Seeing the faint bronze glimmer appear on the word [Transfiguration], a surge of pure joy cut through Char's mental exhaustion. He had done it. With continued practice like this, it wouldn't be long before his Transfiguration skill reached the Bronze level. Given the fundamental importance of Transfiguration in all of magic, he knew that this upgrade would bring a qualitative change to his abilities far more significant than any other spell.
The thought sent a jolt of renewed energy through him, chasing away the fatigue. He was filled with a fresh wave of enthusiasm.
"Shadow," he commanded, his voice eager, "continue!"
But the living shadow of the Shadowthorn lay limp on the ground, its dark form quivering with a wronged look.
"Tired…" it spelled out pitifully.
Char looked at the exhausted plant and sighed with a mixture of helplessness and amusement. Alright, alright. Even I'm not that much of a devil. I can't exploit child labor, especially when the child is a plant I essentially just created. He decided to let it rest. He would give it a happy childhood; the slaving away could wait until it had grown a little more.
His eyes fell on the few remaining empty plots in his new greenhouse. Since the special nutrients here were only enough to support this one mutated Shadowthorn, he couldn't wait any longer. A bird in the hand is worth ten in the bush. Even if planting a batch of ordinary Shadowthorns wouldn't provide the ancient magic reward, the Gold-level [Shadow Increase] and Silver-level [Torn Wound] abilities were still incredibly precious.
With that, Char headed for Professor Sprout's office to get more Shadowthorn roots. When he arrived, however, he found it empty.
"Aunt isn't here?" he murmured, glancing at the time. It was still early, but for an herbalist, early morning was prime time for plant care. He knew Professor Sprout would be up.
After asking a passing Hufflepuff house-elf, he learned the surprising reason. "An emergency meeting? All the heads of houses and required subject professors?" His face filled with confusion. "What could be so urgent?"
At that very moment, in a castle conference room, the professors in question were looking distinctly unhappy.
"An emergency meeting at this hour," Professor McGonagall said, her lips pursed into a thin line, "for a subject review? They want all teaching data for the past seven years? Graduation rates, enrollment numbers, laboratory usage statistics?"
Even Snape, who usually maintained a civil relationship with Lucius Malfoy, spoke with a venomous calm. "If these noble lords have nothing better to do, perhaps they could go green the Forbidden Forest. Or lay tiles on the bottom of the Black Lake. But they should not be giving us things to do."
The members of the school board shifted uncomfortably, all eyes turning to their leader, Lucius Malfoy. It was he who had called this meeting.
Lucius's expression was a mask of calm professionalism. He produced a neatly bound report. "Professors, please do not misunderstand. The Board has no intention of interfering with the normal teaching order of Hogwarts. However, the events of the last hearing are known to all. While it was a misunderstanding, we unanimously agree it is best not to have a repeat. At the last meeting, the matter of handing the small greenhouse over to Mr. Sprout was raised. I expressed my opposition then, but Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Sprout approved it on the grounds of precedent."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "I have since looked up the historical records, specifically the resumes of students granted this privilege. The last student to receive it did so in their fifth year, after publishing several high-quality papers and one in a top journal. He proved his worth. In fact, every student who has ever been granted this honor has been in their fourth or fifth year, having already demonstrated stability and a capacity for sustained, high-quality academic output."
Lucius tapped his fingers slowly on the table. "From that perspective, it seems young Mr. Sprout has not yet demonstrated this ability. He is still too young, too… unstable. That is why we, the school board, wished to hold this meeting. Our purpose is simply to gain a clearer understanding of Hogwarts' academic systems, to objectively examine the use of its resources, and to provide targeted subsidies to better help all students. I trust the professors will not refuse? Oh, and for obvious reasons, the Defense Against the Dark Arts class need not be included. Dumbledore, what do you think?"
Professor Sprout's face was flushed with anger. This was a clear attack, using Char as a pretext to meddle in all of Hogwarts' affairs. The other professors looked equally furious. Investigating resources? Gaining a clear understanding? It was nothing but a thinly veiled power play, a warning shot across their bow.
A flicker of contemplation passed through Snape's dark eyes. He knew Lucius Malfoy. The man was a weathervane, always turning with the prevailing wind. He would never offend so many powerful professors at once unless the potential reward was enormous. What, Snape wondered, was Lucius truly after?
