Thinking of this, Snape's heart skipped a beat.
He knew just how much Professor Sprout cared about Charles.
If she found out that Charles had been bullied by the little Slytherin snakes...
She would likely go berserk.
Snape shuddered at the mere thought of the many bizarre and magical herbs under Sprout's care.
Without wasting another second, he drew his wand.
"Alohomora!"
"Alaho hole open!"
A burst of unlocking light shot from the tip of his wand, and the locked classroom door creaked open.
Snape strode in with urgency.
"Stop!"
"How dare you use numbers to gang up on someone? Slytherin House still has its dignity to uphold..."
But then, Snape stopped mid-sentence.
His expression flickered with uncharacteristic surprise.
The scene before him was not at all what he'd expected—Charles Sprout cornered and bullied.
No.
Instead, the little Slytherins were the ones in distress, eyes red from crying.
They looked disheveled, miserable, and utterly drained.
"I'm so sleepy."
"I want to sleep."
The moment Snape entered, their faces lit up like they'd seen salvation itself.
"Professor!"
"You're finally here to save us!"
Malfoy, with a look of grief and outrage, wailed at Snape.
"Charles Sprout bullied us! He wouldn't let us sleep! He forced us to handle Flobberworms!"
"You're not going to cover for this kind of classmate bullying, are you, sir?!"
But before Malfoy could continue, Snape's face darkened like a thundercloud.
His sharp gaze swept over the group.
His voice was low and deliberate.
"You're saying..."
"Ten of you were bullied by Charles Sprout—alone?"
"And you were the ones who started it."
"Now you're asking me for justice?"
Snape laughed bitterly, his anger trembling at the edge of his voice.
His lips even twitched with restrained fury.
"Is this what I've raised Slytherins to be?"
"You're disgracing our House!"
Malfoy and the others lowered their heads in shame under the weight of Snape's scolding.
Then Snape waved his wand.
Immediately, their eyelids felt like they were glued open, unable to close.
"Go." His voice was filled with disdain.
"Return to the common room and reflect on your behavior. Stop embarrassing yourselves."
"Sleep?" He sneered.
"With how you've behaved, you still want to sleep? Stay up and think about what you've done."
"And..."
He took a deep breath through gritted teeth.
"Five points from Slytherin!"
The little snakes winced at the deduction.
But Snape's anger was clearly genuine, and no one dared argue.
They sulked out of the Potions classroom in silence.
After they were gone, Snape's fury still lingered.
He couldn't understand it.
Slytherin, once a House of ambition and cunning brilliance...
How had it come to this?
How had things gotten so pathetic?
His eyes turned toward Charles, who remained in the classroom.
His expression soured again.
Snape's voice was sharp and mocking.
"Mr. Sprout has certainly made a name for himself today."
"You must be very pleased with yourself."
"Seems I've been far too lenient with you. You've grown arrogant."
He strode to the front of the classroom with a snort.
"Show me if you're really as good as you think."
"Charles Sprout, do you honestly believe you've processed those potion ingredients correctly?"
"Do you think you're my right-hand assistant now?"
"Have you even noticed the consistency issues with Flobberworm slime magic?"
"Answer me!"
Charles nodded respectfully.
"I noticed it today, Professor."
"I paid extra attention to it. Please feel free to correct me."
Snape froze mid-step.
The anger that had been burning through him suddenly faltered.
"?"
He walked over and inspected the Flobberworm slime Charles had processed.
He felt the faint magical aura emanating from the mixture.
Despite the turmoil from earlier, Snape couldn't hide his surprise.
Was Charles actually serious?
Had he really identified the inconsistency problem and worked to correct it?
While the slime still wasn't perfectly uniform, it was a substantial improvement from before.
By Snape's standards, it was just barely up to par.
He gave the bottle a long, thoughtful look.
His rage began to fade.
Instead, he felt a complicated mix of emotion.
