The Christmas holiday was drawing near.
This also meant that half of Charles's first year at Hogwarts had quietly passed.
A hint of emotion flickered in Charles's heart.
In his previous life, while staying up late watching over experimental fields and passing time by reading novels, he had come across many Harry Potter fanfics. Most featured protagonists who could defeat Lord Voldemort or even Dumbledore before they had ever set foot in Hogwarts. Those who couldn't beat the "Two-Faced Man" by the end of their first semester were almost non-existent.
Compared to those characters, Charles's current strength was, frankly, a disgrace to transmigrators.
Yet a moment later, Charles gently shook his head, exhaling a faint puff of white breath into the chilly air.
He hadn't wasted a single day since arriving here. His conscience was clear.
He would move forward—steadily, step by step.
One day, he would reach that distant, far-off summit.
The fleeting sigh in his heart passed.
His attention returned to reality, and his expression grew solemn.
"Professor Quirrell's injuries were postponed by a full week due to the failed Holy Tree Potion."
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts class was also suspended for an extra week."
"But tomorrow, it resumes."
"That means Professor Quirrell will be discharged today."
"Even with the Weasley Twins' help, dragging it out by an extra week was probably the absolute limit."
"However—"
"It's enough."
A glint of determination flashed in Charles's eyes.
He glanced at his system panel.
Thanks to spending the last week brewing the Holy Tree Potion, the [Magic Perception Enhancement] icon on the panel now shimmered with a golden glow, filling nearly four-fifths of the progress bar.
But over the past two days, Charles had noticed the effects of training his Magic Perception were diminishing. The increase rate had slowed.
Golden-tier still seemed frustratingly out of reach.
He knew why.
His inherently weak magical talent had likely reached its upper bound. He had hit the ceiling of how much he could enhance Magic Perception through raw effort alone.
It was much like physical training.
Some people are naturally gifted—gaining muscle easily with minimal training.
Others, no matter how hard they work, might not see much progress even after a year.
Charles was the latter when it came to magic.
But his expression remained calm.
If talent couldn't bridge the gap, the system would.
"The new batch of Goldfish Vine I planted should be mature by now under the effect of the Troll's catalysis."
"Once I harvest them, achieving Golden-tier Magic Perception Enhancement will be natural."
"Also, Hagrid has been helping me look for Troll settlements."
"No results yet, but with food being scarce in snowy weather, Trolls will leave more traces while foraging."
"It should be soon."
"If I can tame even a small Troll settlement, my Magic Perception will increase rapidly."
His thoughts raced as he made his way toward Hagrid's Hut, just outside the castle.
But before he even left the building, he ran into three familiar faces in the corridor by the library—Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
They clearly had just come from the library, looking tired and a bit disheveled from prolonged research.
Even as they walked, they were still discussing something intently.
But when Harry noticed Charles, he coughed sharply.
The conversation stopped abruptly. The trio froze.
Hermione looked at Charles with an apologetic expression.
Ron's face, however, showed clear irritation, still nursing resentment from being bound by Charles's Incarcerous spell earlier.
But remembering how miserable Malfoy had been after crossing Charles, Ron held his tongue.
Charles observed them with mild amusement.
How could he not know what they were researching?
They were clearly trying to find information about Nicolas Flamel.
It was a small irony that Hogwarts didn't offer Alchemy as a course anymore.
If it did, Hermione, with her talent and hunger for knowledge, would've easily come across Flamel—an unavoidable name in any discussion of Alchemy.
Charles had learned from Snape that Alchemy had been removed from the curriculum years ago due to its high failure rate.
Alongside brewing the Holy Tree Potion, Charles had also been learning higher-level magical theory from Snape, including ancient alchemical texts like The Emerald Tablet and Corpus Hermeticum, which had been recorded in the Half-Blood Prince's annotated materials.
It had opened his eyes to the profundity of ancient magic.
Once, out of curiosity, Charles had asked:
"Professor, if Alchemy is so essential to magic theory, why did a genius like you specialize in Potions rather than Alchemy?"
"You even seem quite familiar with The Emerald Tablet."
