Looking at the words materializing on the parchment, even Char, who already had a low opinion of Quirrell's character and integrity, was left a little dumbfounded.
Seriously? he thought, his cheek twitching. He's pretending to be a beautiful senior girl? And he wants me to guess who she is?
As he reeled from the sheer absurdity of it, a question couldn't help but arise in his mind. Doesn't Quirrell already know how to get past the three-headed dog? Why is he still pestering me like this? What does he want? And how should I deal with him?
Just as Char was frowning in thought, he noticed that Shadow had already taken the initiative, wrapping its tendrils around the quill and quickly writing a reply.
"Really? Which senior are you? How beautiful are you?"
On the other side of the magical connection, Quirrell's face lit up with joy. His disguise as a beautiful upperclassman had worked perfectly, piquing the boy's interest. Ah, after all, he is just a first-year wizard. So immature. With a little more manipulation, he was sure he could get the weakness of the mutated Devil's Snare out of him.
He picked up his quill again. "Hehe, if I told you my name directly, I'd be too shy. Oh, but you haven't told me yet… what kind of person do you like?"
Shadow seemed to consider the question for a moment before replying. "The kind with lots of thorns. The more thorns, the better. And the harder, the better."
Quirrell paused, his hand frozen over the parchment. He was in shock. What? Are the young wizards these days this… strange? Or am I just too old to keep up? A moment later, he gritted his teeth and let out a sigh. "Your hobby is certainly unique. As expected of you. You know, coincidentally, I also happen to like thorns. My roommates, they all call me… ah, the Queen of Thorns."
Char watched the bizarre conversation unfold on the parchment and felt a strange sense of relief. Shadow and Quirrell… were actually chatting? It was perfect. He wanted nothing to do with this conversation. The thought of Quirrell, of all people, speaking coquettishly from behind a piece of parchment was enough to give him goosebumps.
Letting Shadow handle it was the ideal solution. Legilimency was a magic that targeted the human mind; he had never heard of it being used on plants or animals. The magic would have no effect on Shadow, and it would keep Quirrell occupied, freeing Char up to practice his own magic.
He gave Shadow a few simple instructions—don't say anything you shouldn't—and then handed over the parchment and quill. As he turned away, he glanced back at the parchment, which was already filling with dense, enthusiastic handwriting from Quirrell. A strange smile touched Char's lips. If Quirrell only knew he was trying to seduce a patch of Shadowthorns, I wonder what his expression would be.
The smile quickly faded, replaced by a more serious expression. Quirrell's methods were foolish, yes, but if not for Dumbledore's protective barrier, he would likely be using far more direct and dangerous tactics. Once his confinement was over, Quirrell would surely not give up. The thought made his heart sink. Desperate, Quirrell had likely already hunted unicorns, damning himself with their cursed blood. A man that determined to get the Philosopher's Stone was at his most dangerous.
Char's eyes filled with a solemn resolve. "Before this confinement ends, Sectumsempra must be upgraded to the Gold level. And I need to hurry up with Transfiguration and the Snake-Summoning Charm." He cleared his mind of all distractions and began to practice with renewed intensity. The small greenhouse filled with the sharp sound of the Shadowless Curse cutting through the air and the hissing of conjured serpents.
Time flew. In the blink of an eye, another three days had passed.
"Sectumsempra!" The wand in Char's hand slashed through the air like a sword. A sharper, more powerful invisible blade swept across one of the new, steel-like branches of the Devil's Snare. This time, instead of just leaving a shallow scratch, the incision was noticeably deeper. He could feel a more subtle magical node on the branch being cut open by the spell.
The process was similar to before; for the Devil's Snare to grow a new shoot from this cut, it had to break through the lingering magic of the curse. This time, however, it was not as difficult. With the help of a few drops of potion, the plant's magic pushed through the barrier, and the reward light on his system panel grew a little larger. It was another step toward the plant's full maturity.
Char wasn't in a hurry to process more nodes, though. "With the current strength of my Shadowless Curse, the success rate for these secondary nodes is still too low. If I'm even slightly off, the entire node might fail."
He glanced at the system panel. The silver luster of [Sectumsempra] was now dotted with flecks of gold. It had reached the promotion node and was slowly but surely advancing. He was quite satisfied. "Another week or so, and I should be confident enough to handle them."
But when his gaze fell on the Snake-Summoning Charm, his brow furrowed slightly. He had become incredibly proficient with the spell, its attainment level now catching up to his Sectumsempra, but his understanding of its underlying transformative nature had not progressed at all. It was still like trying to see the moon in the water or a flower in a mirror. He couldn't grasp it.
He wasn't lacking in patience, but after thousands of repetitions with no progress, he realized he might be going in the wrong direction. No matter how hard you work, if your method is wrong, it's all for nothing. But he couldn't figure out what the problem was. The Transfiguration was vast and profound. Focusing on the details and building up from there seemed like the right approach. What was he missing?
With only ten days of his confinement left, a feeling of anxiety began to creep in. Once he was out, his progress would inevitably slow, and he would have to face Quirrell. A Bronze-level Transfiguration skill would make a world of difference. He had to break through.
