Snape's words left Char momentarily stunned. Snape's original technique? He had assumed that meant the spells from the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, like the Inverted Bell Curse and the Divine Edge Shadowless Spell. But then he realized—those were the creations of a student. Decades had passed. Of course, Snape wouldn't have remained stagnant. He must have created magic far more advanced since then.
"Severus Potion Transfiguration…" Char repeated the name, his expression growing serious. Snape was a man of immense pride. To name a skill after himself, he must consider it his masterpiece. The term itself, Potion-Transfiguration, was entirely new to him.
As if reading his mind, Snape elaborated, his voice low and intense. "Of course, you've never heard of it. It is the hybrid subject I have dedicated my life to studying." He began to explain the concept. "The essence of Potions is the collision and fusion of magic between materials, culminating in a harmonious state. But Potions faces a grave problem. Countless materials have been lost to time. Ancient recipes are now impossible to reproduce. But… if a match can be turned into a silver needle, why can't an extinct ingredient be replaced by another, altered with Transfiguration? If you understand the magical properties of the materials, the reactions you need, and the final state you wish to achieve, then a clear path emerges. That is Potion Transfiguration."
As he spoke, a fanatical light burned in Snape's eyes. "If this skill is perfected," he said, his voice trembling with passion, "then no special ingredients will be needed. Give me the most common magical herbs and enough time, and I can recreate any potion from history." He clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "Even the mythical potion that resurrects the dead… that would be no problem."
A sharp gasp escaped Char. His scalp tingled. He suddenly understood the deepest, most personal reason for Snape's creation. He wanted to bring Lily back. He had never given up. If the war hadn't broken out, if he hadn't died at Voldemort's command, perhaps Snape would have one day succeeded, rewriting the history of magic itself.
"Watch closely," Snape whispered, his grip tightening on his wand.
Char's focus became absolute. He stared at Snape's every move, not daring to miss a single detail. A genius Potions Master, pouring more than a decade of his life into this skill—only a fool would be distracted now.
Snape dipped the tip of his wand into one of the "shoddy" potions. Then, he tapped the liquid's surface. It was a simple, almost casual gesture.
But in Char's perception, the entire bottle of potion erupted. It was like dry gunpowder ignited by a single spark. An impossibly intense reaction was hidden beneath the calm surface. Snape continued to tap his wand, and with each tap, the chaotic magical reaction was slowly, meticulously brought under control.
When the potion finally settled, the scent it emitted was transformed. What had been a crude, unbalanced mixture was now perfectly harmonious, its aroma a testament to its quality. It was a masterpiece.
Char, with his growing knowledge of potions, could only stare in disbelief.
Snape seemed pleased by his stunned expression. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Do you understand?"
Char gave a wry smile and shook his head. He wasn't even sure if Snape was asking seriously or just mocking him. The complexity of that magical reaction was orders of magnitude beyond anything he had ever brewed. And layered on top of that was the application of Transfiguration, altering the very magical properties of the potion itself. He hadn't understood a single thing.
A rare, faint curl appeared at the corner of Snape's mouth. "I will show you once a month from now on." He paused, his voice suddenly growing quiet. "You should learn as much as you can. I'm afraid I only have a few years left to teach you."
The words struck Char like a physical blow. The excitement of witnessing this incredible skill vanished, replaced by a profound sadness. Snape, the tragic double agent, fated to die by Nagini's fangs, never to see his beloved again, his life's work left unfinished.
At first, Char's relationship with Snape had been hostile. But unconsciously, he had come to owe the man a great deal. If it were possible, he didn't want Snape to die like that.
"Professor," Char said carefully, "if one day you find yourself in danger, I will help you. No matter who we have to face."
Snape raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. The boy had no idea what he was dealing with. The Dark Lord's return, Dumbledore's plans—Snape's fate was to die, either by Dumbledore's design or at Voldemort's hand. The forces at play were the most powerful wizards in the world.
But at the same time, looking at Char's earnest expression, Snape felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest. He quickly masked it with his usual cold sneer.
"Is that so? I didn't realize young Mr. Sprout was so confident. Then let us see what you have practiced during the holiday, or if you were only concerned with becoming a newspaper celebrity. Take out your wand!"
Char was long since immune to Snape's sarcastic tone. He was thrilled. After countless sessions of being hung upside down and thrown around, it was time to test his new skills. He slowly drew his wand and created some distance between them.
"Then you had better be careful, Professor."
"You managed to knock out two Ministry employees by sheer luck," Snape mocked, "and now you think you are so great? It seems it is time for you to face reality—"
While he was trash-talking, Snape's finger made a subtle, concealed flick. A silent, wandless curse shot toward Char. The same old trick, Char thought, a grim smile on his face. He'd fallen for it dozens of times.
But not this time.
His body moved on pure instinct. With a single, fluid step, he dodged the attack and sent one back. "Levicorpus!"
Snape's body flickered, easily deflecting the curse, but the surprise on his face was genuine. "Hm?!" Char's combat sense had truly improved. In just two weeks, he had gone from a clumsy novice to someone who could react instinctively. Could it be, Snape wondered, that this boy really is a genius in more than just Herbology?
Taking advantage of Snape's momentary distraction, Char unleashed a volley of spells—more inverted curses, mixed with flashes of light and levitation charms to throw him off balance.
But Snape just laughed. For a man who had survived countless real battles, these were just children's tricks. He easily deflected Char's attacks, then sent another silent curse. Char dodged, following the feeling of the magic, but the next moment, he was confused. I sensed it was coming from this direction… a feint? A magical feint?! First, you trick me into reacting, and then you strike for real?
