From his vantage point, Char watched the distant fireworks explode over the castle. With his platinum-grade night vision, he could clearly see figures running through the corridors—students out for a night of festive rebellion. It was Christmas Eve, and even the professors, who usually opposed such nighttime excursions, seemed to be turning a blind eye. Most students would be going home for the holiday tomorrow; it was a night to let them have their fun. Even Filch, the castle caretaker, seemed to have been given the night off.
Watching the students celebrating from a distance, Char, who had just said goodbye to Hagrid, couldn't help but smile. If he were still the student he had been in his previous life, he might have joined in the revelry. But now, while he still appreciated the festive atmosphere, he no longer had the mindset to participate in such activities.
He made his way back to the castle and walked straight toward the Potions classroom. He wanted to process one last batch of ingredients for Snape before the Christmas holiday. As he stepped inside, he saw Snape sitting quietly in the darkened room, his gaze fixed on the fireworks blooming outside the window. The explosions were bright and brilliant, a stark contrast to his eyes, which were utterly dead and lifeless. It was as if his soul had been sucked out, leaving only a walking corpse behind.
It wasn't until Char knocked gently on the door that Snape finally snapped out of his trance. He snorted, his usual sarcastic tone returning like a familiar cloak. "I thought Mr. Sprout was on a roll. I assumed you no longer cared for this meager job as a potions assistant."
But before Char could speak, Snape's expression suddenly changed. He frowned, his dark eyes boring into him. "You killed someone."
Char was stunned into silence, his expression momentarily blank. Seeing this, Snape looked almost helpless. "You are an incorrigible idiot. Don't you know that after taking a life with your own hands, your magic becomes tainted with a cold, sinister aura for several days? It's easily recognizable if one knows what to look for. Isn't this basic common sense?"
Char's cheek twitched. What kind of basic common sense is that? He felt a wave of relief. Fortunately, in the two days since returning from the Forbidden Forest, he had rarely been alone with any of the professors. If Professor Sprout had noticed, she would have probably confined him for a month.
Snape, still looking at Char as if he were a fool, took out a bottle of potion and sprayed him twice. "There. That aura has been eliminated."
Char could feel a very faint, cold presence in his magic disappear.
Snape gave him a sharp, warning look. "Tell me," he said calmly. "What on earth could make a risk-averse child like you kill someone?"
Char hesitated for only a moment before telling Snape everything that had happened. There was no point in hiding it; Snape had already seen the truth.
As Snape listened to the story of the poachers in the Forbidden Forest, his expression grew darker and darker, until his face was like a gathering storm cloud. He finally exploded.
"How many spells do you even know? You don't know a single protective charm. Not to mention a counter-curse. Before this, the strongest opponent you had ever faced was a troll. And just because you got lucky with my own curse, you dared to confront a group of poachers? Do you have any idea who those people are? They are vicious criminals who belong in Azkaban! If they hadn't wanted to capture you alive for a bounty, a single Killing Curse would have been enough. Hogwarts would be holding your funeral right now!"
Snape scolded him for more than ten minutes, his voice lashing Char until he couldn't even lift his head. Finally, Snape seemed to get his anger under control.
"Next time you encounter a situation like that, you leave Hagrid and you run."
Char opened his mouth to protest, but Snape cut him off. "I know you're from Hufflepuff. You children won't abandon your friends. But do you really think they would have dared to truly harm Hagrid? He is a Hogwarts employee and Dumbledore's most loyal supporter. A few kicks to make him suffer, yes. But kill him? What good would that do them? You, on the other hand… for the bounty on your head, they would have taken that risk. What do you have to say for yourself now?"
Char hesitated, then conceded. "You are right, Professor. Thank you for the guidance."
The corners of Snape's mouth curled up almost imperceptibly, before his face turned stern again. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Your death is nothing to me. But you would have delayed my potions work. Can you take responsibility for that? It seems I need to make you understand your own worth." He gave Char a sharp, warning look. "Take out your wand."
