Inside the small, isolated greenhouse, Char let out a soft breath.
"Has it really been three days already?" he murmured to himself. "Time flies so fast. Staying in here, I can hardly feel its passage at all. Anyone else would probably be going mad after three weeks of this confinement. But for me… this is an experience to be cherished every single minute. I can practice my magic and tend to my plants without a single distraction. This feels incredible!"
He then turned his gaze to his system panel, a look of deep satisfaction spreading across his face.
The silver light on the words [Sectumsempra] was now more than twice as bright as it had been just three days ago. At this rate, a golden glimmer would appear on the edge of the progress bar in another day or two, signaling its approach to the next major node. A complete promotion to the Gold level within his three-week confinement was now a certainty.
That harvest alone was incredibly gratifying.
The changes to [Serpensortia] were just as significant. In three days, Char had repeated the snake-summoning spell hundreds of times. While the spell's fundamental mechanics were still frustratingly elusive, like trying to grasp smoke, his proficiency with the spell itself had skyrocketed. The bronze luster was now shot through with a brilliant silver light. It wasn't far from a full promotion to the Silver level.
Char waved his wand casually. A plume of smoke erupted, and a black snake, now over four meters long, materialized on the floor. It hissed and swam forward, venom dripping from its fangs. Both its size and its fluid, aggressive movements had improved dramatically. He nodded with satisfaction, a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. The potential of this spell was quite good. If he could practice it to a very high level, perhaps he could one day summon a beast on par with a thousand-year-old basilisk, or even the great serpents of myth!
Of course, for now, those were just fantasies. Char shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Back to practice. I'll strive to comprehend the underlying changes of this spell as soon as possible. Even if I only understand a little, it will be enough to push my Transfiguration to the Bronze level, which will in turn raise all my other magical skills."
Just as he was about to continue, a small hole opened in the magical barrier outside. The day's delivery of food, water, and potion ingredients for the greenhouse was brought in. After three days, he had become accustomed to this routine. Though his powerful physique meant he could go days without eating, Professor Sprout, worried he would become malnourished, had arranged for the Hufflepuff house-elves to prepare a sumptuous medicinal meal for him every day. Char could only smile at her concern, but he had to admit, the delicious food from the kitchens was a welcome break in his otherwise monotonous life.
He took the tray as usual, but this time, he noticed a piece of parchment tucked beneath the food. Surprise flickered across his face. Dumbledore's protective barrier was like a magical firewall, with an extremely strong filtering capability. Nothing was supposed to get through except the bare necessities. So what was this?
His eyes fell upon it, and words began to slowly appear on the parchment's surface.
Want to be free? Want to escape this confinement? Do you think this is all unfair? Why are you being treated this way? Char, I can help you. I can give you the power to enforce your own justice.
As the words emerged, Char's pupils contracted sharply.
Outside the greenhouse, Quirrell, a strange smile on his face, slowly turned away. Dumbledore's barrier was indeed powerful. If it were a simple seal, there would have been nothing he could do. But because it had a filtering mechanism, it was complex. And the more complex something is, the more likely it is to have loopholes. Quirrell had been a genius student, and now, influenced by Voldemort, his magical understanding was greater than ever. After three days of intense study, he had finally found a vulnerability. He had cast a Confundus Charm on a piece of communicative parchment, tricking the barrier into thinking it was a piece of "food."
He didn't believe for a second that after three days of being locked up, Char wouldn't have any complaints. He was certain the boy would be moved by his offer. And as soon as Char started writing back, Quirrell was confident he could use the insights into the human heart he'd gained from Voldemort to easily pry the secrets of the mutated Devil's Snare from him.
And then? It's time to wait for the harvest.
Back in the greenhouse, Char's face was as black as the bottom of a pot. Seriously? I'm having a perfectly good time in here, enjoying delicious food and making great progress, and now some piece of filth has to sneak in and ruin it? He didn't even need to think to know who was behind this. Will Quirrell ever stop?!
He took a deep breath. Dumbledore's barrier should have blocked anything with the taint of dark magic. But just in case, he wasn't taking any chances. He didn't even want to look at the parchment. He immediately walked over to his Guardian Trees, which were now much taller than before, and gently touched one of the saplings. A wave of sacred, protective magic washed over him, and he finally felt himself relax.
With a wave of his wand, he tore the parchment into shreds and then, for good measure, buried the pieces in the soil near the Guardian Tree's roots. That way, any lingering dark magic on the parchment would be neutralized. After all, when dealing with a man possessed by the Dark Lord, one could never be too cautious.
