Just then, the commotion in the Greenhouse drew the attention of the professors patrolling the castle at night.
Professor Sprout practically sprinted in.
"What happened? Robert? Are you alright?!"
Professor McGonagall and the others arrived moments later, only to find Quirrell lying unconscious on the ground. Their eyes widened in disbelief, expressions etched with surprise and uncertainty.
"This... what's going on?"
All eyes turned to Robert.
Robert, sticking to the excuse he had prepared beforehand, began explaining: from completing the Holy Tree Potion, to planting the Guardian Tree, and fearing someone might steal his plants, he had accidentally injured Professor Quirrell.
"I really didn't mean to."
He hadn't even finished speaking when the professors froze.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick stood in stunned silence.
"No?"
"Robert has already started cultivating a Guardian Tree?"
"And he's even completed the Holy Tree Potion step?"
They turned their gaze to Professor Sprout with astonishment.
"Pomona, why didn't you tell us about this?"
But Professor Sprout only smiled proudly, unusually smug.
"I told you already. My Robert is destined for greatness. Cultivating a Guardian Tree in his first year? That's nothing. He has achievements you wouldn't even believe!"
Snape's eyes narrowed, fixed on Robert with a mix of suspicion and surprise.
He had been closely monitoring Robert's progress with the Holy Tree Potion all week. Based on what he had seen, Robert's magical perception was still lacking. By Snape's estimate, it would've taken Robert at least two more weeks to succeed.
And yet... just from sensing the lingering magical traces in the air, Snape could confirm: Robert had indeed succeeded.
"A sudden breakthrough after long preparation? An unexpected insight?"
"Hmph. With his level of effort, it's not impossible."
The other professors now noticed the five Guardian Trees already sprouting in the experimental plot.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick sighed with emotion.
"Not easy."
"Truly not easy."
"Robert, you will become an outstanding herbologist."
To reach this stage with limited innate talent could only mean one thing: relentless hard work.
The fact that Robert was still in the Greenhouse so late spoke volumes.
For a moment, everyone congratulated Robert and Professor Sprout warmly.
It was only after the excitement settled that someone finally remembered—
"Wait."
"Did we forget something?"
Everyone looked down at the unconscious Professor Quirrell.
"Oh no."
"We were so focused on Robert's success, we completely forgot about Professor Quirrell."
"He should be alright, right?"
"Don't worry, Robert. Like you said, this was just a misunderstanding."
"Even though he's unconscious, I'm sure Professor Quirrell will be proud to know Hufflepuff has produced such a promising student like you."
"He definitely won't blame you."
However, when Professor McGonagall examined Quirrell's condition, she couldn't help but shake her head with a hint of pity.
"It's just that Defense Against the Dark Arts class will probably be suspended until after Christmas."
Shortly after, the professors carried Quirrell away, leaving Robert behind.
He let out a small sigh of relief.
Now, Quirrell wouldn't be able to move until Christmas break. Robert had bought himself some much-needed time—an entire holiday buffer.
For most students, this might not have meant much. But for Robert, it could be transformative.
Around Christmas, he would finally harvest two powerful rewards: the Piranha Algae, and the margaret herb, which could significantly enhance magical intensity.
With those, his strength would rise to a new level.
But before that, he had preparations to make.
His eyes turned to the system panel.
"Sectumsempra (Black Level)."
The black sheen hovered between illusion and reality, slightly richer than before—yet overall still dim.
Robert frowned.
He had been practicing Sectumsempra for some time now, but progress had been minimal.
In contrast, the Pruning Charm—a basic cutting spell—was glowing with an increasingly intense platinum light, inching closer to a Platinum Level breakthrough.
But Sectumsempra remained stagnant.
At this rate, it could be months before he even reached Bronze Level.
And Robert knew: the difference between Black and Bronze Level was enormous.
With simple spells like the Soil Loosening Charm or Pruning Charm, the gap between levels was notable.
But with a deep and dangerous spell like Sectumsempra, that gap translated to a terrifying difference in power.
"Where exactly is the problem?"
Robert flipped through the Mixed-Blood Prince's notes on Sectumsempra, reading them again and again, but still, he couldn't find the key.
"It seems I'll have to ask the spell's creator directly."
Early the next morning, Robert arrived at Snape's office.
He presented his question.
Snape frowned and changed the subject.
"There's nothing wrong with your usage of Sectumsempra. Just practice more."
"By the way," Snape added, "how's your Incarcerous spell coming along? And Muffliato?"
Robert hesitated, confused.
Snape had always been direct, rarely holding anything back. Why now?
Why was he avoiding the subject of Sectumsempra?
In a quiet voice, Robert asked:
"Professor… is there something about this spell that makes it unsuitable for me?"
Snape paused.
He was silent for a long time, then finally sighed.
His face—usually cold and unreadable—momentarily softened with confusion, regret, and pain.
He spoke coldly:
"Robert Sprout."
"Very well. Since you insist on knowing, I'll tell you clearly."
"Sectumsempra is a Dark Arts spell. That much you know."
"But all Dark Arts magic draws power from negative emotion. That's the essence of it."
"Sectumsempra is no exception."
"However, unlike the Unforgivable Curses, it doesn't require thoughts of murder, torture, or domination."
"What it needs... is pain."
"Not physical pain, but the kind that tears through your chest—the kind that leaves you hollow, like you've lost something precious."
"Only someone who's felt that kind of pain can truly master Sectumsempra."
Snape gave a bitter, mocking smile.
"And you?"
"Have you ever experienced that?"
But even as he asked, a painful memory flickered in Snape's mind.
That day.
The day he called Lily "Mudblood."
The moment everything shattered.
The moment he truly lost her.
It was after that moment that Sectumsempra came into being—born from anguish.
And after Lily's death, it became his strongest spell. Even more powerful than the Unforgivable Curses.
But Snape seldom used it.
He wished he'd never had the reason to create it.
And now, he hoped Robert would never have to master it.
But at that moment, Robert understood.
In the original story, Harry hadn't been the most skilled at basic magic. Hermione always outperformed him.
But with Sectumsempra, Harry succeeded on the first try—and the effect was devastating.
It made sense now.
Harry had experienced true loss.
The green light that haunted his dreams—the image of his parents taken from him—was carved deep into his soul.
And the sliver of Voldemort inside him only amplified that pain.
That was what gave Harry his unnatural affinity for dark magic.
And Robert?
"Have I ever experienced that kind of loss?"
His mind drifted back.
To his past life.
That day.
Exhausted from an all-nighter, he'd gone to his university's experimental plot.
He was hopeful—excited even—ready to finally complete his thesis and graduate.
Years of planting, of being exploited by an incompetent advisor… finally, the finish line was in sight.
Until he saw them.
Random people.
Picking his oranges. Laughing. Calling them sour.
"Young man, these are just roadside oranges."
"How is this stealing? We didn't know."
"Why are students today so petty?"
"We'll give you five yuan a kilo. Happy?"
Robert, in that moment, felt everything fall apart.
His thesis—gone.
Graduation—delayed.
His future—crumbling.
Even after being reborn, the memory still hurt.
"Pain."
"Such pain."
"The pain of a broken future."
On the system panel, above the words "Sectumsempra," the black sheen suddenly surged—far stronger than before.
At that moment, Snape, still lost in his own bitter memories, glanced up.
His eyes narrowed.
He sensed a familiar aura radiating from Robert.
"?..."
"No way."
"Can it really be that painful?"
"What exactly did you lose?"
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