Staring at the information materializing on his system panel, at the words "World Tree," Char felt as if he'd been struck by lightning. Even after discovering a plant like the Whomping Willow, which could provide epic rewards, this was on another level entirely. Goosebumps prickled his skin, and his mind went blank.
After a long moment, he slowly came back to himself, his eyes wide with a horrified awe. He checked the system panel again and again, confirming he wasn't mistaken. His hands tightened into fists.
"The World Tree?" he whispered. "The legend… a colossal ash tree, its roots running through the three realms, its branches connecting the nine kingdoms, the very cornerstone of the world."
All the Norse myths he had ever heard, in this life and the last, flooded his mind. Odin, who hung from its branches for nine days and nights, sacrificing an eye to gain knowledge of the runes. The eternal spear, Gungnir, carved from a branch of the World Tree itself. The venomous dragon, Níðhöggr, gnawing ceaselessly at its roots, heralding the coming of Ragnarök, the twilight of the gods, when the tree finally falls.
Looking at the gnarled root before him, his heartbeat began to race. If this was truly a piece of that World Tree, then there was no doubt. This was a mythical-level plant. It was the most powerful plant he had ever encountered, far beyond the legendary or even epic tiers. The Whomping Willow paled in comparison. This might be the single most powerful plant in the entire wizarding world. And it actually existed.
A fire of pure passion burned in his eyes. "I thought I was just here to pick through the Ministry's old junk," he murmured. "I never expected to find a treasure like this."
At the same time, his gaze fell to his own ash wand, a flicker of confusion in his mind. The World Tree was an ash tree. His wand was made of ash wood. Could there be a connection? He quickly shook his head, pushing the thought aside. Speculation was useless. The real prize was getting this root out of here.
But the root seemed to be embedded in the very foundations of the secret vault, as if it were part of a mountain. No matter how he waved his wand, it wouldn't budge. The Levitation Charm, the Full Body-Bind Curse—both spells dissipated silently against it, his magic too weak to have any effect. He doubted even Professor Sprout, Snape, and Flitwick working together could move it. Perhaps Dumbledore, with the Elder Wand, might stand a chance.
After another failed attempt, Char let out a soft breath and put his wand away. "It seems weak magic can't move the World Tree's root," he reasoned. "So, what about legendary power and legendary life?"
He held out his hands, his expression solemn. Grasping the root, he channeled his full strength into his arms. Veins bulged as his legendary life force fueled his legendary power in one explosive effort. For a moment, it was as if a Titan from ancient myth stood in his place, feet planted on the earth, shoulders holding up the sky, letting out a silent roar.
The root, which had been immovable, trembled. It lifted, just a tiny fraction of an inch.
Char's face was already beet red. It felt like he was literally trying to move a mountain. Even with his legendary abilities, it was almost too much. In that moment, he truly understood the chasm between the legendary and mythical levels. This was just a single root, and it took everything he had just to shake it. The difference was as vast as heaven and earth.
After another moment of straining, he decided to let go. There was no point in forcing it; he didn't want to die of exhaustion here. He would have to wait until he possessed mythical power himself.
But as he released his grip, the weight in his hands suddenly vanished. The root became as light as a feather, feeling like nothing more than an ordinary piece of wood. He lifted it again with ease.
He stared, confused. What just happened? Had his burst of legendary power met some hidden condition, causing the root to willingly follow him? He shook his head with a wry smile. The ways of mythical things were too far beyond him to understand. But he wouldn't miss this opportunity.
Taking a deep breath, he calmed his racing heart. He picked up the small silver bucket he'd spotted earlier, along with the now-weightless World Tree root, and strode out of the vault, his face still flushed from the effort, making him look like he was angry.
Outside, Fudge greeted him with a practiced smile. "Well, my boy? Find any treasures?"
Char angrily threw the bucket and the root onto the ground. "Treasures? I spent half the day digging through a garbage dump, and this is all I found. It's nothing but junk in there! It took me ages just to find this broken bucket, and then I tripped over this stupid piece of wood on my way out."
Fudge beamed. "Now, now, you can't say that. That silver bucket might have been the favorite tool of a master herbalist, chosen by you from among the dust of ages. What does that mean? It means you, Char Sprout, have a connection with it! And tripping over a branch on your way out…" Fudge adopted a pretentious, knowing tone. "To be honest, I got a zero in Divination when I was at school, but even I know this is a sign. It means you are on the verge of a great breakthrough in herbology."
