The magic wand swept through the air with the precision of a master swordsman's blade, cutting invisible arcs as Char's voice rang out with the ancient incantation of the Shadowless Curse.
In that moment, something extraordinary happened within him. The magical power coursing through his veins transformed, becoming sharper and more focused than ever before. It was as if every fiber of his being had been honed to a razor's edge, ready to channel forces that had previously been beyond his reach.
The surge of energy flowed from his core toward the tip of his wand like liquid lightning. This was entirely different from his earlier attempts, when his magical reserves had been too weak to sustain the spell, causing it to dissipate into nothing more than wishful thinking.
This time was different. This time, Char's magical strength had finally crossed the crucial threshold needed to unleash the Sharpness Spell.
An invisible force erupted from his wand—intangible yet undeniably real, carrying with it a lethality that made the air itself seem to hold its breath. There were no spectacular light effects, no dramatic visual displays that lesser spells might boast. But the sensation was far more terrifying than any flashy magic could ever be.
It was like an invisible sword slicing through reality itself, leaving behind only the whisper of displaced air and the unmistakable feeling that something deadly had just passed through the space before him.
Even Char himself felt a chill run down his spine as the spell's cutting edge swept past. Every hair on his body stood on end, responding to an primal instinct that recognized mortal danger when it sensed it.
The threat wasn't overwhelming—he wouldn't die from a glancing blow—but Char knew with absolute certainty that a direct hit from his own spell would leave him bleeding and wounded, possibly seriously so.
This realization struck him as particularly significant. In the stories he'd heard, Hagrid the half-giant possessed strength enough to bend steel with his bare hands, treating shotgun barrels like they were made of soft clay. Char's own physical capabilities, enhanced by his Legendary Life and Legendary Strength abilities, not only matched but potentially exceeded even Hagrid's impressive resilience.
For the Shadowless Curse to pose a genuine threat to someone of his constitution spoke volumes about the spell's devastating potential.
Against large magical creatures—trolls, for instance—such a spell would likely prove devastatingly effective. As for ordinary wizards, well, the spell's reputation spoke for itself. Its ability to ignore protective enchantments, combined with its tendency to cause severe, unhealable bleeding, made it a terror among the magical community.
Any wizard unfortunate enough to face such magic would find themselves in serious trouble indeed.
Char drew in a deep, steadying breath, allowing the excitement that had been building in his chest to gradually settle. For the first time since beginning his magical education, he possessed a truly formidable offensive spell—something that could serve as both shield and sword when the situation demanded it.
The dark nature of the Spell meant he couldn't exactly demonstrate it during Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but knowing he had such power at his disposal filled him with a confidence he'd never experienced before.
If Professor Quirrell ever decided to target him again, the man would discover just how much more dangerous Char had become.
The thought brought a satisfied smile to his lips as he reflected on his recent progress.
"This harvest has pushed my magical abilities far beyond where they were just weeks ago," he murmured to himself, examining his hands as if he could see the power flowing through them. "Silver-level rewards truly are in a league of their own."
His eyes gleamed with ambitious fire as another thought occurred to him. "If I could cultivate even more piranha algae, wouldn't the strength of the Shadowless Spell continue to grow? And not just that spell—every piece of magic I know would become more potent."
He glanced around his greenhouse laboratory, mentally calculating the space available. "Thirteen water tanks still feels insufficient for what I want to accomplish."
For a brief, intoxicating moment, Char entertained the wild idea of introducing piranha algae directly into the Black Lake. The potential rewards were staggering—he could potentially harvest hundreds of silver-level reward orbs in a single collection.
But wisdom, hard-earned through experience, quickly tempered his enthusiasm.
"Steady on," he told himself firmly. "Don't let success go to your head and start dreaming of overnight miracles."
The laboratory environment where he'd been growing his piranha algae was controlled, predictable, manageable. The Black Lake, on the other hand, was a complex ecosystem with countless variables he couldn't account for.
"Introducing a new species into an established ecosystem is asking for trouble," he reasoned aloud. "The original balance could collapse entirely. All those valuable aquatic herbs that grow naturally in the lake could disappear. Worse still, the piranha algae itself might not survive the transition."
The risk-to-reward ratio simply didn't favor such a reckless approach, no matter how tempting the potential gains might be.
"My aunt mentioned I should receive access to the new test plots after Christmas," he reminded himself. "The quota for water tanks should increase significantly as well. I can afford to be patient."
With his excitement properly channeled, Char turned his attention back to the practical matters at hand. He carefully harvested the mature piranha algae from their tanks, handling each specimen with the respect due to such valuable materials, before preparing fresh growing medium for the next batch.
The daily maintenance tasks in his greenhouse demanded attention, and despite his breakthrough, he couldn't afford to neglect them. Every day of negligence would impact the growth rates of his plants, and small delays had a way of compounding into significant setbacks.
This was a lesson he'd learned the hard way in his previous life. Academic pursuits, especially those involving cultivation and growth, rewarded consistency above all else. Natural talent might give you an advantage, but laziness would undermine even the greatest gifts.
The days that followed brought an increasing sense of anticipation throughout the castle as Christmas drew near. The common rooms filled with festive decorations—tiny bells that chimed softly whenever someone passed, wreaths that seemed to grow more lush and green each day, and countless other magical ornaments that made the ancient stones seem warm and welcoming.
Hagrid had outdone himself with the Christmas trees, bringing in specimens so tall they nearly touched the ceiling of the Great Hall. Students and teachers alike had taken turns decorating them with enchanted ornaments that moved and sparkled with their own inner light.
Conversations everywhere revolved around holiday plans, gift exchanges, and the blessed relief of temporarily escaping academic pressures. Even the professors seemed more relaxed, showing unusual tolerance for wandering attention spans and holiday-addled minds.
