Char stared at the sprouting guardian tree seed in his hand, his breath caught in anticipation. This was the moment he'd been working toward for so long. Carefully, he planted the seed—fresh from its potion bath—into the prepared soil. He knew this was the hardest step; if he succeeded, everything afterward would be so much easier. Even without the holy tree potion, a guardian tree could mature with luck, though its growth might not be as strong.
He'd run through this process in his mind a hundred times, rehearsing every detail. Now, as he worked, the thrill of his earlier platinum-level upgrades faded, replaced by a razor-sharp clarity. Time seemed to slow, and Char entered a state of perfect focus. The world narrowed to just him and the guardian tree seed.
He flicked off the lights, plunging the greenhouse into darkness. But with his platinum night vision, Char saw everything more clearly than ever. The seed itself glowed with a sacred aura, magical light swirling around it.
He submerged his head in a tank of water, letting the water-enhancing effect sharpen his senses even further. On his system panel, the words "Magic Perception Enhancement" shimmered with a hint of gold. The magic inside the seed became more vivid, more alive.
Char tapped the reagent bottle with his wand, sending a ripple of magic through the potion and waking the dormant seed. This was a delicate dance—his own magic, the guardian tree's sacred energy, and the potion's magic all tangled together. He could see the three types of magical light swirling and mixing. He had to coax out the potion's magic while keeping his own and the tree's in perfect balance.
It was exhausting. Every tap of his wand demanded total concentration. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his temples throbbed, and his mind felt like it was being squeezed. He hadn't felt this kind of mental strain in years.
But he pressed on. He could sense the process nearing completion. At the perfect moment, he tapped the seed one final time, then reached into the potion and gently touched the sprouting roots. They pulsed with vitality and magic.
Without hesitation, Char turned to his test plot. His hands moved on instinct, casting the soil loosening spell he'd practiced so many times it was second nature. The soil shifted, and he nestled the guardian tree seed into its new home, covering it gently.
He held his breath, nerves stretched to the breaking point. Would it work? Or would all his effort be for nothing?
A faint reward light shimmered above the soil. A line of text appeared before his eyes:
[You successfully planted the guardian tree]
[Available rewards: Improved comprehension of Defense Against the Dark Arts (Bronze Level)]
[After the guardian tree matures, the rewards will be upgraded to: Improved Dark Magic Defense Perception (Silver Level), Weak Dark Magic Resistance (Black Iron Level)]
Relief and triumph flooded through him. He'd done it. The guardian tree was planted and growing. Now all he had to do was prepare the holy tree potion and nurture the seedling. In time, it would mature, and he'd reap the rewards.
Char felt a surge of pride. He'd planted rarer and more powerful magical plants before, but this was different. This was a true milestone in his herbology journey—a project that demanded every ounce of his skill and patience. By the end of the school year, he'd have a harvest of guardian trees, and his defense against the dark arts would soar.
He let out a shaky laugh that quickly faded into exhaustion. The ordeal had drained him so completely that, as soon as the tension left his body, he fell asleep right there in the greenhouse—standing up.
Later that night, under the moon's gentle glow, Professor Sprout hurried to the greenhouse to gather herbs for Quirrell's scabies. She found Char asleep in the experimental field, dirt smudged on his face, snoring softly. Her heart filled with both worry and pride.
"This child… still working at this hour," she murmured, gently brushing the dirt from his cheek. She felt the sacred magic pulsing beneath the soil and realized what Char had accomplished. Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered, "The Sprout family truly has a worthy heir. My Char is on his way to becoming a legend."
She helped him to the lounge, fussing over him, determined to let him rest—even if it meant Quirrell would have to wait a little longer for his treatment.
Meanwhile, in the infirmary, Quirrell lay in bed, reporting his failures to Voldemort. The Dark Lord's voice was cold and unimpressed. "You haven't even passed the first level of the Philosopher's Stone's defenses? And you let the Weasley twins outsmart you?"
Quirrell tried to redeem himself. "I have a plan. Charle Sprout—he must have half-giant blood. I can use him to get past the three-headed dog."
Voldemort snorted, remembering Hagrid. "Another half-giant at Hogwarts? The magical world just keeps getting messier. But perhaps you can make use of him."
As Quirrell writhed in pain from the biting cabbage and giant konjac flower, he cursed Professor Sprout's delay. "Why hasn't she brought my herbs yet? The best time for treatment is slipping away!"
Outside, Snape was equally frustrated, his patience worn thin by Quirrell's complaints and Dumbledore's mysterious games. He snapped at Sprout when he found her in the greenhouse, but she explained Char's breakthrough and asked for his help making a restorative potion.
Snape's irritation melted into surprise and a touch of admiration as he saw Char's pale, sleeping face. He remembered how Char had once cut his finger to heal Snape's cursed wound, and decided Quirrell could wait a little longer.
So, while Quirrell suffered through the night, Sprout and Snape worked together to help Char recover from his exhaustion. Even Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be found.
As dawn broke, Quirrell stared at the ceiling in despair, abandoned by everyone—even Voldemort, who simply told him to "bear with it" and promptly went back to sleep.
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