The anger on Char's face melted away, replaced by a flicker of smug pride. "Really?"
Fudge was privately amused. He was growing quite fond of this boy. So simple, so innocent, so easy to fool. A few nice words and all his anger was gone. As for Divination, he'd never taken the class in his life.
"It seems I misunderstood you, Minister Fudge," Char said, a little embarrassed. "Then this silver bucket, and this tree root…"
"All yours, my boy," Fudge said with a magnanimous wave.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly—" Char began, before his face broke into a delighted grin. "Thank you, Minister!"
As Char said his goodbyes, Fudge could barely suppress his own triumphant smile. He had resolved the Sprout family issue for a pittance—a hundred bottles of potion and a worthless bucket and root. He had made a huge profit.
As Char left the Ministry, the same thought crossed his mind. "An unlimited supply of Devil's Snare potion, a useful alchemical item, and most importantly, a piece of a mythical World Tree root. To say I made a huge profit this time is an understatement!"
Back at the Sprout family home, Char went straight to the library. As a family renowned for its herbology heritage, their collection was vast, filled with the travelogues of ancestors who had journeyed the world documenting magical plants. He searched through the oldest books, looking for any mention of the World Tree.
As he turned the ancient pages, his eyes suddenly locked onto a passage.
"It connects heaven and earth… so magnificent it is beyond imagination. How can such a plant exist in this world? By Merlin, this is—"
His eyes lit up. He quickly turned to the next page, only to find it had been torn out, the rip old and faded. The description had to be related to the World Tree. Perhaps Professor Sprout knew something.
He brought the ancient book to her study. "Aunt, I found an interesting travelogue. I wanted to ask you about it."
"Of course," she said readily. "You can always ask me anything."
But when he showed her the missing page and asked if the plant described could be the legendary World Tree, her expression changed instantly, becoming stern.
"Char, the World Tree is the greatest lie in all of herbology. That is something that has long been recognized as fact."
Seeing his confusion, she softened her tone and explained. "A long time ago, a few herbalists claimed to have seen the World Tree of myth. It sparked a frenzy. Herbalists from all over the world went searching for it. But every time, they journeyed to dangerous lands, suffered heavy casualties, and returned with nothing. Each time this trend emerged, the field of herbology suffered. So many brilliant herbalists, who should have been focused on practical cultivation, wasted their talents chasing this fantasy. They achieved nothing. After that, any mention of the World Tree in the herbology community was met with scorn. The person who spoke of it was branded a liar. The missing page in that book was likely torn out during that time."
She looked at him seriously. "The World Tree is just a legend, Char. It's fine to think of it as a myth, but you must never go in pursuit of it. If you are truly interested, there are some books in the restricted section at Hogwarts that mention it. But I won't give you permission to enter the restricted section until you are at least in your third year."
Her words struck a chord with Char. So, there had been large-scale searches for the World Tree. It was possible his root was a relic from one of those failed expeditions, dismissed as a strange piece of wood and stored away in a Ministry vault, forgotten until today.
Professor Sprout looked deeply into his eyes. "My child," she said meaningfully, "I don't know why you've suddenly brought this up. You seem unusually passionate about it. Whatever the reason, I must warn you. It is too early to explore something so far beyond your abilities. Even if that thing were real, what difference is there between it and an illusion to you now? Listen to your aunt. Forget it."
Her words sent a shiver down his spine. He nodded, chewing on her warning. "I understand, Aunt."
He left her study with a newfound sense of awe and a healthy dose of fear. He had been reckless, his excitement getting the better of him. Luckily, it was only Professor Sprout who had noticed. If anyone else discovered he had a piece of the World Tree, the consequences would be more than he could bear. The hearing would seem like a trifle in comparison. It could attract the attention of ancient, powerful beings hidden deep within the wizarding world.
He took a deep breath, buried his head in a basin of water, and let his thoughts calm. The more he thought, the more he realized she was right. He was still leagues away from mastering the epic-level Whomping Willow, let alone a mythical-level plant. What was the point of knowing its secrets now? He couldn't plant it, couldn't use it. It was just a distraction, a potential disaster. He remembered how Hermione had deduced Hagrid had a dragon egg just from his frequent trips to the library. If he started researching the World Tree, someone would eventually notice.
"This is the first time I've gotten a mythical plant, and I got so excited I nearly lost my head," he admonished himself. "Take it one step at a time. What good is a mythical plant if I can't grow it? It's just an illusion that could bring ruin."
