Following Snape, Char stepped into the Potions classroom—a place that felt both familiar and strangely distant after so much time away. There was no chance for nostalgia; Snape was all business, gesturing to a pile of snails and an array of potion-making tools.
"I don't have time for you to daydream," Snape said, his tone icy. "Pay attention. Scabies solution."
Char barely registered the sharpness in Snape's voice. His focus was on the cauldron and the challenge ahead. The last time he'd tried to brew Snape's new scabies potion, the complexity of the magic had defeated him. But now, with his magical perception heightened and his night vision at platinum level, he was eager to see how much he'd improved.
"Professor, could you draw the curtains?" Char asked.
Snape blinked, a little surprised by the request, but complied without comment. Heavy curtains fell, plunging the room into darkness. Snape himself didn't bother with a light—he could sense the magic in every ingredient with his eyes closed. He settled back, curious to see what Char would do.
For Char, the world lit up in his mind's eye. Dots of magical light danced before him, making every detail stand out. He immediately spotted some porcupine quills that were clearly subpar, their magic weak and faded. Char smiled to himself, realizing this was a subtle test from Snape, and carefully picked out the bad quills.
Snape, though his eyes were closed, couldn't help but let a small smile slip. "Always check your ingredients. That's the first rule of potions. Any true potion master knows to verify even the basics before beginning."
With that lesson internalized, Char began brewing. One by one, he added ingredients, carefully monitoring the swirl of magic as they blended together. The process was intricate, but his new abilities let him sense every reaction, every shift.
When the potion was finished, Char lit his wand and revealed a clear, perfect scabies solution. "Professor, I'm done."
Snape didn't even glance at the cauldron. "Good," he said simply, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.
Then Snape pulled out a new set of ingredients—this time, the challenge was much greater. "This is unicorn horn powder, full of divine magic. This is Moon Spirit Grass root, cold and pure. These are for the Holy Tree Potion. Watch closely. I'll show you once."
Snape's hands moved with effortless precision, each gesture smooth and natural. He processed the ingredients and added them to the cauldron in a sequence that seemed almost instinctive. To Char, it was like watching the laws of nature unfold. The result was a shimmering, silver-white potion, radiating a sacred energy and a subtle, earthy fragrance.
Char stared, awestruck. "This is the Holy Tree Potion…"
Snape handed him another set of ingredients. "Now it's your turn."
Char took a deep breath and began. The Holy Tree Potion was in a different league—far more complex than anything he'd tried before. Even with his enhanced perception and night vision, it was a struggle. After an hour, his potion was only a dull grayish-white, the divine magic barely detectable.
Snape didn't criticize or praise. He simply checked the time. "Ten minutes to reflect. Then try again."
Char ran through every step in his mind, searching for mistakes. Ten minutes later, Snape handed him fresh ingredients. "Again."
The second attempt was a little better, but still not right. Snape's response was the same: "Reflect. Try again."
This cycle continued until the school bell rang. Snape finally called a halt. "We'll continue tonight."
Char watched Snape leave, feeling both grateful and frustrated. "Thank you, Professor," he called after him.
Snape just snorted, but Char noticed a faint lightness in his step.
Left alone, Char gazed at his failed potions. The Holy Tree Potion was proving to be a true test. He knew he'd need plenty of practice before he could master it. But time was running short. Quirrell was recovering, and the effects of the giant konjac flower wouldn't last forever. Soon, Quirrell would be back to his old tricks, and Char would need to be on guard.
He frowned, thinking through possible ways to keep Quirrell bedridden a bit longer. But nothing came to mind. "Maybe I should just avoid being alone at night for a while," he muttered. "It'll slow me down, but it's safer than having to watch my back every minute."
Determined not to let worry distract him, Char decided to use the leftover materials for more practice. But before he could start, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor, accompanied by a sharp cat's meow and Filch's unmistakable bellow.
"The Weasley brothers! You're in trouble this time! If I catch you, I'll have you expelled!"
Fred and George, breathless and desperate, darted into the Potions classroom. Char felt a pang of guilt—after all, it was his prank on Quirrell that had landed them in hot water.
"Come in," Char whispered. "I'll cover for you."
The twins ducked into a corner just as Filch and Mrs. Norris burst in. Filch scowled when he saw Char. "Mr. Sprout? What are you doing here so late?"
Char smiled innocently. "Just working on potions, Mr. Filch. Why would the Weasley brothers come to Slytherin territory? You're welcome to check the corners, but Professor Snape just finished an experiment—please don't touch anything, or he'll be furious."
Filch hesitated, grumbled, and finally left. The twins emerged, grinning with relief.
"Char, you're a lifesaver!" Fred said. "If Filch had caught us, McGonagall would've had our heads!"
George nodded. "And all because of that prank on Quirrell. We're still getting blamed for it. If I ever find out who set him up, I'll throw a dung bomb at their face!"
Char coughed, changing the subject. "What are you two planning now? Maybe you should lay low for a bit."
The twins shook their heads in unison. "No way! Night tours are a Gryffindor tradition. But we do need to clear our names."
They eyed the potions on Char's table. "What's this one? Doesn't look like anything from first-year lessons."
"It's a special potion for the Herbal Society," Char explained. "But it's a failed batch—supposed to be full of divine magic, but it's pretty weak."
The twins' eyes lit up. "Divine magic? That's perfect for fighting dark creatures! Maybe if we give this to Quirrell, he'll believe we didn't prank him. And he can finally ditch that garlicky scarf!"
Char blinked, then grinned. "Take as much as you want. If you need more, just ask—I'll be brewing it every day for a while."
The twins clapped him on the back, beaming. "You're the best, Char! If this works, maybe McGonagall will finally forgive us."
The next morning, Quirrell was still suffering in the infirmary, his patience worn thin by days of pain and itching. When Professor McGonagall arrived—with the Weasley twins in tow—he perked up, hoping for good news.
McGonagall explained, "The boys brought you a gift—Holy Tree Potion. It's not a prank; it's meant to help."
The twins handed over the potion, urging Quirrell to use it on the back of his head. Quirrell paled, but under McGonagall's watchful gaze, he had no choice. He dabbed the potion on his scalp and nearly screamed at the burning sting.
"How does it feel, Professor?" the twins asked, eyes wide with hope.
Quirrell forced a smile. "Wonderful. So soothing. Thank you."
"Drink the rest!" the twins insisted. "It's most effective fresh."
Quirrell choked down the potion, barely managing to keep his composure. Inside his mind, Voldemort raged, certain Dumbledore was behind this "test." But with McGonagall and the twins watching, he had no choice but to play along.
"Excellent!" the twins cheered. "We'll bring you a fresh bottle every day!"
Quirrell's heart sank, but he could only nod, tears in his eyes.
Time slipped by, and soon the castle was blanketed in snow. Char gazed out the window, feeling the chill in the air and the promise of Christmas just two weeks away.
__________________________
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