Was Charles a potions genius?
No.
Not at all.
He wasn't even close.
At best, he was a hardworking student who had progressed faster than most.
When Snape was Charles' age, he had already far surpassed this level.
But then again, Snape had been gifted.
Charles wasn't.
Snape imagined himself in Charles' shoes—without natural talent.
Would he have made the same strides?
Probably not.
To reach this quality of Flobberworm slime with that kind of limited talent...
Snape couldn't help but be moved.
And at the same time, filled with pity.
What a waste.
So much effort, and yet...
If Charles had just a bit more talent, he might have gone far.
But fate was cruel.
It gave Charles diligence without brilliance.
Sure, at this stage, he could still improve with enough practice.
But as time went on, those with limited talent hit bottlenecks they could never break through.
Thinking this, Snape's anger finally melted away.
He picked up the large bottle of slime again.
After a pause, he spoke in a low tone.
"Since you've worked hard and lightened some of my burden..."
"I'll grant you one request—so long as it's not unreasonable."
"Think carefully before you ask."
Charles' eyes lit up with surprise and gratitude.
A promise from the Potions Master—especially Snape—was no small thing.
If he pushed, Snape might even give him a dose of Felix Felicis.
But Charles already knew exactly what he wanted.
Without hesitation, he said:
"Professor, I want to learn from you how to prepare the Holy Tree Potion."
Snape's pupils contracted sharply.
He was startled.
Holy Tree Potion?
That was an herbology-based potion used only in the second stage of cultivating the Guardian Tree.
Had Charles already reached that stage?
After a long pause, Snape looked at him, face unreadable.
"You want me to teach you potions?"
"Do you not know that I only tutor students who score an 'Outstanding' on their Potions OWLs?"
Charles looked momentarily disappointed.
Snape noticed and smirked.
Then, after a brief moment, he said flatly:
"Starting next week, every Saturday night after your regular duties..."
"I'll give you two hours of personal instruction."
"But if you're too dim, don't blame me when I kick you out."
With that, he turned and left the classroom.
Charles stood there, smiling.
Whatever the method...
The goal had been achieved.
His schedule, already packed, would now be even busier.
Glow mushrooms, goldfish plants, piranha algae...
Spell practice, Quidditch training, potion ingredient processing...
And now, weekly potions instruction from Snape.
Free time?
Practically nonexistent.
But Charles welcomed it.
He thrived in this kind of intense routine.
Sweat more in peacetime, cry less in wartime.
Even with the planting system helping him, his own efforts were key.
He never wanted to look back and regret not trying harder.
Quickly refocusing, Charles resumed what he'd been doing—searching the classroom lockers.
It wasn't until dawn that he finally finished organizing everything and left the classroom.
"All the lockers in this classroom have been searched."
"It seems the Half-Blood Prince's textbook isn't here."
"Only five classrooms left."
"If I'm slow, I'll find it in half a month."
"If I'm lucky, maybe sooner."
He went about his daily life with calm and purpose.
Attending classes, nurturing plants, practicing magic, playing Quidditch...
And with Malfoy and the others no longer daring to provoke him, he faced no more trouble.
Each day passed in a blur of effort and fulfillment.
And then, before he knew it—
A week had flown by.
The castle had begun its Halloween preparations.
Pumpkin-themed decorations appeared, and excited whispers filled the corridors.
"Halloween's coming up," Charles realized.
"Time flies. The semester's already halfway through."
He shook the thoughts away.
There was no time to get sentimental.
He was making the most of every day—and he had no regrets.
He refocused on his current task.
His gaze fell on the final locker in the corner of the Potions classroom.
Opening it, he froze.
Among the scattered mess inside, one particular textbook stood out:
"Advanced Magical Potion-Making."
Charles' heart began to race.
He opened the cover slowly.
There, on the first page, was a handwritten note:
"This book is the property of——"
"The Half-Blood Prince."
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