When Char flatly rejected Harry's invitation, a flicker of disappointment crossed Harry's face. But the information Char provided about the "Succubus Queen and Dragon Maid" book made Harry's eyes light up with curiosity and excitement.
"Succubus Queen and Dragon Maid"? That name alone sounded thrilling. Harry grinned. "My good friend Char!" he said quickly. "If you're going to Hagrid's, let me know first. Hagrid thinks highly of you—he said to tidy up the house before you come."
Char thought for a moment. Today's commotion had been even bigger than usual. Even if he wanted to visit Hagrid, it was wiser to keep a low profile for a couple of days—at least until Professor Sprout's anger had cooled.
He nodded. "Maybe this weekend. I can't just leave the castle now, or my aunt might get even angrier."
Harry nodded in understanding and hurried off, eager to find the book Char had mentioned and see what "exciting" content it held.
Char left the Quidditch pitch with a faint hope in his heart, wandering toward the greenhouse. Maybe, if he timed it right, he could sneak in and work a little before Professor Sprout noticed. But as he approached, the greenhouse door slammed shut, and Professor Sprout's voice echoed from above: "Char, you really made me angry this time. Go back! Don't even think about working overtime until you've truly reflected on your mistakes!"
Char could only smile bitterly. There was no way around it—Sprout was serious this time. He doubted even Professor Snape would risk asking for help with potion materials. For the first time in ages, Char found himself with nowhere to go and nothing to do. The abandoned broom warehouse might even lock its doors against him.
He stood there for a moment, feeling lost. He was so used to a busy, purposeful life that the sudden emptiness left him adrift.
After a while, Char took a deep breath and focused on his system panel, which now gleamed with gold and silver spells, and the knowledge he'd gained from the Half-Blood Prince's textbook and Professor Flitwick's guidance. He understood the theory, but the abilities still felt a little unreal, the luster on the panel not quite solid. It reminded him of his academic days in his previous life—he could use complex formulas, but they never felt instinctive until he'd practiced them enough.
He realized what he needed: practice. Repetition. Turning knowledge into instinct.
"Since I have some free time, it's time to polish my spells," Char resolved. "I want to truly internalize the insights from the Half-Blood Prince and Professor Flitwick."
He found an empty classroom, took a deep breath, and let his mind settle. He pushed aside the chaos of recent days and focused on the present. With calm determination, he began with the first spell he'd ever learned: the Soil Loosening Spell.
"Terra—Laus!"
No fancy tricks—just the basics: mantra, gesture, intent. After each cast, he reflected, chewed over every detail, then moved to the next repetition. It was boring, of course. Practicing new skills was exciting, but repeating the same thing over and over was tedious. Still, Char persisted, not letting even the smallest detail slip by. He knew that brilliance was the result of patience and perseverance.
Time slipped by. The night deepened, the corridors grew quiet. On Char's system panel, the once-illusory light of his abilities gradually became solid and clear, as if being polished by invisible hands.
But Char wasn't the only one wandering Hogwarts late at night.
Elsewhere, a figure in a large scarf crept away from the fourth floor, looking both wolfish and sly. Quirrell's face was twisted in frustration. The three-headed dog was a nightmare—thick-skinned, strong, tireless, and nearly immune to magic. Tonight, he'd tried again, and once more, ordinary spells had been useless. Quirrell was growing desperate. Even with the Dark Lord's presence, he felt weaker every day.
As he stalked the corridors, Quirrell noticed a light in an empty classroom and heard the sound of spell practice. His eyes narrowed. He recognized the voice—Char Sprout. He remembered the story of Char beating up the troll on Halloween. If magic couldn't subdue the three-headed dog, what about brute force? Even if Char could only wrestle with the dog for a short time, that might be enough for Quirrell to slip past.
And, in Quirrell's mind, it would be easy to tempt a young wizard with weak talent. Now Char was alone, and Quirrell saw his chance.
He entered the classroom, his face full of false admiration. "Char, practicing spells so late? Good, very good. I admire hardworking students like you. Hufflepuff, plus three points!" Quirrell's voice was syrupy as he stepped inside.
Then his tone shifted, becoming sly. "But practicing like this is too slow. These spells are weak. If you want to learn something truly powerful, I know some quick magic. Come to my office, and I'll teach you quietly."
Char was startled. After a moment's hesitation, he shook his head. "No, Professor. I'm not even proficient in basic magic yet. I'd better practice what I have first."
Quirrell's eyes flashed with dissatisfaction, but he quickly covered it with a smile. "Very good. Very down-to-earth. But you can always come to me if you want to learn real magic."
He left, thinking he'd planted a seed of temptation. Surely, Char would come to him eventually. After all, what young wizard could resist the lure of quick, powerful magic?
But days passed, and Char never came. Quirrell grew impatient. On the fifth night, he returned to find Char still practicing basic spells.
"Char, why don't you come find me?" Quirrell pressed. "What's the point of practicing this kind of magic? I can teach you more powerful spells. You could get high marks, win admiration, make a name for yourself. You could even avenge your parents' blood feud."
Char looked confused. "Powerful magic? What good is that? I just need to pass my exams. As for fame and admiration, that's for other houses. And as for revenge, the Ministry and Wizengamot have already judged. We must respect the law. Under Minister Fudge and Headmaster Dumbledore, the wizarding world is fair and just. Professor, we can't take the law into our own hands."
Quirrell's patience snapped. He slammed the door and stormed out, cursing under his breath. "You are hopeless!!! Disgrace to magic itself."
Char finally relaxed, but his expression remained serious. Quirrell had set his sights on him—he'd be back. Char glanced at his system panel. After five days of practice, his spells shone with a solid, unwavering light. But he knew it still wasn't enough to face Quirrell's threat.
He clenched his fists. "I need to find Hagrid. I have to speed up the goldfish spider plant project. There's no time to waste."
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