I heard Charles speak with what sounded like murderous intent.
Malfoy and the rest of the little snakes froze, fear spreading across their faces.
They suddenly remembered Charles's overwhelming strength.
Less than a month ago, Malfoy had lost several teeth to a flying cup—thrown by none other than Charles himself.
And now, despite the passage of time, none of them had managed to learn any proper magic.
"You, calm down!"
"Don't come any closer!"
"You'll lose house points if you beat us up!"
"My father is on the school board!"
"Don't hit me in the face!"
Malfoy backed up quickly, his face pale as he stepped in front to shield the others.
Charles sneered.
"Relax."
"I won't beat you."
"Since this is about work, let's settle it with workplace rules."
The next moment, Charles pulled out the key to the Potions classroom and locked the door with a click.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle immediately felt something was wrong.
It reminded them too well of what had happened on the Hogwarts Express—when Charles had locked the compartment and given them a solid beating.
What would happen this time?
Then Charles spoke again, calm and collected.
"The door's locked."
"It's already late. No one will open it until morning."
"If you want to leave, you'll need to get the key from me."
"You have two choices: either defeat me and take the key, or make me hand it over willingly."
The little snakes stood still in stunned silence.
They exchanged glances and began whispering to each other.
One of them suggested, "There are so many of us. Crabbe and Goyle are strong. They should go first and tie him up."
"Then the rest of us can rush him. He can't beat all of us, can he?"
But Crabbe and Goyle weren't dumb anymore.
Crabbe's eyes bulged. "Why don't you go first?"
"If you're so confident, go ahead."
"I'm not going."
After a brief argument, no one wanted to be the first to get smacked.
So the plan was dropped.
"Forget it!"
"I don't believe one person can beat ten!"
"Let's just outwork him!"
"Let's go!"
Malfoy, regaining a bit of composure, turned to Charles with a provoking tone.
"So, if we can process Flobberworms faster and better than you, you'll hand over the key and never step foot in here again?"
Charles nodded. "Fine. I'll accept your challenge."
The little snakes had been miserable handling Flobberworms. But now, spurred by competition and pride, they found new energy.
The honor of Slytherin was at stake!
Motivated by this sudden sense of duty, they set aside their fatigue and began working furiously.
Charles calmly picked up a basket of Flobberworms and began processing them with practiced precision.
Ever since his Magic Perception Enhancement had been upgraded to the Silver level, Charles—no, Roger—could sense the magical aura within the Flobberworms far more clearly.
His speed increased, his movements grew more refined, and the mucus he extracted was visibly purer.
However, Roger noticed something strange.
The magical strength in each Flobberworm's mucus differed slightly.
When he mixed them together, the inconsistencies created a subtle disharmony.
He recalled Snape demonstrating the process to him once—the mucus from different worms looked and felt completely uniform, as if it had come from a single caterpillar.
That was the mark of a true Potions Master.
Perfection in every detail.
Roger's expression became serious.
He slowed down, concentrating deeply.
He tried to sense the exact aura in each Flobberworm, extracting the mucus with care to maintain magical consistency.
His speed dropped dramatically.
The process was exhausting.
But Roger's eyes sparkled with excitement.
He realized that this method was sharpening his magical perception far more effectively than before.
On his system panel, the Magic Perception Enhancement flickered with a faint silver glow, gradually increasing in depth.
His thoughts turned to the upcoming harvest.
It was late October—right before Halloween.
The newly planted goldfish spider plants were likely mature by now.
If he could keep improving like this, he might be able to boost his perception to nearly Gold level.
That would be enough to advance his guardian tree project.
Motivated, Roger gave the Flobberworms his full attention.
Meanwhile, Malfoy and the others kept glancing at him.
Noticing his slower pace, they grew optimistic.
So much for working with Snape—they expected Roger to be lightning fast.
But their confidence was misplaced.
Time passed.
An hour… two hours… three.
Although the number of Flobberworms was dwindling, the little snakes were running on fumes.
Their arms ached.
Their eyes drooped.
Sleepiness pressed down on them like a fog.
At one point, Malfoy nearly collapsed into the Flobberworm basket.
He jolted awake and looked over—Roger was still working calmly.
In fact, he might have even sped up.
Worse, Roger wore a peaceful, even joyful smile.
Malfoy gawked.
"Is… is he enjoying this?"
"Is he insane?!"
He couldn't imagine how processing Flobberworms could bring anyone happiness.
But Roger wasn't just processing worms.
He was pushing himself closer to his goal—each worm another step toward his guardian tree.
Though slow and grueling, this was growth.
And that, to Roger, was happiness.
Roger glanced over at the little snakes.
Most of them were on the verge of passing out.
Suddenly, he stood up.
Malfoy flinched.
Could it be?
Was Roger finally giving up?
Then, a loud screech echoed in the room—chalk against the blackboard.
The little snakes shot upright, eyes wide with terror.
Roger said coldly, "It's only two in the morning."
"At your age, why are you sleeping?"
"Didn't you say you wanted to defend the glory of Slytherin?"
"Don't sleep. Keep working."
Their faces flushed with shame.
"This is… this is humiliating."
"Who does he think he is, being so smug?"
"We'll outlast him. Let's see who gives up first!"
So the little snakes rallied once more, working harder.
Three o'clock. Four.
Their fingers trembled.
Some began to cry quietly.
"How is he still going?"
"Isn't he tired?"
"This is insane!"
The tears kept coming.
"I don't want to do this anymore!"
"Let me out! I want to sleep!"
Roger smirked.
"Crying?"
"You think that'll get you out of this?"
"If you chose to work with me, then you stick with it until the end!"
"Weren't you defending Slytherin's honor? Giving up now?"
More and more broke down.
"To hell with Slytherin's glory!"
"I'm exhausted!"
"I can't take it anymore!"
Even Malfoy was questioning his life choices.
Why had he picked this fight?
Why provoke Roger?
All this—over some points?
He would've gladly handed them over now.
The classroom was filled with sobs.
Just then, Snape began making his way toward the Potions room.
As Head of Slytherin, he had to check on his students.
From the hallway, he noticed the lights were still on.
He saw silhouettes moving inside.
He was surprised.
"They're still working?"
This group had never left a good impression on him.
But this kind of persistence?
Even if they were a little dumb, at least they had willpower.
Maybe they were worth cultivating after all.
Then he heard crying.
He reached for the handle—locked.
Snape's heart sank.
"Wait… isn't Roger inside too?"
"And the door's locked… someone's crying…"
"Could it be—"
"Have they locked Roger in there and started bullying him?!"
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