HP: The Boy who Planted

When Char's words rang out, laced with a sharp edge that seemed almost dangerous, Malfoy and the other little snakes froze in horror. For a moment, the memory of Char's extraordinary strength returned with full force. It hadn't even been a month since Malfoy had his teeth knocked out by a cup Char had thrown at him. And in the time since, none of them had really learned any magic that could stand up to him.

"You—calm down!" Malfoy stammered, holding up his hands defensively. "Don't come over here!"

"You'll get points deducted for beating up your classmates," another Slytherin piped up, fear in his voice.

"My father is the school director…" Malfoy tried, his voice wavering.

"Don't hit people in the face!" someone else squeaked, ducking behind Malfoy.

Char sneered, shaking his head. "Rest assured. I won't beat you. Since this is a workplace matter, let's solve it using workplace rules."

With a click, Char took out the key to the Potions classroom and locked the door. The sound echoed ominously in the silent room.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle exchanged uneasy glances. The feeling in the air was all too familiar—just like that moment on the Hogwarts Express, when Char had locked them in the carriage and given them a taste of his strength. What would happen this time?

Char's calm voice broke the tension. "The classroom door is locked. It's late at night. No one will come to open the door until dawn. So anyone who wants to get out has to get the key from me. You have two choices: either you beat me and take the key, or you force me to hand it over."

The little snakes stared at him, stunned. After a moment, they began to whisper among themselves.

"There are so many of us," one suggested. "Crabbe and Goyle are strong, they should go first and tie up Char. Then we can all rush forward together. Can Char really beat all of us?"

But Crabbe and Goyle weren't so easily convinced. "Why don't you go first?" Crabbe shot back, his eyes wide. "You can do it if you want. I'm not going."

After a few minutes of back-and-forth, it was clear: none of them wanted to be the first to face Char. The plan was quickly abandoned.

"Then let's just roll up our sleeves and work!" Malfoy declared, trying to regain his composure. "I don't believe that, with so many of us, we can't outwork just one person! Ten to one, the advantage is ours. Let's do this!"

He turned to Char, voice rising with forced bravado. "So, as long as we process Flobberworms faster, better, and in greater quantity than you, you'll hand over the key and never come back here again?"

Char nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "That's right. I accept your challenge."

The little snakes, already tired and annoyed from handling Flobberworms, suddenly felt a surge of energy. It was their duty to defend the glory of Slytherin! A sense of mission swept over them, and for a moment, they forgot their fatigue and the itchiness on their hands. They dove back into the work with renewed determination.

Char picked up a basket of Flobberworms and began processing them with practiced ease. Since his [Magic Perception Enhancement] had advanced to Silver Level, he could sense the magical aura inside each Flobberworm more clearly than ever. His speed increased, his movements were lighter, and the quality of the mucus he extracted was a level higher than before.

But Char noticed something new. The magic in the mucus from each Flobberworm was slightly different. When mixed together, there was a faint sense of disharmony—a detail he'd never noticed before. He recalled the time Snape had demonstrated the process for him. The mucus Snape extracted from several Flobberworms looked as if it had come from a single creature, the consistency was so perfect.

Char realized then what made a Potions Master a true master: perfection in every detail. Aunt Sprout, as a master of herbology, must have achieved the same level of excellence.

His expression grew serious. He slowed down, focusing intently on the magical aura of each Flobberworm, trying to ensure that every strand of mucus he extracted retained the same magical quality. The process was slower and more exhausting, but Char was surprised to find that it trained his magical perception far more effectively than before. On his system panel, [Magic Perception Enhanced] flickered with a faint silver light, growing richer bit by bit.

Char's heart lifted. The end of the month was near—Halloween was just around the corner. The new batch of goldfish spider plants should be maturing soon. If he could keep up this steady improvement, he might be able to harvest enough rewards to push [Magic Perception Enhancement] close to gold level. With the added ability to increase his holding power in water, he could go even further. By then, he'd be ready for the next stage of guardian tree cultivation.

He took every Flobberworm more seriously, savoring the progress with each one.

Meanwhile, Malfoy and the others kept glancing at Char. When they saw his speed wasn't as fast as they'd expected, excitement flickered in their eyes. Maybe Char wasn't as unbeatable as they thought. Maybe, just maybe, they could win.

"Keep going! Victory is just ahead!" they whispered to each other.

One hour passed. Then two. Then three.

The baskets of Flobberworms were finally starting to look less daunting, but the little snakes' energy and strength were nearly gone. Their movements slowed, their minds wandered, and their eyelids grew heavier by the minute. The clock on the wall showed it was already two in the morning—long past their usual bedtime.

Malfoy jolted awake, nearly falling face-first into a pile of Flobberworms. He glanced over at Char, who was still working steadily, even a bit faster than before. What was going on? Wasn't Char tired?

What was even stranger was the look on Char's face. He was smiling, almost as if he was enjoying himself.

"Is there something wrong with his brain?" Malfoy wondered. "Is processing Flobberworms actually fun for him?"

He couldn't know that, for Char, every Flobberworm was a step toward greater magical perception—a step closer to the guardian tree. Each small improvement was a source of quiet happiness.

Char glanced at the little snakes, most of whom were nearly collapsed on the table. He stood up suddenly, startling Malfoy.

Could it be that Char was finally giving up?

But then came the harsh screech of chalk on the blackboard, jolting everyone awake.

"It's only two in the morning," Char said, his voice calm but firm. "How can you sleep at your age? Didn't you say it was your duty to defend the honor of Slytherin? Don't sleep—keep working!"

The little snakes blushed, stung by the rebuke.

"How can this be possible… It's so humiliating," someone muttered.

"Who does he think he is, acting like he's already won?" another grumbled.

"Let's keep going and see who gives up first!"

For a while, they worked with renewed energy. But as the clock crept to three, then four, their hope faded. Char was still going strong, while they were on the verge of collapse.

"No… how is he so good at this?" one moaned. "Isn't he sleepy at all?"

Some of the little snakes began to cry. "I don't want to do this anymore! Let me out, I want to sleep!"

Char looked at them with a cold smile. "Crying? You think you can stop just by crying? You chose to compete with me—now you have to stick it out to the end! Didn't you say you'd defend Slytherin's honor? How can you give up now?"

The wailing grew louder.

"Let someone else defend Slytherin's glory. I'm too tired, too sleepy…"

Even Malfoy felt regret. Why had he challenged Char again? Was it really worth it, just to try to get Snape to give Hufflepuff fewer points? Wouldn't it have been easier to just let Char have the job?

The Slytherins in the classroom were now openly crying, some begging Char to let them out.

Meanwhile, Snape was hurrying toward the Potions classroom. As Head of Slytherin, he knew he had to look after his students—even if they were being foolish. From a distance, he saw the lights still on, shadows moving inside. He was surprised.

"Have they really lasted this long?" he wondered. Maybe this class wasn't so hopeless after all.

But then he heard the crying. He tried the door—it was locked.

Snape's heart skipped a beat. "Is Char in there too? The door's locked, and someone's crying… Could it be—did they lock Char in and start bullying him?"