Char's heart trembled, then pounded with a sudden excitement. Was Snape going to teach him? After the battle in the forest, he had realized that practicing magic in a classroom was completely different from actual combat. It was like the so-called martial arts masters who looked impressive in training but were useless in a real fight. Snape, a former core Death Eater and a veteran of the first war, was one of the best practical teachers one could possibly find.
He took a deep breath and raised his wand. "Professor—"
Before he could finish, the world flipped upside down. He was hanging from the ceiling, caught completely off guard. All he could see was Snape's mocking expression.
"You didn't think this would follow some formal dueling etiquette, did you? The moment you hold your wand, it is real combat." With a flick of his finger, Snape sent him crashing back to the floor. "Stand up. Hurry."
Char scrambled to his feet, putting distance between them, a sense of horror washing over him. He hadn't even noticed Snape cast the spell. When had it happened? As he was thinking, the world flipped again.
Again? he cursed inwardly. He was hanging from the ceiling, then falling, then being ordered to get up.
"Continue."
Char slowly got to his feet, this time his eyes locked on Snape's every move. Snape's mouth curled into a smirk. "That's right. The first principle of actual combat is to keep your eyes on your opponent. Always. I have one more thing to tell you—"
Before he could finish, Char was hanging upside down again.
"Look," Snape scoffed. "I told you to keep your eyes on me. You were distracted by my words. Now, continue."
Char took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Snape. He noticed Snape's lips moving silently, the motion so small it was almost invisible. He saw Snape's eyes dart to his right, and his instincts screamed at him to dodge. He moved to the left, but the familiar feeling of dizziness washed over him anyway.
Snape looked disappointed. "Idiot. You are a wizard, not a boxer. A boxer can read his opponent's intentions from his eyes, his footwork. Can you do the same with a wizard? You forgot the most crucial thing."
The realization hit Char like a physical blow. "Magic! I don't just need to watch your movements. I need to pay attention to the changes in your magic!"
Snape showed a flicker of satisfaction. "At least you are not completely stupid. Now, continue."
Char tried to follow his new understanding, but it was far more difficult than he had imagined. Snape's magic changed too quickly, too subtly. Before he could even feel a ripple, he was on the ground again.
For what felt like an eternity, as the cheerful fireworks continued to explode outside, Char was "tortured" again and again in the Potions classroom. When Snape finally called a halt, a bitter smile appeared on Char's face. He finally understood the vast gap between himself and a true master. From beginning to end, Snape had used nothing but a single non-verbal spell. Even if Char had used his legendary strength, unless it was a sneak attack, he stood no chance.
But the "torture" had not been without its rewards. Snape's lessons were now engraved into his very body through repeated, painful experience. He just wasn't skilled enough yet, his magical senses not yet sharp enough to react instinctively. He finally understood how Harry Potter had been so formidable in combat. It wasn't just a "protagonist's halo." For Harry, sensing the flow of magic was probably as natural as breathing.
Char couldn't help but smile bitterly. It was useless to compare himself to that kind of innate genius. He would have to learn and practice, slowly but surely. One day, it would all come together.
He looked at Snape with genuine gratitude. "Thank you, Professor." He knew that despite the two hours of torment, Snape had held nothing back. He had taught him practical, life-saving skills. It was the kind of opportunity countless wizards would kill for.
Snape just snorted, accepting the thanks. He then pushed a mountain of ingredients toward Char. "Get this done before dawn tomorrow." With that, he swept out of the classroom.
As he reached the door, Char remembered something. "Professor!" he called out. "Merry Christmas."
Snape paused, gave an almost imperceptible nod, and closed the door without another word. Char didn't mind. He immersed himself in his work.
Snape, meanwhile, hurried back to his office. After a moment's consideration, he took out a special black quill and a stack of black parchment and envelopes from a hidden, enchanted compartment. He began to write furiously. When he was done, he burned the letter with a special candle, a cold look in his eyes.
