The commotion in the greenhouse had attracted the professors who patrolled the castle during the night hours.
Professor Sprout practically sprinted the entire way there, her robes billowing behind her.
"What happened?" she gasped, slightly out of breath.
"Char? Are you okay?!"
Professor McGonagall and the other faculty members arrived moments later, their faces etched with concern. The sight that greeted them made their eyes widen in shock—Quirrell lay unconscious on the greenhouse floor, his body crumpled in an unnatural position.
Their expressions shifted from concern to bewilderment and uncertainty.
"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" McGonagall demanded, her voice sharp with alarm.
All eyes turned expectantly to Char, who had prepared for this moment long ago. He launched into his carefully rehearsed explanation, his voice steady despite the circumstances.
He described how he had successfully completed the Sacred Tree Potion after weeks of painstaking work. Then came the delicate process of planting the guardian trees, each one requiring precise magical cultivation. Finally, he explained his concern about potential thieves targeting his precious plants, and how he had accidentally injured Quirrell in his attempt to protect them.
"I truly didn't mean for this to happen," Char said, his voice carrying genuine remorse.
Before he could finish his explanation, the professors stood frozen in stunned silence.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick exchanged incredulous glances, their mouths slightly agape.
"Are you telling us that Char has already begun cultivating guardian trees?" McGonagall asked in disbelief.
"And he's reached the stage of brewing the Sacred Tree Potion?" Flitwick added, his usually cheerful voice tinged with amazement.
Both professors turned to look at Professor Sprout with expressions of shock and accusation.
"Pomona, why didn't you inform us about this remarkable development?" McGonagall's voice carried a hint of reproach.
Professor Sprout's face lit up with unmistakable pride, a rare display of emotion from the usually modest herbology professor.
"I told you all along," she said with satisfaction. "My Char possesses legendary talent. Cultivating guardian trees in his first year is just the beginning—his achievements will surpass anything you can imagine!"
Meanwhile, Snape observed Char with deep suspicion etched across his features. Throughout the week, he had been monitoring Char's progress with the Sacred Tree Potion, and the boy's magical perception had seemed nowhere near ready for success.
By Snape's calculations, it should have taken Char at least two more weeks to produce his first successful Sacred Tree Potion. The timeline didn't add up.
Yet the lingering magical essence of the Sacred Tree Potion in the air confirmed what seemed impossible—Char had indeed succeeded.
"Perhaps he's been accumulating experience gradually," Snape mused to himself. "A sudden breakthrough isn't unheard of, especially with his work ethic."
At that moment, everyone's attention was drawn to the experimental field, where five guardian trees had sprouted from the earth, their young leaves shimmering with magical energy.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick both sighed deeply, their expressions filled with admiration and respect.
"This is truly remarkable," McGonagall said softly. "Absolutely remarkable. You're destined to become an exceptional herbologist, Char."
They understood the immense dedication and sacrifice required to reach this level of achievement. Char's talent alone wouldn't have been sufficient—the fact that he was still working in the greenhouse at such a late hour spoke volumes about his commitment.
For the next half hour, the professors took turns congratulating both Char and Professor Sprout, their voices filled with genuine excitement and pride.
It wasn't until much later that someone suddenly remembered the unconscious figure on the floor.
"Wait a moment," Professor Flitwick said, his eyes widening. "I believe we've forgotten something rather important."
All eyes turned to Quirrell, who remained motionless on the ground.
"Oh dear," McGonagall said, her hand flying to her chest. "We were so caught up in celebrating that we completely forgot about Professor Quirrell."
"He should be fine, shouldn't he?" Sprout asked with concern.
"Don't worry yourself, Char," Flitwick said reassuringly. "As you explained, this was merely an unfortunate misunderstanding. I'm certain that when Professor Quirrell awakens and learns of Hufflepuff House's extraordinary student, he'll be nothing but pleased. He won't hold this against you."
As the professors examined Quirrell's condition, McGonagall shook her head with a mixture of sympathy and regret.
"I'm afraid Defense Against the Dark Arts classes will have to be postponed until after the Christmas holidays," she announced.
Soon after, the gathered professors carefully transported Quirrell away from the greenhouse, leaving Char alone with his thoughts.
A wave of relief washed over him as he realized what he had accomplished. Quirrell would be unable to resume his sinister activities until after Christmas, giving Char a crucial buffer period during the holiday break.
While others might not see the significance of this extra time, for Char it could mean everything. A qualitative change in his abilities was within reach.
During the Christmas holiday, he still had two heavyweight rewards awaiting him: the Piranha Algae and Margaret, which would significantly enhance his magical strength. Once he claimed these rewards, his power would increase dramatically.
But before that moment arrived, Char needed to make some important preparations.
His eyes fell upon the system panel, where the words "Sectumsempra Spell (Iron Level)" glowed with a faint metallic sheen. The iron luster appeared slightly richer than before, but the overall improvement remained barely noticeable.
This subtle progress caused Char to frown with frustration. During recent weeks, he had practiced the Sectumsempra Spell countless times, but the only cutting spell showing significant advancement was the Pruning Spell. That particular spell now gleamed with platinum light, indicating it was close to reaching the platinum level.
