A faint bronze shimmer appeared on the word Transfiguration.
Even though his mind was thoroughly exhausted, Charle's face still carried a smile of satisfaction. If he continued practicing at this pace, it wouldn't be long before Transfiguration advanced to the Bronze Level.
And considering the importance of Transfiguration in the magical field, the qualitative leap brought by mastering it at Bronze Level would likely be much greater than the promotion of most other Charms.
The thought of this instantly lifted Charle's spirits. The fatigue that had been clouding his mind seemed to fade away, replaced with fresh determination and energy.
"Shadow."
"Continue!"
But his companion, Shadow Thorns, was now sprawled weakly on the ground, its dark outline trembling faintly. Its shadow flickered as if sighing.
"Tired—"
Charle glanced at its exhausted state and could only sigh helplessly.
Forget it. Let it rest.
Child labor still needed protection, after all. He wasn't a devil.
In a few months, when Shadow had grown stronger, then it could work tirelessly like an ox. But for now, Charle decided to give it a carefree childhood.
His gaze shifted to the empty plots inside the Little Greenhouse. Since the special nutrients inside could only temporarily sustain this one Shadow Thorns—the only one so far to awaken Ancient Shadow Magic—Charle decided not to wait around.
A bird in the hand was better than two in the bush.
He resolved to plant a new batch of ordinary Shadow Thorns. Although they wouldn't provide rewards linked to Ancient Shadow Magic, even the Gold Level [Shadow Enhancement] and Silver Level [Tearing Wound] were treasures worth cultivating.
With that in mind, Charle set out for Professor Sprout's office to request a few more Shadow Thorn roots for cultivation.
But upon arriving, he stopped short in surprise.
"Auntie isn't here?"
Charle checked the time.
It was still early for most young wizards—many of them were still asleep. But for an agriculture student in his previous life, and a Herbology Master in this one, mornings were sacred. Plants had their own rhythms, and dawn was the best time to tend them.
It was impossible for Professor Sprout not to be awake.
After asking a Hufflepuff house-elf, Charle was even more surprised.
"She's gone to an emergency meeting?"
"All the Deans and compulsory-subject Professors went too?"
Confusion clouded his face.
"What could be so urgent?"
Meanwhile, inside a conference room, the Professors' expressions were anything but pleasant.
"The Board of Governors called us into an emergency meeting first thing in the morning," one grumbled.
"And all just to conduct some kind of subject review?"
"We have to hand over all teaching materials from the past seven years—graduation rates, university admission rates, even trivial laboratory usage records?"
Even Snape, who maintained a tolerable relationship with Lucius Malfoy, looked visibly displeased. His voice was a dark hiss.
"If you noble lords have nothing better to do, you might as well go plant grass in the Forbidden Forest. Tile the bottom of the Black Lake, if you wish. But don't come here to waste our time."
The members of the Board of Governors were left speechless, their faces stiff with discomfort. Almost all their gazes turned toward Lucius Malfoy, seated confidently at the head of the table.
It was he who had brought them here.
Lucius's expression remained utterly calm, betraying no ripple of emotion. Slowly, he produced a report.
"Professors, please don't misunderstand. The Board has no intention of interfering with Hogwarts' normal academic operations. However, the issue raised at the last hearing is something known to all. Although that incident was later ruled a misunderstanding, we—members of the Board—unanimously believe such things should never occur again."
Lucius's cold, deliberate words carried across the room.
"At the most recent Hogwarts meeting, the matter of the Little Greenhouse being used by young Mr. Sprout was again brought forward. On behalf of the Board, I objected immediately. Yet Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Sprout argued that a precedent existed and still allowed the decision to pass."
"I reviewed the historical data, especially the records of past students granted access to the Little Greenhouse, and found potential irregularities."
He flipped to the report.
"For instance, the last student who earned this privilege did not receive it until the second semester of their fifth year. By then, they had already independently published several high-quality papers and even one in a top-tier journal. They proved their worth and, during that year in the Greenhouse, achieved two major academic breakthroughs."
"Looking further back, nearly every student to gain the Little Greenhouse qualification was at least a fourth or fifth year, already demonstrating stability in Herbology and consistent, sustainable output."
"In other words," Lucius concluded, fingers tapping rhythmically against the table, "the essential condition for obtaining use of the Little Greenhouse has always been sustained, high-quality academic contributions. By this measure, young Mr. Sprout cannot yet prove his ability for continuous output. He remains too young, too unstable."
The air grew heavier with each word.
"Therefore, the Board deemed it necessary to hold this meeting. Our purpose is to gain a clearer understanding of Hogwarts' academic systems and results, and to objectively review how public teaching resources are used. That way, the Board can allocate subsidies more effectively and aid student development."
Lucius's lips curled in a faint, cold smile.
"I don't think the Professors here would refuse, would they? Oh, and naturally, for well-known reasons, there is no need to review Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Dumbledore, what do you say?"