"So many years have passed," he muttered. "I hope those people in Knockturn Alley know what's good for them. A bounty on my Potions Assistant. Don't make me come down there myself, or…" He gripped his wand, a rare, murderous look on his face.
At that same moment, a bar in Knockturn Alley was in an uproar. On a tattered, blood-stained piece of parchment hanging on the wall, lines of ink had suddenly appeared. The dark wizards in the bar lit up.
"A new bounty?"
"Last time it was a high bounty on a little half-giant. A pity no one caught him."
"Don't fight me for this one."
But when they saw the content of the message, they fell silent. It was written in a strong, aggressive hand.
"Char Sprout is my man. Cancel his bounty. Immediately."
The younger wizards exploded. "Who is this? Who does he think he is? This is the first time I've seen anyone dare to threaten the Knockturn Alley black market!"
But the older wizards, when they saw the mark at the end of the message—a lily intertwined with a sword—fell into a strange, deathly silence. A one-armed wizard turned pale. "That symbol… it's him?" Another, whose face was a ruin of scar tissue, subconsciously covered his empty eye socket. The phantom pain of an invisible blade seemed to spread through him again. "That madman who uses the Divine Edge Shadowless Curse… the little half-giant with the bounty is his man?"
The bar owner's face changed. Without a word, he waved his wand, and the bounty information for Char was instantly erased from the parchment. "Damn it!" he roared. "Which bastard put a bounty on that lunatic's ward? I want to live a few more years!" Then, a cunning look crossed his face. "But he gave me such a fright. The bounty money is just enough to cover my mental damages, isn't it?"
The younger wizards were still confused. "Who are you talking about? Is he really that fearsome?"
"Who else could it be?" another wizard sneered. "Severus Snape."
At the mention of his name, a palpable fear filled the room. "He is extremely powerful. His Shadowless Curse is more terrifying than the Killing Curse. And his background… first, a core Death Eater, then, after the war, he was saved by Dumbledore and became Head of Slytherin. The two most powerful wizards in the world are his backers. Who can afford to offend him?"
An old dark wizard shuddered. "That is not what makes him so frightening. I met him once, eleven years ago. He is not afraid of death. He seeks it. It is as if there is nothing left in this world for him to care about. I do not want to relive the fear I felt that day."
The dark wizards shook their heads. "Never mind. Let's just have a peaceful Christmas."
As the bounty was cancelled, Quirrell, lying in his hospital bed, felt something. He carefully took out a piece of black letter paper. A line of words appeared on it: Due to unforeseen circumstances, your bounty has been cancelled. Your pre-paid fee has been used to cover losses to the black market.
Quirrell's expression stiffened. "???" The bounty is cancelled? And my money is gone? That was my hard-earned money! He immediately tried to write a letter demanding an explanation, but another line appeared on the paper: You have been blacklisted. The Black Market will no longer respond to any of your messages. He could no longer write on the paper. He was stunned. A moment later, a surge of pure rage coursed through him, and a shrill cry echoed through the night sky.
"MY MONEY!!!"
With that, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted from anger.
The next morning, as Char was leaving the Potions classroom, he heard the news that Quirrell's condition had suddenly worsened the night before. He had fainted again. Char's mood improved instantly. Good news on Christmas morning. Excellent.
An owl suddenly flew through the corridor and handed him a heavy package. It was signed by Professor Sprout. A handwritten card was attached.
"Merry Christmas, Char. This is our first Christmas together. Forgive me, but I have to work with the other Heads of House this morning to prepare for the students' return home. We won't be able to go to the Sprout family home until this evening. But I have prepared a precious and special gift for you. I hope you like it."
A warm feeling spread through Char's chest. Professor Sprout had given him many things, but she had never used the word "precious" before. He carefully opened the package. Inside, soaked in a special potion, was a branch. A willow branch.
A jolt like a lightning strike went through his mind.
"This is… from the Whomping Willow?"