He made his decision. He would focus on what he could achieve now. He immediately left the house, taking the World Tree root with him. He found a remote patch of wilderness, buried the root deep in the earth, marked the location in his mind, and left without looking back.
He returned to the greenhouse, immersing himself in the familiar rhythm of caring for his newly planted Margaret flowers, observing the ones under the influence of his Levitation Charm. The tedious, fulfilling work grounded him, and he locked the secret of the World Tree deep in his heart.
Outside, the worry on Professor Sprout's face finally faded, replaced by a relieved smile.
Soon, she checked the time. "Char, it's about time. The Christmas holiday is over. We should prepare to go back to school."
His heart leaped with anticipation. Back to school meant his new experimental plot. He could expand his Guardian Tree cultivation and, once the Ministry delivered the potion, continue his work on the Devil's Snare.
Professor Sprout sprinkled Floo powder into the fireplace, and with a roar of green flames, the familiar Hufflepuff common room appeared before him. He stepped out of the fireplace into the warm, welcoming room. Some students had already returned. They stared at him for a moment, then broke into excited cheers, swarming him like he was a returning hero.
"Char! You were so cool at the hearing!"
"We saw the reports! You made the Ministry look like a bunch of fools!"
"Merlin, you made that toad Umbridge face justice! It was brilliant! My mum used to work with her, and now she's your biggest fan!"
Amid the excitement, some of the younger students looked at him with sad, pleading eyes.
"Can we make a deal, Char? Don't be so incredible," one of them complained. "My parents read the reports and got all excited about how hard you work. They never pushed me before, but now they won't give me dinner until I've practiced a spell a thousand times! You've ruined the last few days of my Christmas holiday!"
Char burst out laughing. He never expected his performance would spark a new trend of parents pushing their children to study harder. Was he about to start an academic arms race in the wizarding world?
But then he remembered what he'd heard. During the hearing, the Hufflepuff students had written letters of protest, and a senior had even blocked the entrance to the Daily Prophet. Many had come with their parents to protest outside the Ministry. If it weren't for them, the Ministry might not have backed down so quickly. A warm feeling surged in his heart.
"About the hearing…" he began. "Thank you."
The kids just chuckled. "What's there to thank us for? We're a house. It was our Head of House who was wrongly accused. If we don't help, what kind of united house would we be? If you really want to thank us, you have to lead us to victory in the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup this year."
Char smiled and nodded seriously. "Definitely."
Just then, an owl flew in and dropped a letter into his hands. It was from Hagrid. The handwriting was full of his usual typos, but he seemed even more excited than usual, making it almost unreadable. It took Char a moment to decipher the message.
"Dear Char, are you back at school? I've got some very exciting news to share, I can hardly wait. I got a very pretty thing. You won't believe how beautiful this little one is, I can't wait for him to be born. Come over to my cabin, you'll be surprised too."
Char froze for a second, then realization dawned. There was only one thing that could make Hagrid this excited. A dragon egg.
And if Hagrid had a dragon egg, it meant that Quirrell, just as in the original story, had targeted him to get past the three-headed dog. The gears of the Philosopher's Stone plot were beginning to turn faster.
But to Char, it meant only one thing. When that baby dragon hatched, he would have a steady supply of dragon blood. The cultivation of Blood Jade could finally begin. As for everything else? It had nothing to do with him.
He immediately headed out of the common room, toward Hagrid's hut. In the corridor, he passed a pale, slow-moving figure. It was Quirrell.
Char's hand tightened on his wand. Luckily, it seemed Quirrell had given up on using him. This was just a coincidence. Quirrell looked much weaker than he had in the book at this same point in time. It made sense; he had suffered greatly at Char's hands. The power loss would be significant. But that wasn't Char's problem.
He quickened his pace, leaving the corridor behind. Quirrell glanced in his direction with a cold, fleeting look, then turned away. He had given up on Char. Now that he knew how to get past the three-headed dog, there was no point in wasting more energy. His priority was to replenish his strength.
"A unicorn," he thought. "I've almost found their tracks."
He was about to leave when a weak, sibilant voice sounded in his mind.
"That little one, Quirrell…"
Quirrell paused. "Master? Why are you awake? Your power is precious. What about that boy has attracted your attention?"
Voldemort's voice was filled with a strange mix of confusion and deep, avaricious greed.
"On that little one… he smells… so good."
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