The sudden change on the system panel made Sharl's breath catch.
Serpensortia… straight from near-Silver to Platinum?
That kind of leap was nearly as great as receiving a direct reward. His fingers trembled slightly around his wand.
"What's going on?" he muttered.
It took him a long time to calm his thoughts and piece it together.
"Could it be because I was studying the essence of the spell itself?"
If he could fully understand the inner mysteries of Serpensortia, then his control might rival that of the original creator. That would mean Legendary-level mastery. Even a small step along this path caused his Charms mastery to skyrocket.
The realization thrilled him.
Perhaps he didn't need to grind Charms endlessly. Instead, by unraveling their foundations and logic, he could grow much faster. The gap between the two approaches was immense.
Still, his current magic control and perception were too limited. For now, insights were unstable compared to straightforward practice. But once his Magic Perception reached Platinum, the potential was staggering. His learning speed would soar.
His heart thumped with excitement. What does a Platinum Serpensortia look like?
It was his only Platinum offensive Charm—its effect would not disappoint.
He thrust his wand forward.
"Serpensortia!"
Smoke erupted, swirling under his control. The black serpent forming at his wand-tip felt alive, every movement guided by his will.
The smoke thickened, hissing twice. When it solidified, a massive eight-meter serpent dropped heavily to the floor. Sharl blinked.
Two heads.
A two-headed snake!
Though smaller than his usual conjured serpents, it was far deadlier. Two fangs, two sets of reflexes, double the threat.
And perhaps, not the limit.
Grinning, Sharl flicked his wand repeatedly. Each time the snake dispersed into smoke, then reformed with another head.
Three. Four. Five.
Finally, a towering five-headed serpent rose before him, scales glinting black, hissing in unison. Its monstrous form alone would terrify most wizards. Fear could break a caster's will, shattering their ability to hold a spell. Against such a beast, many would falter before even raising a wand.
"Interesting… the limit isn't size, but number," he whispered.
He dispersed the monster into smoke, then slashed his wand. The mist split into twelve fragments, each coiling into a venomous snake. They slithered forward in unison.
Individually weaker than the hydra-serpent, their numbers made them perfect for confusion, scouting, or pursuit. If he could reshape them into ropes or knives, their utility would grow even more.
Satisfied, Sharl lowered his wand. The Platinum-level spell had surpassed expectations.
But it wasn't Serpensortia that brought the widest smile to his face. His Transfiguration had just advanced to Bronze.
That, he knew, was far rarer. Bronze-level Transfiguration surpassed even Platinum mastery of many Charms. Few Hogwarts students could reach such a stage, and certainly no first-years. Even Hermione was still far behind.
When he concentrated, he felt it: a profound resonance.
Charms that had stagnated—Lumos, Soil Loosening, even Sectumsempra—suddenly gleamed more brightly on his panel. Their mastery jumped by leaps.
So Transfiguration acts as a cornerstone, he realized. Even with Magic Perception bottlenecked, it directly pushed his other spells forward. If there were no limits, some Charms might already be approaching Diamond.
In the future, when learning new spells, his foundation would be so strong he could start at Bronze or Silver rather than Iron. The efficiency would be terrifying.
And on top of that came a reward from the Guardian Tree: Occlumency Blessing (Bronze).
Truly, a windfall.
But the joy soon dimmed with caution. Much of this gain had come from tricking knowledge out of Voldemort. The Two-Faced Man would not forgive that lightly.
Still, Sharl steadied himself. Voldemort would have targeted him regardless, especially after the Devil's Snare incident. No point dwelling.
The only path was forward: sharpen his blade, strengthen his spells.
His gaze locked on Sectumsempra's half-golden luster. He clenched his fist.
"Strike while the iron is hot. Push it to Gold."
If he could do that, then no one could touch him without bleeding for it.
And with Gold-level Sectumsempra, handling the Devil's Snare's secondary nodes would be trivial. Training both at once was efficient.
Without hesitation, he immersed himself again, channeling his growing magic with relentless focus.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the parchment beneath the Guardian Tree, Voldemort raged.
He had been so close—one step from ripping the Devil's Snare secret from the boy's mind.
Quirrell trembled nearby. "Master, perhaps he tricked us… discarded the parchment once he got what he wanted—"
"Impossible!" Voldemort hissed. "The moment he wrote, he was under my sway. No first-year could resist. And a Hufflepuff would never be so shameless… unless…"
His voice turned icy. "Unless it was Dumbledore. That meddling old fool must have cut me off."
Hatred boiled in his sunken eyes. "Dumbledore… you deserve to die."
The outburst drained him. Quirrell staggered, feeling the weight of weakness return.
"Hunting the unicorn bought us power, but it's gone again," Voldemort rasped. "The boy's defenses are thin now. Once detention ends, we'll get it out of him. But first—we need more unicorns. Next time, I cannot fail."
With that, he sank into exhausted slumber. Quirrell, left shaking, burned the parchment to ash and dragged himself toward the Forbidden Forest.