Just as he was feeling depressed, he heard the scratching of a quill on parchment. He turned and saw that Shadow had split into more than a dozen tendrils, each wrapped around a quill, rapidly scribbling on the parchment Quirrell had sent.
"Senior? Are you there? Are you there? Are you there? Get up and chat with me! Didn't you say you enjoyed chatting? Didn't you say you weren't sleepy? Reply!"
Char paused and glanced at the time. 3:30 AM. He'd forgotten that Shadowthorns don't need to sleep. Looking at the Guardian Tree, he could see the result of their non-stop conversation. The [Occlumency Blessing] had progressed from barely visible to having a distinct Black Iron luster. One could only imagine how many words Quirrell had written to cause such a change.
He felt a pang of sympathy. Quirrell had been a genius student. If he had developed normally, he would have had a bright future. But now, under Voldemort's influence, he was pretending to be a girl to chat with a thorny plant all night. So miserable.
Char shook his head, about to turn back to his problem, when his gaze suddenly snapped back to the parchment. A strange thought struck him. That's right. Quirrell is a genius. His Transfiguration skills are by no means trivial. And since this spell might be related to Voldemort, asking Quirrell himself might yield some results.
He looked at the one-sided conversation, the stream of messages from Shadow being met with silence from Quirrell. The corners of his mouth twitched. He had wanted Shadow to give Quirrell a taste of his own medicine, but now he was worried. Don't tell me he's actually scared Quirrell away. Then who will I ask for help?
After a moment's thought, he instructed Shadow to write a new line. "Senior? Are you awake? It's all my fault. Was I too enthusiastic? Did I scare you? I'm sorry. You see, I've been displaced since I was a child, growing up in the Muggle world, and I've suffered from so much loneliness. No girl has ever admired me as much as you do. Senior, please come back!"
At the same time, in his room, Quirrell was lying on his bed, looking haggard. His initial enthusiasm had turned to complete numbness. Damn it all! He had never expected "Char" to be so talkative, and without a single break. And what were they talking about? On the first day, "Char" had insisted on pretending to be a blade of grass, threatening that if Quirrell wanted to sleep, he wasn't a real blade of grass, and he wouldn't chat with him. Quirrell had spent the entire night, crying internally, discussing which soil was the most delicious. For three whole days. His mind felt like it was about to split. He was ready to give up.
A cold voice suddenly sounded in his mind. "Quirrell. How are things going? Ten days have passed. Have you gotten any information out of that boy?"
Quirrell shuddered. "Master… not yet."
He felt a cold rage, not his own, burn in his mind. "No?" Voldemort's voice was like ice. "A naive child, in such an environment, and you can't even get anything out of him? Are you trying to delay my obtaining the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell?"
"No, no, Master!" Quirrell cried, his heart pounding with terror. "Please, let me explain!" He stammered out the story of his attempt to lure Char, including his disguise as a beautiful senior.
"Being able to strike up a conversation means success is not far off, does it not?" Voldemort hissed.
With tears in his voice, Quirrell confessed, "Master, it's not that I don't want to get the information. It's that… he's just too much fun. I can't out-chat him."
Still skeptical, Voldemort scanned the thick stack of chat logs Quirrell presented. His phantom scalp began to feel a little numb. He was in disbelief. What is going on with the children at this school? Is this how they play now?!
A moment later, his voice softened. "Quirrell. You have worked hard." Then, a hint of excitement entered his tone. "But we are very close to success. Look at the little one's latest message. He has taken the bait! Quirrell, reply quickly!"
Quirrell just stared at the quill, a look of pure dread on his face.
"Idiot!" Voldemort roared in his mind. "Never mind. Let me!"
Quirrell's hand moved as if it had a will of its own, grabbing the quill and writing in an elegant, flowing script. "My dear Char, I am so glad to hear you say that. Though parchment separates us, I feel as if our hearts are pressed together. Can you hear my heartbeat? I believe I can hear yours. Perhaps it is time we shared some of each other's secrets? In exchange, I can tell you my name first. My name is… Delphi. Does it sound good?"
As Voldemort's elegant handwriting appeared on the parchment, back in the greenhouse, the Guardian Sapling began to rustle violently, the silver-white edges of its leaves glowing with a hazy, bright light. The [Occlumency Blessing], which had been slowly progressing, was instantly covered in a Black Iron luster, fully leveling up.
This should have made Char happy. But at that moment, his expression became extremely solemn. This reaction meant the power of the Legilimency coming from the parchment was now much, much stronger than before. Quirrell's skill couldn't have improved so dramatically overnight. There was only one possibility. His online chat partner had changed.
Voldemort himself has taken over.
Char took a deep breath. He had never expected that his first direct confrontation with the Dark Lord would be under these circumstances. But then, his mood gradually calmed. He looked at the elegant handwriting on the parchment, a strange look in his eyes. When it came to magic, he couldn't even see Voldemort's taillights. But when it came to competing in an online romance with a student who had rarely even seen a girl… Char could only think one thing.
Voldemort? You still need practice.