As Char tossed the parchment onto the table, a sense of deep unease washed over Umbridge. This press conference was her gambit, a meticulously planned attack on Dumbledore using Professor Sprout as the lever. She was supposed to be in control. So why, she wondered desperately, did she suddenly feel like the one caught in a trap?
Her toad-like face twitched, her lips pursing tightly. But in the end, with a reluctant and helpless sigh, she picked up the quill and signed her name to the magical contract.
"So," Dumbledore said, his voice ringing with finality. "The contract is established." He looked deeply at Char. "Mr. Sprout, you may begin your demonstration."
Char nodded and raised the ash wand in his hand.
Instantly, Umbridge felt an invisible force seize her own hand, pulling it upward. She couldn't help but raise her quill in unison. Yet, in that moment, a wave of calm certainty washed over her. She didn't believe Char's supposed records for a second. No sleep for three days and three nights? Waving a wand thousands of times to practice a single spell? Impossible!
At that moment, Char addressed the crowd. "Everyone," he began, "the Christmas holiday has only three days remaining. Feel free to get something to eat or drink. If you get sleepy, please find a place to rest."
While the audience was still processing his words, Char waved his wand in a swift, fluid motion.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The levitation charm was his chosen spell because it was one where his current proficiency was relatively low—only at the bronze level. While respectable for a first-year, it paled in comparison to his other spells, which were at silver, gold, or even platinum levels. It was a noticeable weak point.
For his particular style of magic, spells like the Soil-Loosening Charm and the Pruning Charm were essential. Even the Lumos charm played a vital role in his unique cultivation methods. The levitation charm, however, had seen little use, except for the time he planted the Elber tree.
Char recalled research from his past life concerning the cultivation of plants in zero-gravity environments, like those on space stations. This could potentially unlock new traits in plants. The logic was simple: many plant characteristics evolved to resist gravity. For example, plants with long stems consume vast nutrients to develop protective tissues to prevent breaking. Once gravity is removed, these nutrients can be redirected, potentially leading to superior growth.
Char saw this potential mirrored in the levitation charm. Since his other spells were sufficient for now, he decided to seize this opportunity to practice.
As Char cast his first levitation charm, Umbridge, bound by the contract, reluctantly wrote the word "fair" on her parchment. In her heart, she scoffed. She could see that Char's command of the spell was nothing special. Excellent for a first-year, perhaps, but hardly the work of a genius. Why did a student with such average talent receive so much preferential treatment?
It seemed her plan would succeed after all. All she had to do was wait patiently. A confident smile touched Umbridge's lips as she leisurely wrote the word "fairness." She was eager to see how long Char could keep waving his wand without a break. Given the weight of a wand, swinging it for ten straight minutes would make anyone's arm sore. Besides, Char's wand looked rather heavy. He would probably have to slow down within five minutes. With eyes full of expectation, Umbridge watched Char, continuing to write.
Half an hour later, Char was still waving his wand at the exact same, relentless pace.
Umbridge's brow furrowed, a flicker of shock in her eyes. This little wizard actually had some stamina. Could he truly last half an hour without tiring? Still, Umbridge remained confident as she wrote, her hand moving with ease. Early in her Ministry career, she had worked as a clerk, often writing pages of notes after long meetings. Later, a bullying superior had forced her to copy documents repeatedly, without the aid of magic, for hours on end. Her longest session had been a full day and night copying a thick stack of parchment.
Though years had passed, and she now used that very same punishment on others—even owning a Black Magic Quill to make the lesson "memorable"—she hadn't lost the skill. Copying for half an hour was nothing. She simply couldn't believe that her writing hand would give out before Char's spellcasting arm.
Time ticked by. One hour, then two, then three full hours passed.
Char continued his uninterrupted rhythm, casting one steady levitation charm after another. He showed no sign of stopping.
Umbridge's expression began to look strained. The parchment before her was now densely covered with thousands of repetitions of the word "fairness." A dull ache was spreading through her hand. She stared at Char with wide, disbelieving eyes. No… could he really do this for three hours without even pausing for breath? An unsettling thought crept into her mind. Could his records be true? Was he really capable of practicing spells all night without rest? What in Merlin's name was this monster!
Fortunately, just then, Char paused. His brow furrowed in concentration, as if thinking deeply.
Umbridge breathed a sigh of relief. But before she could speak, a powerful silencing charm enveloped the entire venue, leaving only Char unaffected.
Dumbledore's voice echoed through the quiet hall. "Quiet. Mr. Sprout is contemplating the spell. Do not disturb him."
