Just as Char was immersing himself in his work inside the small greenhouse, the news of what had transpired was spreading through the castle like wildfire. The Hufflepuffs were still basking in the glow of their historic Quidditch victory when they heard that Char was being confined for three full weeks because Porgy Charmain had been seriously injured.
For a moment, the atmosphere in the common room turned from joyous to explosive.
"How could this be?"
"What does this have to do with Char?"
"I've heard of that Porgy Charmain. Doesn't he just criticize everyone in the herbology journals? Now he can't even handle a few young plants, and they're putting Char in solitary confinement for it?"
"That's not fair! Who made that decision?!"
But it was Dumbledore who had made the decision. It was Dumbledore who had set the magical barrier. After Professor Sprout's failed attempt to intervene, a cloud of helpless depression settled over the Hufflepuffs. Cedric clenched his fists, a sharp pang of regret piercing through him. He shouldn't have listened to Char. He should have gathered the others and protested. As for how it might affect his future career at the Ministry of Magic… Cedric's expression hardened. If being a model student with a perfect resume meant abandoning his friends, then he didn't want it. That was not Cedric Diggory.
But for now, it was too late. He sighed. They would have to wait until the review board left and then figure out a way to free Char.
At that same time, while the Hufflepuff common room was filled with sighs, the Slytherin common room, which had been heavy with the gloom of their Quidditch loss, erupted in celebration. Upon hearing that the review board had "forced" Dumbledore to punish Char with a three-week detention, they burst into cheers.
Draco Malfoy's face flushed crimson with triumph. He threw all aristocratic manners to the wind, jumped onto a table, and began waving his fists.
"I knew it!" he crowed. "My father is here, and we Slytherins will have peace! My father is here, and we Slytherins have someone to back us up! My dad is a school governor! They will pay the price for using such despicable means against us! So what if it's Dumbledore? He still has to listen to the board!"
The other Slytherins, many of whom had previously looked at Draco with a certain disdain for his repeated failures against Char, were now looking at him with renewed respect. The Malfoy family was truly the pinnacle of pure-blood power. Even Dumbledore had to bow to their influence.
Just as Draco was still gloating, Snape's cold voice cut through the noise from the doorway.
"Young Mr. Malfoy, I was going to wait until you finished bragging before I called for you, but I have been listening for three full minutes. You had better get down from that table. Your father is waiting for you in my office."
Draco's eyes lit up. He immediately leaped down from the table and ran out impatiently. "My father will definitely have more good news for me! Just you wait! It is my duty as a Malfoy to restore the glory of Slytherin!"
Snape watched him go, a strange, mocking curl to his lips. Restoring the glory of Slytherin? Anyone else might have taken that to heart. But Lucius Malfoy? Snape knew him far too well. The man cared little for glory; he cared for tangible benefits. When necessary, he would abandon anything, even the pure-blood reputation so many others valued more than life itself. That was how he had survived. This boy, Draco, however… he had lived too comfortable a life. It was time for him to experience some harsh realities.
After leading Draco to the office, Snape did not enter, instead speaking coldly to Lucius, who was sitting inside. "You two chat. Thanks to you, I still have to deal with those idiotic jurors. Lucius, do not give me this kind of trouble again. Otherwise, our little friendship will not be enough to stop me from cursing you."
Lucius laughed awkwardly. Draco, however, completely missed the venom in his Head of House's tone. To him, this casual threat was a sign of a deep, familiar friendship. It made him feel even more proud. He looked at his father, his eyes shining with excitement. "Father, what did you want to see me about?"
Lucius's expression turned serious. "Do you know what punishment Char Sprout is receiving, besides the three weeks of detention? He must patrol the Forbidden Forest for a night at the end of the semester."
At the mention of the Forbidden Forest, Draco's excitement grew. "I knew you wouldn't let him off so easily, Dad! I've heard there are all sorts of things in there, even werewolves! That stupid boy might get eaten by something!"
"At the end of the semester," Lucius interrupted, his voice flat, "you will find a reason to get detention as well. A deliberate violation of school rules, or something else. In any case, you will go into the forest with him."
The words hit Draco like a physical blow. His expression froze. For a moment, he thought he had misheard. Let me… accompany Char… into the Forbidden Forest?!
"Why?" he finally managed to choke out, his voice rising hysterically. "Why should I have to accompany him to that damn place?!"
"Because this incident will leave a grudge," Lucius said coolly. "Even though I gave him a gift, it will not be enough to erase this bad impression. But if you are willing to accompany him, to experience danger together… then after one night, whatever happened in the past can be wiped clean. He can become a friend to the Malfoy family. An asset to you in the future—"
"Friend? Asset?" Draco couldn't accept it. "No, Father! I won't! He knocked out my front teeth! He used that giant flower on me! He's made me suffer so much! Why should I try to please him?" He looked at his father with pleading eyes, a look that had always worked in the past. But this time, Lucius's expression remained resolute. This was not a request.