However, the Sectumsempra Spell itself had made disappointingly little progress. At this rate, reaching the bronze level would take an eternity.
Char understood the vast gap between Iron and Bronze levels. He had experienced this progression with simpler spells like the Loosening Spell and the Pruning Spell. But for an advanced spell like Sectumsempra, being even one level lower meant drastically reduced power.
"What exactly is the problem?" he wondered aloud.
Char had studied the Sectumsempra Spell's description in the Half-Blood Prince's textbook repeatedly, memorizing every detail, but he still couldn't identify the missing element.
"It seems I need to consult the spell's creator directly," he decided.
Early the next morning, Char made his way to Snape's office, determination evident in his stride.
He posed his question directly to the potions master, expecting the usual wealth of knowledge Snape had previously shared.
Instead, Snape's expression grew guarded, and he deflected the inquiry.
"Your Sectumsempra technique is progressing adequately," Snape said dismissively. "Simply continue practicing."
He quickly changed the subject. "How is your progress with the Fuchsia Spell? And the Muffliato Charm?"
Char felt confused by this unexpected response. Snape had always been generous with his knowledge before, never seeming secretive or withholding. Why did he appear to be deliberately avoiding discussion of the Sectumsempra Spell?
"Professor," Char asked quietly, "is there something about this spell that makes it inappropriate for me to learn?"
Snape fell silent for a long moment, his expression cycling through confusion, regret, and pain.
Finally, he sighed deeply, his voice taking on a cold, distant tone.
"Char Sprout," he began formally. "Since you insist on understanding the true nature of this curse, I'll explain it clearly."
"The Sectumsempra Spell is dark magic—you already know this much. But all dark magic requires negative emotions as fuel to achieve its full power. Negative emotions are the very foundation of dark magic."
"Sectumsempra is no exception to this rule."
"Unlike the Unforgivable Curses, Sectumsempra doesn't require extreme thoughts of murder, torture, or domination. Instead, it requires a different kind of pain—the agony of having your heart torn open, the sensation of an empty void where something precious once existed, the devastating loss of something truly important."
"Only after experiencing this specific type of suffering can one truly master the Sectumsempra Spell."
A mocking smile played at the corners of Snape's lips, though his eyes remained haunted.
"And you? Have you ever experienced such profound loss?"
As he spoke these words, Snape's mind involuntarily returned to that terrible day—the day he had called Lily Evans a "Mudblood," the unforgivable word that had cost him everything he held dear.
It was after that devastating loss that the Sectumsempra Spell had truly been born in his heart, forged from his anguish and regret.
Later, when news of Lily's death reached him, the spell had become his most powerful magic, surpassing even the Unforgivable Curses in its potency.
Yet Snape rarely used it anymore. He wished he had never had cause to create it in the first place.
Now he hoped desperately that Char would never have occasion to master the Sectumsempra Spell, because doing so would mean the boy had suffered the same heartbreak that had shaped Snape's own life.
Meanwhile, Char experienced a sudden moment of clarity. He finally understood why Harry in the original story hadn't learned common spells as quickly as Hermione, yet had mastered the incredibly powerful dark magic of Sectumsempra on his first attempt with devastating effectiveness.
Harry carried deep memories of loss—eleven years of nightmares featuring the green light that had taken his parents away. Combined with the influence of Voldemort's soul fragment within him, these experiences had given Harry an unexpected talent for the Sectumsempra Spell.
"What about me?" Char asked himself. "Have I ever experienced the heartbreak of losing something precious?"
Memories from his previous life began surfacing involuntarily in his mind.
That day. After staying awake all night, he had arrived at the experimental field yawning, filled with anticipation for graduation. The trees he had carefully cultivated for years had been systematically destroyed by his unscrupulous advisor, but finally, the dawn of graduation seemed within reach.
Until he discovered that the oranges he had painstakingly cultivated had been completely stripped bare by thieves.
"Hey kid, why are your oranges so sour?" they had taunted.
"How can this be considered stealing? These oranges were growing by the roadside—we didn't know they belonged to anyone."
"Why are young people so stingy nowadays?"
"You're still a college student—how can you be so petty?"
"Alright, alright, five dollars a pound—we'll compensate you. Here—"
In that moment, Char's mind had been consumed by a single, devastating realization.
His graduate thesis. Gone. His graduation. Delayed indefinitely.
Even having lived through this experience once before, the memory still brought overwhelming anguish.
"Pain," he whispered. "It hurts so much! That's the agony of having your future and hope completely shattered!"
On the system panel, the words describing the Sectumsempra Spell began to glow with rapidly intensifying iron luster, far exceeding any previous rate of improvement.
At that moment, Snape emerged from his own painful memories, his eyes still carrying traces of old sadness.
"You'd be better off not learning the Sectumsempra Spell," he said quietly to Char. "At your age, what could you possibly know about true loss?"
But in the next instant, he froze completely.
A familiar aura emanated from Char—the unmistakable essence of profound grief and loss.
"Impossible," Snape breathed, his voice filled with shock and disbelief. "What kind of pain are you carrying? What on earth have you lost that could cause such suffering?"