The air in the dungeon classroom felt thick and oppressive as Char stood before Snape, his face contorted with raw, unbridled pain. The young wizard's features were twisted in an expression so fierce and agonized that it seemed to age him beyond his years.
Snape observed the transformation with genuine bewilderment. How could someone so young carry such profound suffering? The boy's eyes held depths of anguish that spoke of losses too heavy for childhood shoulders to bear.
Then, like pieces of a dark puzzle falling into place, Snape remembered the tragedy that had befallen the family. The brutal attack by Antonin Dolokhov. The instantaneous death of Char's parents. Could it be that the boy still carried those traumatic memories from his earliest years?
If that were true, then this heart-wrenching pain made perfect sense.
A complicated mixture of emotions flickered across Snape's usually impassive features. He released a quiet sigh, one that carried the weight of understanding and something uncomfortably close to sympathy. Beneath that, shame began to bubble up from the depths of his conscience.
After all, there had been a time when Dolokhov and he had worked side by side. If circumstances had been different—if Lily's situation hadn't driven him to Dumbledore's cause—perhaps he might have remained on the same dark path.
His thoughts churned in chaotic spirals, but Snape's disciplined mind quickly severed these emotional tangents. His voice, when it came, was characteristically cold and cutting.
"It seems you have some understanding of the pain of loss," he said with deliberate harshness. "Then what are you still standing there for?"
Snape's dark eyes bore into the boy with ruthless intensity. "If the person standing opposite you right now were an enemy, he would have killed you countless times while you were lost in those memories."
His words struck like a whip. "Don't dwell in pain—use it!"
The sharp reminder jolted Char back to the present moment. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the pain and anger still burning in his chest like molten metal. But now, instead of being consumed by these emotions, he channeled them.
Char raised his wand with deliberate precision, the movement resembling a sword's cutting arc through the air.
"Sectumsempra!" he shouted, his voice carrying new authority.
The young wizard felt something extraordinary happen. The pain lodged in his heart seemed to take on physical substance, flowing into his magic like liquid fire. The spell that emerged was far sharper than any of his previous attempts, carrying a magic that seemed capable of tearing through reality itself.
The power surged through his body, traveled down his arm, and concentrated in his wand with unprecedented intensity.
Yet, despite this breakthrough, Char's magical reserves weren't quite sufficient. The Divine Sword Shadowless Spell flickered and faded before fully manifesting.
Witnessing this near-miss, Snape shook his head with quiet resignation. Magical strength was largely a matter of natural talent—something that couldn't be significantly altered through training alone. For spells of the Divine Edge Shadowless Spell's caliber, Char's magical power remained woefully inadequate.
What a waste of potential.
But Char seemed completely oblivious to his professor's internal lament. On the contrary, after casting that imperfect but improved spell, his eyes lit up with genuine excitement.
On his system panel, the Divine Sharpness Shadowless Spell—which had shown no progress for weeks—suddenly displayed a much richer black iron luster. This single attempt had generated more advancement than all his previous practice sessions combined.
If he could maintain this intensity, reaching bronze level before the Christmas holiday seemed not just possible, but probable. Once he achieved that milestone and claimed his pending rewards, the Divine Edge Shadowless Spell would become a truly formidable weapon in his arsenal.
The realization filled Char with renewed determination and enthusiasm.
"Sectumsempra!" he cast again, pouring his heart into the spell.
Again and again, the Divine Sharpness Shadowless Spell flowed from his wand. Char became so absorbed in the practice that he lost all awareness of his surroundings, forgetting even the passage of time.
Only when Snape's cold voice cut through his concentration did he reluctantly halt his efforts.
Char looked up with confusion, clearly wanting to continue.
Snape's expression was thunderous. "Idiot."
His voice carried the weight of genuine concern beneath its harsh exterior. "Did I ever tell you that all black magic draws its power from negative emotions?"
Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "The Divine Edge Shadowless Spell is no exception to this rule."
"You've practiced so many times in such a short period. Even though the individual influence of each casting is minimal, the cumulative effect could cause dangerous changes to your mental state."
The professor's voice grew even more severe. "I have no intention of teaching a madman who believes the world should feel pain and kills without mercy."
He paused, then added with uncharacteristic vulnerability, "Otherwise Pomona will definitely kill me."
Without further explanation, Snape retrieved a bottle of potion from his robes and handed it to Char.
"Drink this. All of it."
The moment the potion entered his system, Char couldn't suppress a violent shudder. An incredibly cold sensation spread through his body, as if liquid ice were flowing through his veins. The pain and anger that had been building within him vanished instantly, replaced by a numbness so complete that he felt encased in eternal winter.
For more than ten minutes, this frigid emptiness dominated his consciousness. He couldn't feel anything except the all-consuming cold.
When the sensation finally receded, Snape examined Char with clinical thoroughness. Only after confirming that the boy showed no lingering effects from the Divine Edge Shadowless Curse did he allow himself to relax.
"No more practice today," he declared coldly. "Return tomorrow."
Char nodded gratefully. As he walked out of the Potions classroom, he couldn't suppress a slight smile. Once he had truly mastered the Divine Sword Shadowless Spell, even if Quirrell attempted to move against him, Char was confident he could make the man regret it dearly.
With quickened steps, he made his way toward the greenhouse for his daily magical plant routine—a ritual that had become as essential to his life as breathing.
The work was meticulous and time-consuming. He carefully stretched out the leaves of the piranha algae, ensuring they could receive maximum light exposure. Then he methodically cleaned out the weaker specimens that were struggling due to insufficient illumination, preventing them from stealing nutrients from the healthier plants.