On Char's internal system panel, the bronze luster of the floating spell was now shimmering with silver light. His magical perception had grown immensely, and with several platinum-level spells as his foundation, advancing the levitation charm from bronze to silver was happening rapidly. After three hours of practice, he was just a single step away. In the past, this final push might have taken days. Now, after a brief moment of thought, he understood the key.
Lightness, he realized. You have to feel light, both physically and mentally. The moment I wave my wand, I must become a cloud, a feather floating on the wind.
He waved his wand again. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The resulting spell was significantly more powerful than any before. On his system panel, the words glowed: [Floating Spell (Silver Level)]. He had been promoted.
This brought only a flicker of satisfaction. For his purposes, silver was still not enough. The plants he was currently growing, like the Guardian Tree and the mutated Devil's Snare, had considerable magical resistance. A silver-level levitation charm would have limited effect. To be truly useful, he needed it at the gold level, or ideally, platinum. With less than three days left in the holiday, that seemed like a difficult goal.
Shaking his head, Char cleared his mind of distractions and resumed his practice. His wand continued its steady, rhythmic dance. The silver glow on the spell's description began to deepen and enrich.
The journey from silver to gold, however, was clearly more demanding than the one from bronze to silver. It would require several times the number of repetitions to make the same progress. If not for his panel, which allowed him to visually track the changing luster, he might not have even perceived the subtle improvements with each cast. But seeing that progress bar fill, bit by bit, was its own reward.
What did a little extra effort matter? Here at this hearing, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, any initial awkwardness had vanished. His mind was focused. Making progress, becoming strong—everything else was just scenery on the path.
The hours bled into one another. Ten more hours passed. It was now late into the night. Though the hearing room remained brightly lit, the guests and reporters were yawning, fighting off sleep despite endless cups of tea and coffee. Through their blurry eyes, they could see Char, still meticulously waving his wand, his form as steady as it had been thirteen hours ago. He even had a smile on his face—an expression of pure, satisfied focus.
The reporters, accustomed to late nights, were horrified.
"Is he serious?" one whispered. "He's been a slave to his work since he was eleven?"
"Merlin's beard," another muttered. "He'd better not become a journalist. The workload would kill him."
At the same time, everyone glanced at Umbridge on the stage, their eyes glinting with schadenfreude. By now, Umbridge was in a daze. Her hand felt like it no longer belonged to her, a dead weight filled with lead, capable of feeling nothing but a deep, throbbing soreness. Yet, the contract forced her to write "fair" with every wave of Char's wand. For ten hours straight, there had been no respite. Char hadn't taken a single sip of water or a bite of food, which meant she couldn't either.
She swore that even her worst days under her old boss had never been this miserable. What made it worse was the feeling of utter hopelessness; there was no end in sight.
Then, after another ten minutes, Char stopped again. On his panel, the levitation spell flickered with a golden light, just a hair's breadth away from being fully promoted to the gold level. But he was stuck. He pondered for a long time but couldn't grasp what was missing.
From the audience, Professor Flitwick, who had been observing intently, couldn't help but call out, "Char! Think about what I taught in class! The origin of the levitation spell!"
Char paused. The spell was created by Jarleth Hobart after he saw strange plants growing on clouds. How did that relate? Ideas flashed through his mind.
Then, a history of magic expert also spoke up. "Hobart's flight! The accident! Do you remember? He saw the Elber tree in the clouds just as he was about to fall. What do you think was on his mind? What was his state of mind when he created the charm?"
Hearing this, it was as if lightning struck in Char's mind. "He wanted to fly!" he exclaimed. "He wanted to fall like a feather, to be free from the crushing force of gravity!"
As he spoke, many of the master-level wizards in the audience smiled in approval. Professor Flitwick and the history expert both laughed heartily.
In that moment, Char closed his eyes. It was more than just lightness. He had to imagine himself as a feather in a storm—light, unburdened, and utterly free from the pull of the earth.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
A brilliant light erupted from his wand, illuminating the room. The levitation spell on his panel was now bathed in a pure, solid gold. Gold level!
Char took a deep breath, his spell now on par with his others. He looked gratefully at Professor Flitwick and the history expert. Without their guidance, he would have been stuck for some time.
Then, Char looked out at the assembled wizards, a fiery excitement in his eyes. He suddenly realized this hearing wasn't such a bad thing after all. Most of those invited were renowned wizards, masters in their fields. This was a golden opportunity to ask for advice.