Snape changed the topic immediately, grumbling,
"It's not that I didn't want to study it. It's just—Alchemy isn't hard. Really, it's not."
"But when you're drawing arrays, either the quill runs out of ink or the parchment is too rough. Understand?"
That was enough for Charles to get the picture.
Snape had clearly tried—and failed—at Alchemy.
No wonder genuine alchemical artifacts were so rare.
Even the four House Heads envied the Extinguisher that Dumbledore created.
With Charles's limited magical talent, Alchemy wasn't on the cards right now.
Unless he discovered plants capable of boosting Alchemy later, he would do better focusing on Herbology and Potions—disciplines that alone could consume years of study.
Pulling himself from his musings, Charles resumed walking and disappeared from the trio's view.
Once he was gone, Ron muttered, "Did you notice? He's been getting real cozy with Snape."
"I bet Snape's bought him off."
"And now he's heading to Hagrid's Hut. Probably trying to butter up Hagrid too!"
Harry sighed, troubled.
"Hagrid really trusts him."
"When I tried warning him, Hagrid got upset."
"I'm worried Snape's using Charles to get to Hagrid somehow."
Hermione, however, stood firm.
"Don't jump to conclusions. Charles isn't who you think he is."
Ron sneered silently.
After a long pause, he snorted. "Forget taking a break."
"We need to get back and keep researching."
"We've got to figure out who Nicolas Flamel is before Charles and Snape do."
Meanwhile, in the Medical Ward, Professor Quirrell sat pale and trembling slightly, watching Madam Pomfrey.
She frowned. "The injuries caused by the Biting Cabbage and lingering effects from the Giant Devil's Snare are mostly healed."
"Professor Quirrell, you're free to leave."
"However, your body's much weaker than before. Are you sure you don't want a few more days of rest?"
At those words, Professor Quirrell reacted violently, shaking his head with alarming urgency.
"Absolutely not!"
For the past week, he had endured the torment of the Weasley Twins' potions.
The Holy Tree Potion, though a failed concoction, still contained traces of sacred magic. For regular wizards, it offered resistance to dark magic and a modest health boost.
But for Professor Quirrell, possessed by Voldemort, it was unbearable. Each application felt like his body was being flayed alive.
Yet to maintain the ruse under Dumbledore's scrutiny, he had to pretend the treatment was working wonderfully.
Just remembering it filled him with seething hatred.
"I can't endure another day like this," he hissed through clenched teeth, face twisted with rage.
Catching himself, he quickly added, "I've been absent over a week! I'm neglecting my duties."
"I'm still drawing a salary from Hogwarts. It's unacceptable!"
"Madam, I must return to class immediately!"
Madam Pomfrey's eyes welled up.
"Professor Quirrell, you truly are dedicated," she said emotionally. "Alright then—I won't stop you."
As soon as he exited the ward, Quirrell spread his arms, inhaling deeply like a man tasting freedom.
A cold wind blew. He shivered.
His recent potion treatments had left him magically and physically weakened.
Even Voldemort had entered a dormant state, conserving power.
Quirrell's anxiety deepened.
Time was running out.
"I must act soon. Use Potter to bypass Cerberus and retrieve the Philosopher's Stone."
He decided—he would strike tonight.
"I know where Potter goes—he visits the Greenhouse every night. That's when I'll act!"
Meanwhile, Charles had arrived behind Hagrid's Hut, heading toward the area where a Troll was confined.
He didn't know what Quirrell was planning—but he could guess that desperation would soon drive him to recklessness.
He needed to grow stronger—and quickly.
At that moment, Charles heard the Troll muttering, "A... Abandon…"
"Abba... Abba…"
In front of him, golden-orange hues gleamed like swimming goldfish.
His new batch—over forty pots of Goldfish Vine—had matured!
Above each, brilliant reward orbs hovered.
Charles reached out—and harvested!
The light surged into his body.
A strange, long-forgotten sensation filled his veins.
Charles closed his eyes, listening to the song of the wind and snow—feeling magic flow wildly within him once again!
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