Ten days passed swiftly.
Without Quirrell's interference, Sharl's days were steady and productive. He cared for plants in the greenhouse each morning, then devoted himself wholly to magic.
The results were striking.
Three days ago, Sectumsempra had reached Gold. Its cutting power nearly doubled. Where the Devil's Snare once resisted, its branches now fell like tofu under his spell. Though this meant the training benefit from the plant decreased, Sharl had already cleared its secondary nodes. Stronger branches would grow soon enough.
Even more surprising was Levicorpus, learned from the Half-Blood Prince's notes. It had advanced to Platinum before Sectumsempra.
At that level, the spell's subtlety astounded him. Its weight and duration improved, but more importantly, its magical trace nearly vanished. Unless an opponent was highly experienced, they wouldn't sense it coming. In battle chaos, it was almost undetectable.
One flick—an enemy dangled helpless in the air. Combine that with Sectumsempra, and even a careless Auror might fall instantly.
Sharl couldn't help but admire Snape's craft. The man had truly lived by dueling. His spells were brutally practical.
Breathing out, Sharl reviewed his progress. In three weeks, his magic had climbed to another tier entirely.
But tomorrow detention ended. And with it, safety.
The thought made his chest tighten. Outside waited the Two-Faced Man, likely enraged by Sharl's deception. Retaliation would be ruthless. Perhaps even the moment he stepped out.
He dared not waste his final day. Further spell breakthroughs were impossible in such short time. But there was one thing he could do: combat practice.
His gaze shifted to the Devil's Snare and Shadow Thorns he had nurtured. Their growth under his care was impressive—thicker, sharper, deadlier. Against someone like Porgie Chalman, they would kill before he reached the door.
Sharl inhaled deeply.
"Shadow," he commanded. "Bring the Devil's Snare and Thorns against me. Full force. Use your Ancient Shadow Magic too."
The shadow servant obeyed instantly. Vines and thorny whips writhed, shadows twisting like tentacles.
Whip-cracks filled the air.
Sharl moved like lightning, surrendering himself to rhythm. Dodge, weave, strike. Yet the speed and density overwhelmed even his honed reflexes. Whips tore across his body again and again.
Sharp thorns sliced his flesh; shadows pierced like claws. His wounds healed quickly, but pain remained vivid, biting into his nerves.
Shadow hesitated, pausing. Dark letters formed: Father. Do you need rest?
Blood on his lips, Sharl grinned fiercely.
"Continue. No mercy."
The assault resumed. Wounds opened, healed, reopened. Agony surged, but Sharl endured.
Not for masochism, but necessity.
Against Voldemort, survival was a dream. But even against Quirrell alone, Sharl's odds were slim. If cornered, he could only buy time—long enough for Dumbledore to arrive. To do that, he needed sharper instincts, faster reflexes, greater pain tolerance.
Every lash hardened him. Every stab honed his edge.
Whenever his resolve wavered, images flashed: the Sprout family, his aunt, Anthony Dolohov—his destined foe, stronger than Quirrell, stronger than Snape. By fifth year, Sharl had to kill him. His current strength was far from enough.
So he gritted his teeth, pressed on, and fought until Shadow itself faltered from exhaustion.
At last, Sharl collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving, laughter breaking free despite the pain. Dawn's light spilled into the greenhouse.
And with it, the protective wards dissolved. Detention was over.
Sharl stiffened, heart pounding. He's out there. He gripped his wand tight, ready for the ambush.
But when he opened the door, no curse struck him.
Instead, a roar of cheers and applause washed over him.
He froze. Students filled the courtyard, led by Cedric, Hannah, Susan—and the entire Quidditch team. All wore new house badges.
At the front stood Professor Sprout, eyes red, wiping tears. When she saw Sharl, she rushed forward and pulled him into a fierce hug.
"Sharl," she choked, "welcome home."
For once, he was speechless. Warmth spread through his chest. He thought of telling her how well he'd cared for the plants, how the greenhouse thrived, how his research might make another top-tier paper. But Sprout only clung to his arm, murmuring, "You've lost weight."
He smiled bitterly, touched beyond words.
Then came a booming sob, like a church organ. Hagrid shouldered through the crowd, handkerchief soaked, face wet with tears and snot. He crushed Sharl in a bear hug.
"Sorry I'm late, Sharl. Should've been here sooner. But—there's good news! The best news, like Merlin himself is celebrating with us."
Sharl's eyes sharpened. "Hagrid… you don't mean—?"
Hagrid lowered his voice. "Yes. Norbert's hatching. Tonight."
Sharl's heart leapt.
Norbert's birth meant fresh dragon blood—exactly what he needed to cultivate the blood emeralds. With dragon blood, their growth would accelerate, their life-restoring powers magnified.
His gaze flicked to his system panel, where [Legendary Life] and [Legendary Strength] gleamed faintly.
Perhaps soon, both would ascend toward the mythical.
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