The morning sun streamed into the greenhouse, casting long shadows across the rows of plants. Char stared at the system panel, a long, satisfied breath escaping his lips. [Pruning Spell (Platinum Level)]. Following his Fluorescent Charm, this was his second platinum-level spell.
A spark of anticipation lit his eyes. When his Fluorescent Charm had undergone its qualitative change, he'd gained the ability to feel the countless microscopic magic particles within it, opening a path to developing it into something akin to a laser. What new possibilities would this promotion unlock for the Pruning Spell?
Gripping his wand, he waved it gently. "Arbor-Siccus!"
A sharp, invisible wave of magic shot from the tip of his wand, striking the Devil's Snare root once more. The moment the spell connected, the strange feedback it produced made Char's eyes widen in astonishment. "Huh?"
At that same moment, Professor Sprout was awakened by the gentle morning light. She sipped a cup of soothing scented tea, the exhaustion from her recent thesis work finally beginning to melt away. Yet, for some reason, a nagging unease settled over her. Something felt… wrong.
Just then, a messenger owl flapped through an open window, dropping today's Daily Prophet onto her table. She glanced at it absentmindedly at first, but her gaze sharpened instantly. Her normally gentle expression clouded over as if a storm was brewing.
Splashed across the front page was a striking headline: "Published in Top Herbology Journal at Age 11: Genius or Academic Injustice?"
Beneath the title was a deeply misleading photograph. It showed her in the Sprout family greenhouse, holding a gold-stamped envelope with an unfathomable smile, looking at Char. The title and photo together created an immediate, sinister impression of conspiracy and shady dealings.
Professor Sprout's fists clenched. Anger and confusion swirled in her eyes. How had that photo been taken?
She took a deep breath and read on. Before she had even finished a few lines, the good-tempered professor was consumed by an unprecedented rage.
"This is complete nonsense!" she seethed. "There isn't a single word of truth, only distortion and fabrication. And she still dares to swear it's all true, even offering to take a Truth Serum test? Shameless!"
But after the anger came a sinking feeling. Though she spent most of her time in the greenhouse, she was far from naive. She knew exactly what kind of reaction a report like this would cause. In the quiet wizarding world, sensational news like this was a rare and coveted commodity, especially when it involved the highly respected Master of Herbology and Head of Hufflepuff. This story was enough to keep idle gossips chattering in pubs for days.
And just as she feared, as this issue of the Daily Prophet spread across the wizarding world, an uproar ignited.
At the Diggory household, Cedric was already planning his post-holiday Quidditch training. "This year, we have a real shot at both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup. We could make Hufflepuff history!" The thought filled him with excitement. He jumped out of bed and went downstairs to have breakfast with his parents.
But as he sat down, he noticed his father, Amos Diggory, staring at the Daily Prophet with a look of horror and concern. Amos turned to him, his voice laced with worry. "Did your house team really make an exception and add a first-year this year?"
Cedric nodded. "Yes. Char joined us."
Amos shot to his feet, indignant. "So, it's all true?! Then why did you have to wait until your second year to join the team, while the Sprout kid gets special treatment in his first? I can't believe Professor Sprout could be so partial. She's forcing all of you to be foils for a first-year player? That's so unfair!"
His face was a mask of heartache for the injustice he believed his son was suffering. "Cedric, the Seeker is the core of the team. You're the captain, yet you're forced to build all your tactics around this Char Sprout. You must be miserable. Why didn't you tell us?"
Cedric stared at him, utterly confused. "What?" He snatched the Daily Prophet from his father's hands. Less than a minute later, his own face was beet red, his eyes practically spitting fire.
"Char only got on the team because of Professor Sprout's power?" he roared. "He forced us to play the game around him? Who on earth is spouting this nonsense? It's shameless and disgusting! Char is the hardest-working player I've ever seen. He's the key to our victory! Damn it, I have to write a letter to clarify this!"
Amos looked at his son, still worried that he was just afraid of defying a professor's authority. "Cedric, are you sure you haven't been suppressed? The paper also says that the greenhouse plots are incredibly valuable, and Professor Sprout gave one to him right after he started at Hogwarts. Isn't that true?"