Just tending to these carnivorous plants required two to three hours of patient, detailed work.
The newly planted guardian trees demanded equally careful attention. Professor Sprout had recently provided him with five additional Guardian Tree materials, which meant Char needed to brew one or two portions of holy tree potion almost daily to ensure their healthy growth.
Combined with his regular classes, spell practice, Quidditch training, and processing potion materials for Snape, his schedule was packed from dawn until the early hours of the morning.
Most people would find such a relentless routine exhausting and monotonous. But every day, when Char saw the reward orbs growing larger and brighter, when he witnessed the subtle but steady progress on his system panel, he felt nothing but fulfillment and joy.
Time flowed like water, and another week passed in this intensive rhythm.
On his system panel, the Divine Sharpness Spell—practiced daily with unwavering dedication—finally began to show a dull bronze color emerging from its dark iron luster.
The dozen boxes of piranha algae were tantalizingly close to maturity, their reward orbs nearly perfected.
Char's face lit up with anticipation. "According to this progress, the piranha algae should be mature by tomorrow."
He could barely contain his excitement. "Once the piranha algae matures and the water enhancement takes effect, my magical power will increase dramatically."
"Then I can truly begin using the Divine Edge Shadowless Spell at full capacity. The efficiency will be far superior to anything I've achieved so far."
His eyes gleamed with determination. "Promotion to bronze rank before Christmas is absolutely certain."
This double fortune filled Char with an almost euphoric happiness. He left the greenhouse with notably lighter steps, heading toward the Quidditch pitch.
Snape had advised him that the mental effects of practicing black magic could be effectively released through physical exertion on the Quidditch field. After trying it once, Char had found the professor's suggestion remarkably effective.
With each flight maneuver and practice shot, his body and mind became increasingly relaxed and balanced.
But today, he hadn't been practicing on the pitch for long when Cedric Diggory called for attention.
"That's all for today's training," the team captain announced. "Everyone go back and get proper rest."
Cedric's expression grew serious. "Don't forget—tomorrow is our match against Gryffindor."
"This is our first game of the season and the last one before Christmas break."
His voice carried the weight of expectation. "You don't want to spend this Christmas feeling the sting of defeat, do you?"
The words hit Char like a lightning bolt. He had been so immersed in spell practice and botanical work that he had completely forgotten about the Quidditch match.
Tomorrow was the Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor game?
Char searched his memory carefully. He couldn't recall any detailed description of this particular match in the original storyline. The books had focused primarily on the first-year match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, with other games receiving minimal attention.
But now he understood the season's structure. Following tradition, the four houses would play a round-robin tournament, with each academy facing every other once. The top two teams would then be selected based on points, goal difference, and other factors to compete for the championship.
In the original timeline, Gryffindor and Slytherin had faced each other twice in the finals, which meant both houses had defeated all other competitors to reach that stage.
The logic was sound. Ravenclaw House, composed largely of studious individuals with fewer athletically inclined members, faced significant disadvantages in competitive matches. Similarly, Hufflepuff had never been portrayed as particularly dominant in sports.
It wasn't surprising that both Eagle House and Badger House typically found themselves at the bottom of the rankings.
But now, looking at his teammates' faces, Char saw something different. A strange intensity had settled over him as he remembered Professor Sprout's expectations.
Winning this game might just be the perfect Christmas present for their beloved Head of House.
His expression grew serious and determined. "Tomorrow," he said quietly, "we use everything we have."
The young players around him clenched their fists in response. Even the usually gentle Hufflepuffs were now filled with an unprecedented desire for victory.
This phenomenon wasn't isolated to their team.
In the Gryffindor common room, Harry and his friends had temporarily shifted their focus from searching for information about Nicolas Flamel to tomorrow's Quidditch match.
Ron seemed particularly energized by the prospect. "Harry," he said with obvious excitement, "you'll be able to teach that Char a lesson on the pitch tomorrow!"
His voice carried an edge of malice. "That Snape's lapdog—you're going to crush him completely, right?"
"Just like when you caught the Golden Snitch in your first game and demolished Slytherin!"
Hermione's voice carried a note of disapproval. "Ron, don't say such harsh things."
Ron snorted dismissively. "It's just the truth, isn't it, Harry?"
Harry found himself recalling the impressive performance he'd witnessed from the Hufflepuff team during their practice sessions. Char's skill had been genuinely remarkable.
But after a moment, memories of his triumph over Slytherin filled him with renewed confidence. The feeling of being surrounded and cheered by the crowd brought a smile to his face.
He clenched his hands tightly and whispered to himself, "There's nothing to be afraid of."
"As long as I catch the Snitch, the game will be over."
His eyes brightened with possibility. "Maybe I can catch the Snitch right from the start."
"Maybe we can shut out Hufflepuff completely!"
Ron's excitement reached new heights at this suggestion. "Then let's see how that Char handles himself afterward!"
"I bet he won't even be able to lift his head in shame!"
Hermione had overheard their entire conversation. But instead of sharing their confidence, she found herself thinking about Char's remarkably calm demeanor during their previous encounters.
She opened her mouth several times, wanting to remind Harry not to become overconfident. But Harry was clearly beyond listening to cautionary words.
This only deepened Hermione's sense of foreboding.
Tomorrow—could they really win?
The question hung in the air like a storm cloud, and only time would provide the answer.
__________________________
Bonus chapters 200 PS = 2 chapters
"Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the chapter, please consider donating Power Stones and joining our patreon
[patreon.com /coolperry]
for early access to future chapters.(+30 chapters)