The familiar dizziness washed over him, and he was once again thrown heavily to the ground. But there was no frustration on his face, only pure excitement. "I learned something new! Again, Professor!"
Snape looked at the boy, who was like a thirsty sponge, and sighed inwardly. At this rate, he would run out of tricks to teach him. But even that slight distraction didn't stop him from "torturing" Char with the same feint, again and again.
It was late into the night when Char finally left the Potions classroom, his body aching from the countless falls. But the feeling of learning, of growing stronger, filled him with a deep sense of joy. And when he saw that his Legendary Life trait on the system panel was slightly brighter than before, he felt even better. Being beaten by Snape not only taught him practical combat, but it also tempered his very life force, pushing it closer to the mythical level. It was a win-win.
He began to plan. The potion from the Ministry had solved his immediate problem. The experimental plot would be available soon. He could get more Devil's Snare roots from Professor Sprout, finish preparing them, and plant them in the new field.
As he was walking down the corridor, a familiar voice called out. "Char! What on earth did Snape do to you?"
He turned in surprise to see Hermione appear as if from nowhere. A moment later, he realized—the Invisibility Cloak. His expression soured. "You were following me?"
Harry and Ron emerged from under the cloak. "We just wanted to see what Snape had you doing," Hermione explained quickly.
"We couldn't hear anything, just buzzing," Ron added. "But we saw it! We saw Snape giving you the potion, and then we saw him hanging you up and torturing you! Is that how he controls you?"
Char, who had been annoyed, was now just confused. "What? What are you talking about?" He tried to explain that it was just combat training, but they were convinced of their own interpretation. Harry looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and frustration.
"Char, you have to resist him! What are you afraid of?"
He was speechless. It was pointless to explain. Professor Snape, he thought with a weary sigh, I told you to wash your hair more often. If you didn't look so sinister, maybe people wouldn't be so prejudiced against you.
He shook his head, too tired to argue. "I have one last thing to say to you: you are completely wrong. I have other things to do. Goodbye."
He was about to turn and leave when Hermione spoke again. "Char, even if you're afraid of Snape, at least tell us if you know who Nicolas Flamel is. We swear we'll never tell anyone it was you. Once Snape's plot is exposed, you'll be safe. By helping us, you're helping yourself."
"I'll keep you safe," Harry added earnestly. "I have an Invisibility Cloak. You can borrow it, and Snape will never be able to find you. Just tell us who Nicolas Flamel is."
Char was about to walk away, but Harry's words stopped him in his tracks. An Invisibility Cloak? One of the Deathly Hallows? He wasn't interested in collecting them, but an idea sparked in his mind. Shadowthorns. Their cultivation required the Disillusionment Charm, which was still far beyond his skill. But the magic of a Deathly Hallow… it was surely far superior. Could it be used as a substitute?
He stopped. "Harry, you'd really lend me your Invisibility Cloak for a while?"
Seeing the change in his tone, Harry was overjoyed. He was reluctant to part with it, but it was only a temporary loan. He gritted his teeth and nodded. "Yes, if you tell us who Nicolas Flamel is and what Snape is planning."
Char considered it. They would find out in a day or two anyway. Telling them now wouldn't change anything. After a moment's hesitation, he told them everything he knew about Nicolas Flamel.
Later that night, the trio returned to their common room, panting. Without the cloak, they'd had a close call with Filch, but they were ecstatic. "The Philosopher's Stone!" Harry whispered. "Snape must be after it! And the protections were set by the professors. Professor Sprout must have set one, too. That explains why Snape is so desperate to control Char."
Even Ron, who had been so jealous before, felt a pang of sympathy. "So he gets abused by Snape every night. It's no wonder he's so… pitiful. Did you see how happy he was when he got the cloak? I bet he can finally get a good night's sleep."
At that very moment, in the greenhouse, Char was looking at the Invisibility Cloak, his face full of excitement. Sleep? Who needed sleep? The time he had with this treasure was limited. He had to make the most of it. It was time to start planting.
He took out the Shadowthorn roots, a sub-species of the Whomping Willow. The plant's rewards—Holding in the Shade and Tearing Wounds—were both incredibly practical. But its cultivation required the Disillusionment Charm, which had been an insurmountable obstacle. Until now.
He slowly placed the Invisibility Cloak over the roots. They vanished instantly, their magical aura completely suppressed. If not for the reward light ball on his system panel, even a master like Professor Sprout wouldn't have been able to find them. "It's worthy of being a Deathly Hallow," he marveled. "I doubt even Dumbledore's Disillusionment Charm could surpass this."
He fixed his eyes on the reward information, waiting. A minute passed. Then another. Nothing changed. A wave of disappointment washed over him. So, you can't cheat the system after all.
He sighed and lifted the cloak. The moment the roots were exposed, they began to writhe frantically, as if they had lost something essential. The reward light ball pulsed with a desperate longing.
Char stared, shocked. "What? Why didn't you react like that when the cloak was on you?" He frowned. It wants it? The roots seemed to convey a feeling of grievance, as if they had been dreaming of something wonderful, only to have it snatched away.
He was silent for a moment. Then, he put the cloak back on.
The next second, on his system panel, the reward information for the Shadowthorn began to blur. The silver light swirled, then erupted—into a brilliant, pure gold.
His hand tightened on the cloak. The silver bucket hadn't been enough to push the Devil's Snare to the gold level. But the Shadowthorns, under the influence of the Invisibility Cloak… he now had his first mass-producible gold-level reward plant.