Cedric took a deep breath, a wave of worry washing over him. The report twisted every special opportunity Char had earned—his academic paper, his Quidditch spot, his experimental plot. If even his own father, who came from a respectable wizarding family, was filled with doubt and indignation, he could only imagine the public outcry. Professor Sprout and Char were about to be caught in the eye of a storm.
Cedric bolted upstairs. He had to do something, and fast. "I need to contact the Quidditch team, the other students in our house, everyone I know. We have to clarify this immediately." His eyes burned with fury. "Better yet, I'll gather a group of students and we'll go to the Daily Prophet ourselves. Slandering one of our own, slandering our Head of House… Are they ready to pay the price?"
Meanwhile, the rumors were spreading through the streets at an incredible speed. The Leaky Cauldron buzzed with hushed, speculative voices. Old Tom, the bartender, his face a thundercloud, stomped from table to table, snatching the Daily Prophet from guests' hands and tearing it to shreds.
"Out!" he bellowed. "Everyone, get out! I'll have no room for your foolish gossip here!"
But even as he kicked the drunkards out of his pub, the spread of rumors was unstoppable. Even within the Ministry of Magic, Minister Cornelius Fudge saw the Daily Prophet in his office, and his eyes lit up. He stood up excitedly, pacing back and forth.
Ever since he'd been appointed Minister after his predecessor's resignation, Fudge had lived in the shadow of one fact: he had only gotten the job because Dumbledore had once again rejected the offer. That proposal had been far more popular than his own appointment. Fudge knew his hold on power depended entirely on Dumbledore's whims. If Dumbledore ever changed his mind, Fudge would be forced to resign in disgrace the very next day.
Today's paper gave him an opening—a weapon against Dumbledore. If the Head of Hufflepuff was exposed in an academic scandal, it would naturally reflect poorly on Dumbledore's management. Perhaps more scandals could be unearthed, making it impossible for Dumbledore to ever become Minister.
Fudge made his decision instantly. "Hogwarts is funded and supervised by the Ministry of Magic. We have an obligation to ensure fair education. This matter requires a public investigation."
A letter from the Ministry was dispatched to Hogwarts and delivered to Professor Sprout. Her expression was now ice-cold. She wasn't angry about the rumors or the investigation itself. She had faced malicious gossip before, long before she was a Master of Herbology. It was no longer enough to faze her. What truly enraged her was that Char had been dragged into this. The Ministry's involvement hinted at something darker—a deliberate attack on Dumbledore.
Professor Sprout didn't want Char exposed to such darkness. Thankfully, he was still in the greenhouse, oblivious to the outside world. That brought her a small measure of relief. She left him a note, saying she had something to attend to and not to worry, then silently left the house.
In the greenhouse, Char was completely immersed in the experience of his newly transformed Pruning Spell. After the platinum-level change, the feedback was completely different. Before, it felt like cutting paper with scissors—a clear, macro-level action. Now, his understanding of the spell had deepened to a microscopic level. It felt closer to the very essence of "pruning." To use an analogy from his past life, it was like he was cutting molecular bonds.
A look of surprise crossed his face. "From gold to platinum… both the Luminescent Charm and the Pruning Charm seem to be evolving from a macro to a micro level, getting closer to the essence of the magic itself. Maybe this is a common trait for this level of mastery?"
For now, though, his sense of this new micro-level was still hazy. "It must be a problem with my magic perception. Gold-level perception probably isn't enough to clearly feel the changes at this microscopic level. Once my perception improves, I'll be able to experience these changes more deeply."
The fleeting thought passed, and his attention returned to the spell's power. Even without any change in his raw magic strength, the qualitative shift from macro to micro had dramatically increased the Pruning Spell's potency. He waved his wand, casting the spell again. The magic power was the same, but the effect was like a master butcher at work, the magic penetrating the Devil's Snare's surface with invisible ease. A deep mark appeared on the root.
Char's eyes lit up. "It seems… I can try cultivating the Devil's Snare again."