Two days later, outside Hagrid's hut, Char stood beneath the early morning sky, wand in hand, working the land with focused determination. Over and over, he cast the Soil Loosening Spell, feeling the magic pulse through his arm and into the earth. On his system panel, the golden light of progress crept steadily across the words for the spell—until, with one final, almost effortless cast, the gold completely enveloped the text.
[Soil Loosening Spell (Gold Level)]—Promoted!
Char took a deep breath, a wave of satisfaction washing over him. Now, all the foundational spells for his magical gardening—Soil Loosening, Pruning, and Luminescent—had reached gold level. The latter two were even edging toward platinum. With these skills, nothing would hold him back when it came time to plant the Guardian Tree. He just needed his Magic Perception Enhancement to catch up, and he'd be ready for the next stage.
Once the Guardian Tree was in the ground, everything would become simpler. All he'd have to do was prepare the Holy Tree Potion, and with his current confidence, he felt at least seventy or eighty percent sure of success. The Guardian Tree would soon become the second magical plant in his collection, after the Piranha Algae, capable of providing silver-level rewards in batches. If he could plant them on a large scale, the resulting rewards would push his Defense Against the Dark Arts skills to gold or even platinum, giving him real resistance to dark magic—and a new level of confidence in facing danger.
Beyond that, successfully cultivating the Guardian Tree would be a milestone in his herbology journey, and might even help him secure more greenhouse space for future experiments. The thought filled Char with a bubbling excitement.
Turning his attention back to the Soil Loosening Spell, he wondered what tangible difference the gold-level upgrade would make. He raised his wand, eager to test it out. "Terra-Laus!"
A warm, earthy light rippled out and vanished into the ground. Instantly, the soil seemed to come alive, shifting and loosening, stones rolling to the surface. The area affected was larger and deeper than before. Char knelt down and pressed his fingers into the earth, marveling at how the soil continued to move, staying loose and breathable even after the spell was cast.
This was more than just a time-saver; it meant the roots of his plants would always have room to grow, and nutrients and water would be distributed evenly throughout the bed. No more daily spellwork just to keep the soil healthy—now, every root would be well-nourished, and his plants would thrive. Char estimated this single upgrade would improve his magical crop yields by at least ten percent, which meant more rewards from every harvest. Over time, that would add up to a huge advantage.
Just then, Char glanced at his watch. As the minute hand swept past a certain mark, a huge smile broke across his face. "Finally! My punishment is over. Seven days—seven whole days—without the greenhouse or the Potions classroom. Only I know how much I've missed it. Thank goodness that torture is finally over. Work, here I come!"
He was about to dash off to the greenhouse when Hagrid intercepted him, waving excitedly. "Char! Still practicing spells? Come on, today's not the day for that. You're on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, aren't you? It's the season opener—Gryffindor versus Slytherin! Everyone's going to watch, teachers and students alike. You can't miss it!"
Hagrid rummaged in his pockets and handed Char a bundle of Quidditch essentials: a monocular, a warm blanket, earplugs, and more. "This'll be your first real match—don't miss it!"
At that moment, an owl swooped down with a letter from Professor Sprout. The message was clear: "Char, I know you're eager to get back to the greenhouse, but you can't miss the opening match. I expect to see you in the stands. If not, I'll know you haven't reflected enough—and your punishment will continue!"
Char let out a wry laugh. "Most kids are forced to study, but here I am, desperate to work and study, and I'm being told to go have fun. Is this what irony feels like?"
Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit excited. He remembered from the original story that this Quidditch match was legendary—not just for the action on the field, but for the drama off it. Quirrell, in a fit of dark ambition, would try to curse Harry's broomstick right in front of the whole school, with Snape, McGonagall, and even Dumbledore present. It was reckless, but somehow fitting for someone like Quirrell—a once-brilliant academic who'd gone off the rails, believing he could control Voldemort's soul and use it for his own ends, only to become a puppet himself.
Char had no intention of getting involved in any of that. He just wanted to watch the spectacle.
But then another thought struck him. In the original story, Snape had been bitten by the three-headed dog, leaving him limping and in pain. The wound, tainted by dark magic, couldn't be healed with normal potions. Snape had tried to remove the curse from Harry's broom, but his injury made things difficult.
If Char hadn't known Snape personally, he might not have cared. But after all the guidance Snape had given him—despite the man's prickly exterior—Char felt a genuine debt of gratitude. Not to mention the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, which had changed his magical life. It was only right to pay a visit.
He asked Hagrid for some of his famous rock cakes, a big jug of goat's milk, and a generous helping of sausages, then made his way to the Slytherin Headmaster's office. Most students were already at the stadium, so he slipped through the castle unnoticed.
At Snape's door, Char knocked. Before he could even announce himself, a voice from inside called out, "Char Sprout?" Footsteps approached, and Snape opened the door, eyeing the bundle in Char's arms with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. "What's all this? This isn't a grocery store."
Char grinned apologetically. "I've been away from the castle a lot lately, and just heard about your injury. I thought you might appreciate some of Hagrid's rock cakes—softened in hot goat's milk, they're great for recovery—and his sausages are made with rare ingredients. I hope you'll find them useful."
Snape snorted, but there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. "Just put them on the table. You really are a Hufflepuff badger."
As Snape sat down, Char couldn't help but notice how pale and weak he looked. The three-headed dog's bite was no joke. Char's concern grew. "Professor, can't even potions heal your wound?"
Snape shook his head. "There's dark magic in the wound. If it were ordinary, I could handle it. But this is different—the magic can't be dispelled. I have to let my own vitality wear it down. Healing will be slow, and some people might not survive at all."
For the first time, Snape seemed to offer a reassuring word. "But I'm not just any potion master. Once the dark magic fades, I'll handle the rest. Give me two weeks, and I'll be back. Don't think you can slack off."
Char's relief faded as he realized what that meant. "Two weeks? So I still can't work for two more weeks?" He sighed, but then remembered something Snape had said.
"You said the problem is the wound is draining your vitality. Would external life force help?"
Snape looked at him, surprised, and nodded. "External life force would work."
Char's mind began to race with new possibilities.