Draco's head dropped. He gritted his teeth. "Father… I'll do it." He raised his head again, his eyes red, his voice hoarse. "But I need to know why."
Lucius sighed, a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he patted his son's head. "Because he is worth it, Draco. In this world, there are no eternal friends or eternal enemies, only eternal interests. Char Sprout has the potential to bring great rewards. He may even be able to help our family through difficult times in the future."
His voice dropped, and he gripped Draco's hand tightly. "Child, I know how you feel. I understand it better than you can imagine. I have bowed my head more times than you have. In places you cannot see, I have groveled. But it is because I bowed my head, because I knelt, that you can now hold your head high and speak proudly of the glory of the Malfoy family."
As he spoke, his mind flashed to the letter that had appeared at the Manor. The Dark Mark on his arm seemed to ache, a phantom pain that brought with it a deep, soul-crushing fear. He tightened his grip on his son's hand. "I don't know if I will be able to guide you in the future. You have to start learning now, my child."
Draco stared at his father, speechless. He suddenly noticed that the wrinkles on his father's face seemed deeper than he remembered, a profound sorrow clouding his features. Draco's own eyes began to sting.
"I'll learn, Father," he said hesitantly. Then, another thought occurred to him. "What about Harry Potter? He's the Savior. Do I have to have a good relationship with him, too?"
Lucius smiled, a sad, relieved expression. He shook his head. "No, Draco. Continue to be the Savior's insignificant enemy. Being friends with a savior often leads to danger. Being his enemy… is much safer."
After asking a few more questions about his school life, Lucius dismissed him. But just as Draco was leaving, Lucius stopped him one last time, his face grim. "Draco, for the time being, do not go out at night. Under any circumstances. There may be something terrible in the castle. I do not want you to run into it, not even by a one-in-ten-thousand chance."
Draco shuddered, feeling a fear that seeped into his very bones.
At that same time, deep in the Forbidden Forest, a shrill cry echoed through the trees. Silver blood splattered onto the snow, shining brighter than the moonlight. A graceful, beautiful animal lay still on the ground, its silver-white coat still gleaming. A unicorn, freshly killed.
A figure in a black hood rushed out from the shadows, like a starving ghost that had just found a feast. He didn't even bother with his wand, instead tearing at the unicorn's wound with his teeth, letting the cursed blood flow into his body.
The weak body was finally replenished. Quirrell let out a sound of pure bliss. Voldemort's rare praise echoed in his mind.
"Well done, Quirrell. Killing a unicorn is no small feat."
"To serve my master," Quirrell said, his face flush with success, "I must give my all." He then spoke more urgently. "Master, I will write to Lucius Malfoy again. Tell him to hold another review meeting, something to keep Dumbledore and the other professors occupied. Tonight, while the unicorn's blood is still at its peak, I will steal the Philosopher's Stone."
"Are you certain?" Voldemort asked, his voice a low hiss.
"I am," Quirrell said, his eyes burning with confidence. "I've even tricked that oaf Hagrid into telling me how to get past the three-headed dog. The rest of the obstacles… Devil's Snare, a flying key, wizard's chess, a logic puzzle… they are nothing but children's playthings. It won't take me five minutes to get through them all."
"Then do it, Quirrell," Voldemort said, his voice full of anticipation. "Succeed, and you will have everything you desire. I will lend you my strength when necessary."
Quirrell's face was alight with longing, as if he could already see himself standing at the pinnacle of the wizarding world.
As night fell, Hogwarts was a sea of turbulent undercurrents. The board members schemed. The Gryffindor trio fretted sleeplessly about the Philosopher's Stone. Draco Malfoy lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his father's words echoing in his mind: "Bow your head to your interests."
But all of this was irrelevant to Char, isolated in his greenhouse. His eyes were lit with the fire of discovery. After studying the Snake-Summoning Charm for a full day, he finally understood why Dumbledore had endorsed it. It was the key to unlocking a new branch of Transfiguration. He now understood the grand theories—Gamp's for changing form, Tolman's for changing nature. But to solve a practical problem, you needed a specific application. The Snake-Summoning Charm, Serpensortia, was the first step into a new field: Conjuration. The art of creating something from nothing. To master it meant he could one day create more than just snakes. Shields, swords, ropes…
The details of the spell clicked into place in his mind. The next moment, he raised his wand, swished it up from the floor, and then thrust it forward.
"Serpensortia!"