Without hesitation, Char began posing some of the magical questions that had been puzzling him. The wizards in the audience exchanged looks, many of them smiling wryly. Seeing the burning curiosity in Char's eyes, they knew he wasn't putting on a show; he genuinely wanted to understand.
"The Sprout family has truly raised a studious child," one wizard murmured.
"Well, we're all here," another said. "Those of you who are experts on these questions should answer, shouldn't you?"
What followed was an impromptu academic conference. Wizards offered their insights, sometimes agreeing, sometimes launching into fierce debates. The arguments raged until a master would point out a fallacy or demonstrate how two opposing views were merely different facets of a deeper principle.
The hearing had transformed. Char was like a thirsty sponge, eagerly absorbing the wisdom of these brilliant minds. On his panel, just as when he first saw the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, all his spells erupted in a bright glow, becoming more concentrated at a visible rate. Even his platinum-level spells grew more intense amid the heated discussion.
Finally, Char asked the question that had been forming in his mind. "I have one last question. After a spell reaches a certain level of mastery, do all spells start to shift from macroscopic effects to microscopic ones? And if one continues down that path, what does magic ultimately become?"
A hush fell over the room.
"Are first-years really grappling with these kinds of questions now?" someone whispered in awe. "When I was in school, all I thought about was… well, not this."
They all looked at Char, their hearts filled with emotion. Was he talented? No, they had seen from his practice that it was more than that. The question itself proved his understanding of magic had reached a profound level. To have achieved such mastery in several spells was astounding. It wasn't just talent; it was the result of unimaginable hardship and dedication.
As for the answer, even a spell master like Professor Flitwick simply shook his head. Finally, all eyes turned to Dumbledore. If anyone in the magical world knew the answer, it was him.
Dumbledore regarded Char with a complex expression of admiration. He thought of Professor Sprout's determination to acquire a talent-enhancing potion for the boy. If Char could achieve this much with his current talent, he would surely soar to unimaginable heights.
"That is an excellent question," Dumbledore began. "From the macro to the micro is indeed a sign of deepening magical attainment. But during this process, you will discover things that defy your previous understanding of magic. It becomes more profound, more obscure, and far more interesting. We gradually get closer to its chaotic nature, which is so bizarre that it cannot be grasped with normal logic. This is why so many wizards become eccentric, or even mad, as they delve deeper."
Dumbledore paused, pushing his half-moon glasses up his nose. "Of course," he added with a twinkle, "don't think that's why I behave as I do. I'm just a bit of a loner. A centenarian is entitled to his quirks, you understand."
He then returned to the topic, his expression growing serious. "As for what lies at the end of that road... I wish I could answer you. But the truth is, I don't know. I am still on that path myself, and a long way from the end. But I believe there is a word that might describe the scenery there. Perhaps it is 'One,' or 'God,' or what the alchemists call 'The Absolute Truth.' Whatever you wish to call it."
Dumbledore sighed. "It must be an incredible sight. Perhaps one day, Char, you will see it for yourself and come back and tell your old headmaster about it."
Char's heart stirred. From Dumbledore's words, he gleaned a vital clue. Was Dumbledore describing what a spell becomes at the mythical level? Were incredible artifacts like the Deathly Hallows connected to this level of magic?
A look of profound anticipation crossed Char's face. Though his highest spells were only at the platinum level, a long way from myth, he now saw the path. If he continued to build on his foundation, reaching the mythical level might not be impossible.
His thoughts returned to the present. He had to take it one step at a time. Then, his gaze fell upon his panel, and he nearly gasped in ecstasy. It was a masterpiece of platinum and gold light. The Soil-Loosening Charm, which had been on the verge of platinum, had been promoted. His other platinum spells, Lumos and the Pruning Charm, had also benefited greatly, their light nearly twice as bright as before. Even his less-used spells had made remarkable progress. The Floating Spell, which he had just painstakingly raised to gold, was now shimmering with nascent specks of platinum light. He had already reached the threshold!
He knew he still had more to learn from the wizards' discussion. Once he fully digested their insights, reaching the platinum level with the levitation spell would not be difficult.
Without a moment's pause, Char raised his wand and began to practice again.
This scene filled the master wizards with a mixture of relief and a faint sourness. This child was perfect in every way. Why wasn't he one of their own students? Or learning their own specialty? A single thought crossed all their minds: Perhaps I am too lenient with my apprentices. They should be held to Char's standard. If a first-year can be this diligent, why can't they? They've had too many holidays. It's time to get them back into the lab!