Only Char remained focused on his routine, maintaining the same disciplined schedule that had served him so well. To outside observers, he might have appeared almost monastic in his dedication, but he found deep satisfaction in the steady progress that each day brought.
He'd expected this peaceful routine to continue uninterrupted until the holiday break began. That expectation was shattered when Hagrid's owl arrived with a letter that, despite its nearly illegible handwriting and creative approach to spelling, couldn't hide the excitement radiating from every poorly formed word.
"Char," the letter began, "remember what you asked me to find? Well, I found it! Traces of a troll settlement, just like you wanted!"
The words hit Char like a bolt of lightning. Weeks earlier, after discovering the remarkable effect that troll presence had on the growth of Goldfish Chlorophytum, he'd asked Hagrid to help him locate signs of troll habitation in the Forbidden Forest.
The task had proven more challenging than either of them had anticipated. The Forbidden Forest was vast, its towering trees creating a canopy so thick that even creatures as large as trolls could easily remain hidden. Recent heavy snowfall had made tracking even more difficult, covering potential signs with layers of white.
Moreover, Hagrid's duties as gamekeeper kept him constantly busy. The Forbidden Forest was home to numerous rare and valuable magical creatures, making it a prime target for poachers—dark wizards who cared nothing for the preservation of magical species and everything for the gold they could earn from selling exotic parts and specimens.
These poachers represented a serious threat not just to the forest's inhabitants, but to any students who might accidentally encounter them during unauthorized forest excursions. Hagrid spent much of his time patrolling with his faithful hound Fang, ensuring that no such dangerous individuals were operating in the areas surrounding Hogwarts.
Given all these complications, Char had resigned himself to waiting until after Christmas, when the snow began to melt and tracking would become easier. Hagrid's success in locating the settlement was an unexpected but thoroughly welcome surprise.
According to the letter, the settlement wasn't large, but it housed at least four trolls—two adults and two juveniles. If Char could somehow establish a working relationship with all of them, his Goldfish Chlorophytum production could increase dramatically.
The numbers were staggering. Over two hundred and fifty pots of enhanced growth, equivalent to two silver-level reward orbs with each harvest. The implications for his magical development were enormous. His progression from gold level to platinum level in Magic Perception Improvement would accelerate far beyond his current pace.
Such advancement would benefit not only his Herbology studies but also his Potions work and Charms practice. The interconnected nature of magical disciplines meant that improvement in one area often led to breakthroughs in others.
Without a moment's hesitation, Char set off for Hagrid's hut, his mind already racing with plans and possibilities.
What he didn't notice was the figure watching from a corridor window near the infirmary. Professor Quirrell, leaning heavily on a walking stick, his face pale and drawn with pain, observed Char's departure with eyes that burned with hatred.
The beating Char had given him weeks earlier had left lasting damage. His already frail constitution had been pushed to its breaking point, leaving him barely able to walk without assistance. The humiliation of being overpowered by a first-year student gnawed at him constantly.
"Damn that boy," Quirrell muttered through gritted teeth. "I must seize this opportunity before Christmas arrives. When the castle's defenses are at their weakest during the holidays, I'll finally be able to claim the Philosopher's Stone."
The situation was becoming increasingly desperate. With Voldemort's spirit residing within him, sharing his weakened body, every day brought new challenges. The Dark Lord's presence was a constant drain on his resources, requiring regular replenishment of life force through methods that were both expensive and dangerous.
Unless absolutely necessary, Quirrell preferred to avoid such extreme measures. Using Char to quickly obtain the Philosopher's Stone remained his best option, despite the boy's proven ability to defend himself.
But Quirrell was no longer planning to confront Char directly. He'd learned from his previous mistake and developed a much more sophisticated approach.
Several days earlier, he'd discovered that Hagrid had been searching for troll settlements in the Forbidden Forest—a quest that had apparently begun after the gamekeeper's interactions with Char. This observation had sparked an idea that was both devious and practical.
The Forbidden Forest attracted more than just legitimate researchers and gamekeepers. Poachers—dark wizards who specialized in capturing and selling magical creatures—frequently operated in the area. These individuals were typically ruthless, experienced, and utterly without scruples.
A few days ago, Quirrell had discreetly posted a bounty on the underground magical market. A notorious team of poachers had quickly accepted the contract, agreeing to capture Char and deliver him to a specified location in exchange for a substantial payment.
The troll settlement Hagrid had discovered would serve as the perfect bait, drawing Char deep into the forest where the poachers would be waiting.
A flush of excitement colored Quirrell's pale cheeks as he realized his plan was falling into place exactly as he'd hoped.
"I should have thought of this approach from the beginning," he whispered to himself. "Char is a half-giant. Traditional wizard-to-wizard combat techniques are ineffective against someone with his physical advantages."
The poachers he'd hired specialized in dealing with physically powerful magical beings. Their spells and techniques had been developed specifically to overcome the natural resistances that giants and similar creatures possessed.
"Their protective charms can withstand enormous physical force," Quirrell continued, working through the logic of his plan. "And their stunning spells, applied in sequence, can render even a dragon unconscious. A half-giant like Char, who relies primarily on brute strength and lacks knowledge of truly powerful magic, will be completely helpless against such specialized tactics."
He clenched his fists, feeling strength flow through him despite his injuries. The anticipation of revenge was almost intoxicating.
"Once they deliver him to me," Quirrell promised himself, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'll make sure that arrogant little gremlin learns what happens to those who dare to cross me."
The trap was set, the bait had been taken, and soon Char would discover that his growing confidence had led him into a web of danger far more sophisticated than anything he'd encountered before.