Having finished, he moved to the other side of the greenhouse to continue his practice.
In his room, Quirrell waited for a response. A minute passed. Then another. Char's reply never appeared on the corresponding parchment in his hand. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The boy didn't react? Is he being too cautious? He shook his head. Yes, students are often timid. He needs more motivation.
He picked up his quill and began to write line after line of bewitching words. In the greenhouse, ink flowed across the buried scraps of parchment, and wisps of faint, manipulative magic emanated from the script. But the next moment, under the sacred power of the Guardian Tree, the magic was annihilated into nothingness.
Quirrell wrote for the better part of an hour, until his wrist was sore. Still, nothing. His expression soured. "Damn child! Why are you so defensive? I've written so much, and not a single response! Does he have no manners?"
An even more unpleasant thought occurred to him. Has he already thrown my parchment away? He gritted his teeth, but soon forced himself to calm down. It has only been three days. It's understandable that his anger and dissatisfaction haven't reached their peak yet. But as time goes on, he can't possibly remain content. I will continue the offensive!
The next morning, after carefully checking that the ink on the parchment scraps had completely vanished, Char breathed a sigh of relief. But soon, the barrier was breached again. With today's breakfast came another piece of parchment. Char's heart sank, his expression a mixture of shock and anger.
Char, you don't need to be afraid. I just want to help you. Fairness and justice are things everyone deserves.
He didn't even bother to read the rest. He repeated the process, tearing the parchment to shreds and burying it under the Guardian Tree.
Half an hour later, Quirrell was still trying to get his attention. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Char, are you watching?" But the parchment in his hand remained blank. This was becoming maddening. "Damn child! I've written so much, could you at least give me a response? What is this, the silent treatment?!" He wanted to grab his quill and scold the boy, but he suppressed the urge. I don't believe it. How can anyone be so content while being locked up? It's not normal! Hold on, Quirrell. You must persist. One day, he will take the bait!
For the next three days, with every meal, another parchment arrived. It was becoming a persistent annoyance, something that stuck to him and wouldn't let go.
A full week had now passed. Char looked at the new parchment that had just arrived with his dinner. Is Quirrell sick? he thought, exasperated. You're possessed by the Dark Lord! Shouldn't you be plotting to steal the Philosopher's Stone? What is the meaning of sending me harassing letters every day?!
He gloomily repeated the now-familiar process, tearing the parchment to pieces and burying them under the Guardian Tree. As he did, his gaze fell upon the sapling itself, and he paused, a look of surprise and confusion on his face. If I remember correctly, these saplings weren't this tall before, were they? It's only been a few days. How have they grown so much?
He observed them more carefully and noticed a faint, hazy silver color on the edges of the leaves. His heart tightened. Could the parchments be poisonous? Have they damaged my trees?
He quickly checked the Guardian Sapling's information on his system panel and found that a new line of text had quietly appeared in its reward information.
[Extremely weak Occlumency blessing]
The text was so faint it was almost invisible. It didn't even have an Iron-level rating. But a strange light flashed in Char's eyes. Occlumency blessing?! That was a quality the Guardian Tree had never shown before. His eyes fell to the scraps of parchment buried at its roots. A guess began to form in his mind. Could it be… the parchments exude the magical power of Legilimency? And the Guardian Sapling, in the process of destroying that magic, gradually developed a corresponding trait? An Occlumency bonus that could resist Legilimency?!
It seemed to be the only logical explanation. And as he realized this, the gloom that had been building in his heart over the past week suddenly vanished. Occlumency. That was an incredibly good thing. He knew Voldemort was a master Legilimens, and he had been constantly on edge, worried that the Dark Lord might accidentally peer into his thoughts and discover his greatest secret. But with Occlumency, that would no longer be a problem.
His hatred for the daily parchments transformed into a burning excitement. After a moment's hesitation, he called Shadow over. The living shadow danced, wrapped itself around a quill, and scrawled a line of crooked words on the latest parchment.
At that moment, Quirrell, whose enthusiasm had been almost completely extinguished, saw a line of handwriting appear on his own corresponding parchment.
"Who are you?"
He shot to his feet, his expression ecstatic. "He replied to me?! I knew it! My strategy was perfect! I, Quirrell, am a genius! Now… how should I respond?" His thoughts raced. To gain the trust of a young wizard, the best way was to disguise himself as a member of the opposite sex.
A moment later, with a hand that tried to mimic a shy, delicate script, he slowly wrote a new line of text.
"Hello. I'm your senior. A very beautiful one. As for how beautiful… Hehe, guess?