Meanwhile, on the dais, Umbridge sank into a deeper pit of despair. Because of the contract, even when Char had stopped to talk, she couldn't sleep. As long as he was awake, she had to be. Her eyelids felt like lead weights, yet some invisible force kept snapping them open. Now, seeing Char, fully energized, begin his practice anew, Umbridge understood. He truly did not need to sleep.
A deep chill filled her heart. She finally realized it. From the very beginning, this little wizard had been setting a trap for her. His purpose was simple: punishment. Revenge.
At that moment, Umbridge saw the teasing look Char gave her just before he began again. Her expression twisted into a hateful mask. This wicked little devil!
Umbridge gritted her teeth, trying to hold on. But as Char waved his wand, the contract's magic yanked her arm. The brief respite was gone, and the searing soreness returned, feeling as if every muscle fiber was screaming. The hunger, thirst, and crushing fatigue combined were too much. She had grossly overestimated her own endurance. She had been pampered for many years. Once, she could have endured two days and two nights for the sake of her career. Now, after only fifteen hours, she had reached her limit. It is easy to be cruel to others, but far harder to be cruel to oneself.
After another agonizing hour, Umbridge's will broke.
"End it," she rasped, her voice a desperate plea. "Please, just end it soon. I admit it! The evidence is insufficient! The accusation of academic unfairness was biased! Stop, please, just stop!"
As she begged and wailed, the magical contract took effect. The word "fairness" branded itself onto her palm, bright red, eye-catching, and searingly painful. The pain was so intense it felt like it reached her bones.
Umbridge couldn't help but let out a piercing scream. Then, the contract's power vanished, and she collapsed, fainting.
Char lowered his wand. "That's all?" he asked, turning to Cornelius Fudge, whose face was a livid mask of rage. "Minister Fudge, is the work at the Ministry of Magic normally this relaxed? Madam Umbridge couldn't even last fifteen hours of overtime. I was just getting warmed up. How can you serve the wizarding world when your staff is so delicate?"
Fudge looked as if he was about to choke. His hands clenched into tight fists. Today's farce had been a colossal embarrassment for the Ministry. He seethed with hatred for Umbridge. How could she have held on for such a short time? If she had just lasted two more days, until the end of the holiday, it would have at least shown some strength from the Ministry's leadership. Fifteen hours? Useless woman!
But he buried his resentment deep down. No matter how much he hated it, Fudge had to force a smile. "It seems," he said, his voice strained, "that the accusation against Professor Sprout was a complete misunderstanding. On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I apologize. We were only acting out of a desire to maintain academic fairness and a good educational environment for the children."
Professor Sprout said nothing. She simply rose from her seat, walked to Char, and pulled him into a tight hug. In his ear, she whispered, her voice choked with emotion, "Char, you must never take such a risk again. Just do what you love. Just focus on your farming. I can handle everything else."
Char shook his head slightly. "I avoid trouble when it's about other things. But your trouble, Aunt, is my trouble. I will never let anyone who causes problems for you get away with it." He then laughed. "Besides, everything turned out fine, didn't it?"
Professor Sprout managed a weak smile, but her eyes were still filled with worry. They had seriously offended Fudge and the Ministry. As for Umbridge, her political career was likely over. And based on her brief encounter with the woman, Professor Sprout knew that a desperate Umbridge would be capable of anything. But then, a sharp, determined glint entered her eyes. Anyone who threatened Char should be prepared to face her righteous wrath.
"Now, Char," she said softly. "Let's go home. This Christmas holiday has been dreadful enough. At least we still have two days of peace."
Char nodded. But just before they disapparated, he remembered something and quickly turned to Dumbledore.
"Headmaster! The contract states that the Ministry must pay compensation. You have to make sure they do!"
Dumbledore laughed, then turned to Fudge with a sharp gaze. "Minister Fudge, regarding the compensation owed to the Sprout family, and the other matters we discussed... it appears we have much to talk about."
Hearing this, Fudge's face went ashen. He understood that the Ministry had lost more than just face today. They were about to bleed gold. Thinking of this, he gritted his teeth. Char Sprout, you damnable child, he thought venomously. I will remember you!
But by then, Char had already returned to the Sprout estate. He wouldn't have cared about Fudge's resentment even if he knew. He landed on the familiar ground and looked steadily toward his greenhouses. There, shimmering balls of light—his rewards—floated up and down, heavy and dense like ripe fruits, gathered together in a glowing ridge.
Char took a deep breath.
"Margaret," he murmured to himself. "It's time for the harvest."