Epic rewards?
Three in a row?!
Even after living two lifetimes and witnessing many extraordinary things, Char felt his mind go completely blank. He had spent years planting trees, but something of this magnitude was on another level. Normally, reaching an epic stage in a skill would demand years of relentless work, yet now, all he needed to do was plant the Whomping Willow. If it matured, three epic rewards would be his—just like that.
The difference was staggering.
Not only were these rewards extraordinarily high level, but they were also incredibly practical: combat instincts, reaction speed, and magic power—every single one would hugely boost Char's overall strength. And then there was that last bonus: this branch contained unknown ancient magic. This was only the second time the system mentioned ancient magic, the first being the Elber Tree. He didn't know exactly what that meant, but anything labeled as "ancient magic" had to be potent.
Char's heart pounded.
He couldn't hide the fiery anticipation in his eyes.
If he could really grow a Whomping Willow…
He'd take off instantly!
Maybe not at Dumbledore or Voldemort's level—but certainly among the greatest wizards in the world. At the very least, he'd have no trouble dueling elite Aurors or facing Death Eaters head on.
Char hadn't forgotten.
There were about four and a half years left until Antonin Dolohov escaped Azkaban. Professor Sprout hated Dolohov with all her heart; the Death Eater's hands were stained with the blood of the Sprout family. Char had sworn to take him down.
But Dolohov was terrifying—one of the magical world's most feared. Even among the original Order of the Phoenix, at least two or three members had fallen to him. When the Order re-formed, their fights with Dolohov never seemed to go their way. Even in a duel, Mad-Eye Moody would have a tough time.
Over these months, Char's bloody fights with poachers and his time training with Snape had taught him just how vast the gaps in magical power truly were. Snape was formidable, able to effortlessly crush most dark wizards, and in a real battle, even McGonagall or Flitwick might not stand a chance.
Char remembered Snape's rare moment of seriousness—the way Snape's face had grown deeply grim at the mere mention of Dolohov. Char realized: not even Snape was confident against Dolohov. Taking down someone like him might be harder than defeating Snape himself.
Right now, Char knew he couldn't even withstand a casual spell from Snape. The gap between him and Dolohov was an entire world.
But if he could nurture the Whomping Willow…
That dream might no longer be so distant.
Of course, Char also recognized how difficult that would be. Even the legendary Professor Sprout couldn't complete the cutting project. Finishing this couldn't be any easier than killing Dolohov.
Still, Char quickly steadied his mind. He felt no panic, no despair.
"Any difficult problem can be broken down into smaller, more manageable subproblems. I shouldn't even think about winning over the Whomping Willow immediately. That's as unrealistic as proving some great mathematical theory on the first try. The answer is to take it step by step—focus on the small parts first, and eventually, the big problem becomes solvable."
That's exactly what Professor Sprout had advised in her letter—several topics for Char to attempt over the next year or two. These smaller projects had already stumped magical botanists for years. But if Char could recreate them, his skills and understanding would greatly improve.
Char looked over the list:
"Light-Eating Vine."
"Shadow Thorn."
Both were aggressive, magical vines with properties like those of the Whomping Willow's branches.
And then there was—
"Devil's Snare."
Char was surprised. He hadn't expected the same Devil's Snare from the legendary Philosopher's Stone challenge to be related to Whomping Willow research. No wonder Professor Sprout had so much expertise—these were all by-products of her study.
As he read the material Professor Sprout had given him, Char lost track of time. Evening fell. Candles flickered to life in the library, gently lighting the rows of books.
A familiar voice stirred him from his research. He looked up to see Professor Sprout, gentle and a little exasperated.
"Char. It's Christmas, and you've been buried in books all day?"
Char grinned.
"Aunt, are you finished?"
Professor Sprout sighed, the exhaustion clear on her face.
"Yes. Honestly, it was chaos! Gryffindor's little wizards partied too late last night. The Hogwarts Express was delayed three times, and McGonagall had us rounding up students from every dorm. We had colds, fevers—some just didn't want to go home. But at last, we got everyone aboard safely."
She took a deep breath, then smiled at Char.
"Now it's our turn to go home, Char. This is your first Christmas back at the Sprout house."
Char nodded, packed his things for the two-week break, and before six o'clock struck, emerald flames flickered in the fireplace.
Professor Sprout stepped out first, with Char close behind.
He hadn't been home in almost four months. Now, stepping inside, Char barely recognized the place. Not because it was dirty or disorganized, but because it was so perfectly kept. Candles glowed, firewood blazed warmly, and not even a touch of winter chill seeped indoors. Even the long table was set with steaming, fragrant food.
Char was amazed. Professor Sprout looked pleased, calling out,
"Liz!"
With a loud pop, a creature with huge pointy ears, a skinny frame, and worn clothes appeared out of thin air. The house-elf bowed deeply.
"Greetings, Master. Greetings, Young Master."
Char's eyes widened.
"A house-elf?!"
Professor Sprout explained, "Our family always had house-elves, but after you were born and I moved, I let ours go work at your place. I barely returned here—just the occasional cleaning spell. But with you back for the holidays, it's time for help again. I hired Liz right after you started school."
Char nodded, thoughtful. In his previous life, as a student, he often felt like a servant himself. Now, he was really living with a house-elf tending the house. Life was strange.
Soon, Char and Professor Sprout sat for dinner. Normally, Char's eating was just routine, but this evening he slowed down, sharing stories and memories with Sprout. She downed glass after glass of Butterbeer until she grew drowsy.
Char turned to Liz with a gentle order.
"Take Aunt to bed. She's exhausted and needs proper rest."
The house-elf nodded. Before leaving, Liz hesitated, glancing at Char.
"Young Master, do you need anything else? If you'd like to bathe or rest, I'll heat water and light incense for you."
Char paused. "Well... when do I go to bed? Not sure… maybe—" he joked, "in three days?"
Liz, caught off guard, blinked.
"Three days later?!"
Char nodded firmly.
"Yep, three days. It's the holidays after all."
Turning away, he added, "I'll be in the greenhouse working. Just look after Aunt—don't worry about me."
Liz stood frozen, confused. For a second, the house-elf wondered—who was the real house-elf here? The little master worked so hard, maybe too hard. What if he worked so much Liz lost her job?
Meanwhile, Char made his way to the Sprout family's greenhouse. It had been months since his last visit. He opened the door and breathed deeply: a sea of dazzling flowers filled the space. Marigolds he'd planted before starting school had blossomed brilliantly.
Yet Char's gaze went straight to Margaret. The rewards clustered there, shining like a sea of light.
After half a year of waiting, Char took a slow breath, his face shining with anticipation.
"It's time to harvest this field of Margaret. I'll finally make up for my old magic power weaknesses in one go! Silver level? Gold level? Maybe… just maybe, a glimpse of Platinum level?"