Professor Sprout's expression burned with indignation. This was nothing more than targeting Charle's right to the Greenhouse—an excuse cloaked in bureaucratic words.
The other Professors also looked displeased.
"Reviewing academic resources? Objectively understanding achievements?" It sounded noble, but everyone present knew the truth. This was harassment.
Snape's dark eyes flickered with calculation. He knew Lucius too well. Malfoy often acted domineering, but never recklessly—he always pursued benefit without burning bridges. So why now, of all times, was he provoking all Hogwarts' Professors? What gain could justify this risk?
Dumbledore, however, remained serene. His clear blue eyes studied Lucius as if peering straight into his carefully veiled calm, glimpsing the tremor of fear hidden underneath.
At length, the Headmaster spoke softly.
"Very well. I will urge the Professors to prepare the requested materials as thoroughly as possible. But given the volume, I must warn that it will take at least a week to complete."
At this, Lucius visibly relaxed. Relief washed over him.
"No rush, no rush," he said quickly, almost too quickly.
And as though fearing Dumbledore might change his mind, Lucius immediately rose and hurried out with the Board members in tow.
The conference room fell into heavy silence.
At last, Quirrell spoke, his voice faltering with feigned weakness.
"H-Headmaster… I—I feel rather unwell."
Dumbledore forced a wry smile, even managing a touch of humor.
"Of course. Your body hasn't recovered yet—you still need rest. And then Lucius drags you into a meeting at dawn? I'll be sure they pay your medical bills."
"Go rest now."
Quirrell left with a look of gratitude. Yet outside the chamber, a crooked smile stretched across his face.
This was perfect. For the next week, he would not need to spar with Professors during night patrols. Instead, he could focus solely on locating the Unicorn.
The Board had even added trouble for that wretched brat Charle—enough to soothe some of his resentment.
Voldemort's cold voice whispered in his mind, tinged with satisfaction.
"This Lucius is not without talent. I won't reward him openly, but secretly he shall benefit. And you, Quirrell—if you obtain the Philosopher's Stone, your reward will be greater still."
Quirrell's eyes gleamed with fervor. His previously weak steps grew stronger, his stride firm as he marched toward the Forbidden Forest. With the Professors distracted, this was his best chance to investigate the Unicorn's whereabouts.
Back in the conference room, Professor Sprout turned to Dumbledore with open frustration.
"Dumbledore, why agree to such unreasonable demands? My Charle has the potential to be a legend! What right does Lucius have to criticize him? If he dares trouble Charle, I'll plant a Biting Cabbage on his head!"
Dumbledore smiled bitterly. Ever since discovering Charle—her relative—Professor Sprout had been fiercely protective, like a hen shielding her chick.
"Don't worry, Pomona," Dumbledore soothed. "This so-called academic review is merely a pretext. Lucius likely only wished to trouble us with busywork. I doubt even he wants this. After a week of empty procedures, the matter will fade, and Charle will still have rights to the Greenhouse."
Sprout finally calmed at this explanation.
The other Deans exchanged thoughtful glances.
"So, Dumbledore, you mean—"
He waved his hand.
"It's enough for everyone to understand privately. Let them play their games. We'll endure, go through the motions, and then return to our work. Prepare the materials, and this nuisance will pass."
The Deans nodded, though their faces remained heavy. They were already burdened enough; now they had to suffer a meaningless review.
Professor Sprout returned to her office with a huff—only to find Charle waiting. Forcing a smile, she greeted him warmly.
"Charle! What brings you here so early?"
But Charle instantly sensed her troubled mood. Concern flickered in his eyes.
"Auntie, is something wrong? I heard you had an early meeting—what was it about?"
Sprout shook her head. Better he didn't know. If there were deeper waters behind this, Dumbledore was right—it was best to shield Charle.
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Nothing important. Just Dumbledore calling another routine meeting. We cornered him and gave him a good scolding, that's all."
Then she quickly changed the subject.
"Charle, why did you come?"
Realizing she didn't want to explain further, Charle played along.
"Auntie, I'd like a few more Shadow Thorns roots."
Sprout automatically nodded.
"Of course, anything you want—"
Then she froze.
"Wait. Shadow Thorn roots?"
Her gaze narrowed in surprise.
"Charle… can you already use the Disillusionment Charm?"
Charle shook his head.
"No."
Sprout was stunned.
"You can't use the Disillusionment Charm—then how did you cultivate Shadow Thorns?"
Charle answered matter-of-factly.
"There's a new method."
Her eyes widened further. She had been so busy she hadn't read the latest journals. Had a Herbology Master already made a breakthrough?
"Where did you find this method? Which journal published it? Whose work?" she pressed eagerly.
Charle hesitated.
"It hasn't been published yet. And it wasn't a Herbology Master."
He pointed to himself.
"I came up with it last week."
Professor Sprout froze, utterly speechless. Her expression stiffened, eyes wide in shock.
"???"
For more chapters
patreon.com/Ben479