Dumbledore, however, remained placid, his blue eyes fixed on Lucius, seeming to see past the calm facade to the trembling fear deep within.
After a long moment, Dumbledore spoke. "Very well. I will urge the professors to prepare the materials. However, you require a great deal of data. I'm afraid it will take us at least a week to compile everything."
At his words, a visible wave of relief washed over Lucius. He nodded quickly. "Of course, of course. Don't worry." As if afraid Dumbledore might change his mind, he and the other board members hastily excused themselves and left.
In the now-quiet conference room, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Quirrell was the first to break the silence. "H-Headmaster Dumbledore," he stammered, "I-I feel a little unwell."
Dumbledore managed a weary smile. "Oh, of course. You still need to take care of yourself. It was Lucius and his friends who called this meeting so early. I'll make them pay your medical expenses. You should go and rest."
Quirrell walked out, a grateful look on his face. The moment he was out of sight, a triumphant smile spread across his lips. For the next week, he wouldn't have to worry about patrols. He could concentrate on finding the unicorn. He could even take some small satisfaction in the trouble Malfoy was causing for that little brat, Char. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of relief.
Even the voice of Voldemort in his head sounded pleased. "Lucius is quite capable. We will reward him for this. And you, Quirrell, when I have the Philosopher's Stone, your efforts will not be forgotten." Quirrell's expression grew fiery, his weak footsteps becoming a little stronger as he hurried toward the Forbidden Forest.
Back in the conference room, Professor Sprout turned to Dumbledore, her voice sharp with displeasure. "Dumbledore, why did you agree to their ridiculous request? My Char is a prodigy! What right does Lucius Malfoy have to point fingers at him? If he dares to cause trouble for Char, I'll set a Cabbage-Biting Charm on his head!"
Dumbledore smiled bitterly. Ever since finding her grand-nephew, the normally gentle Professor Sprout had become as fierce as a mother hen protecting her chick.
"Don't worry, Pomona," he said calmly. "This academic review is just a pretense. Lucius likely just wants to keep us occupied for a while. I suspect he is not very willing to be doing this himself. In a few days, after we go through the motions, this will all be over. The greenhouse will still belong to Char."
His explanation seemed to calm her down. The other heads of houses looked thoughtful. "Dumbledore, you mean—"
Dumbledore simply waved his hand. "It is best we all know it in our hearts, but say no more. Since some people wish to cause us trouble, let them. We will endure it for a few days. Now, let's adjourn and prepare for this so-called review."
Though they nodded, the professors all left with a heavy sense of frustration. As if they weren't busy enough already.
Professor Sprout returned to her office, still simmering with anger. Then she saw Char, sitting there waiting for her. She quickly forced a smile. "Char! You're in my office so early today?"
But Char had already noticed her strained expression. "Aunt," he asked with concern, "what happened? I heard you were in a meeting."
She shook her head. If Dumbledore was right, and there was something deeper going on, it was better Char didn't know. "Oh, it was nothing," she said with a dismissive wave. "Dumbledore is getting old and senile, wanting to hold weekly meetings. We cornered him and gave him a piece of our minds." She quickly changed the subject. "What are you doing here, Char?"
He could see she was avoiding the topic, but he let it go. "Aunt," he said, getting to the point, "I would like a few more Shadowthorn roots."
She nodded absentmindedly. "Anything you want—" She stopped, her eyes widening in surprise. "What? Shadowthorn roots?" She stared at him. "Char, you can cast the Disillusionment Charm?"
He shook his head. "No."
She was completely baffled. "If you don't know the Disillusionment Charm, how did you cultivate the Shadowthorn roots?"
"I found a new way," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Professor Sprout was even more surprised. She had been so busy lately, she hadn't kept up with the academic journals. Had some herbalist made a breakthrough on the Whomping Willow? A new cultivation method for one of its subspecies would be sensational news. Why hadn't she heard about it?
"Where did you find this new method?" she asked eagerly. "Which journal? Which herbalist?"
Char hesitated for a moment. "It probably hasn't been published yet. And it wasn't a breakthrough from some master herbalist." He pointed at himself. "I created it last week."
Professor Sprout's expression froze. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in utter, stupefied disbelief.
"???"