

"Hey, have you heard?" Harry and Ron were reviewing Harry's mistakes in his last game. Naturally, that game had been against an older girl-she had fled after winning once, refusing Ron's challenge to avenge Harry.

At that moment, Dean Thomas came rushing in. His dark face was slightly flushed, whether from the cold or excitement. That wasn't easy to spot, either. Dean was of African descent, so if the redness showed on his dark face, any other child's face would probably have been scarlet.

"What happened, Dean? What's the rush?" Ron handed him a cup of hot milk to warm him up.

"Thanks!" Dean took the milk and swallowed a large mouthful. After pausing for a few breaths, he said, "It's Seamus. Seamus just-just got taken to the Hospital Wing."

"Oh." Harry remained perfectly calm and went on watching Ron review the game.

"What's unusual about that?" Ron said indifferently as he continued pointing things out to Harry.

Seamus "Demolition Prodigy" Finnigan's ability to cause explosions had left even Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick astonished.

Snape had even stopped deducting points from Gryffindor over the small explosions he caused in Potions Class. Even as a Potions Master, Snape had never quite figured out how Seamus managed to cause explosions with those few potions-and nearly every time, at that...

Talent!

That was what Harry, Ron, and the others all called it in private.

Sometimes these explosions were very weak, perhaps producing only a puff of white smoke or giving Seamus and the classmates beside him new hairstyles. At other times, though, they were quite powerful.

Since these explosions were magical in origin, ordinary healing spells weren't very effective, so Seamus checked into the Hospital Wing every few days.

Madam Pomfrey had even declared that her ability to treat the various injuries caused by explosions had improved noticeably over the past six months. She was planning to organize her findings and submit a substantial paper to some academic institutions.

"Seamus blowing himself up isn't anything new, sure, but this time Professor Kettleburn was involved too!" Dean got straight to the point without keeping them in suspense.

"Oh?" Now quite a few of the young wizards in the common room took an interest, mostly first- and second-years.

The third-years and older students remained calm. Their own experiences and their classmates' accounts had taught them that Professor Kettleburn, who taught the elective Care of Magical Creatures course, had injured himself more than once or twice.

Of all the professors they had ever seen, he was the only one they regularly saw in the Hospital Wing-and lying in a hospital bed, at that.

"Huh? What did they do?" Harry and Ron, who hadn't seen much of the world, were curious. They clearly still knew little about this eccentric professor, beyond the fact that he got along very well with Hagrid and could often be found at Hagrid's place. He was always smiling, liked cracking jokes, and was very easy to talk to.