Looking down at the words on the parchment, Char took a deep breath. His heartbeat quickened slightly, and his palms dampened with sweat.
Even though it was only parchment, he was corresponding with Lord Voldemort—a figure who stood at the pinnacle of the magical world. Even weakened, he was not someone to be taken lightly. Quirrell's fate had already proven the cost of underestimating him.
Char was confident in his own abilities, yet he exercised the utmost caution. If he felt even the slightest hint of danger, he was prepared to abandon this risky attempt at acquiring advanced Transfiguration knowledge. If necessary, he would report everything to Headmaster Dumbledore.
Carefully, he calculated every word Shadow Thorns would write in reply.
The parchment shimmered. Across its surface, the word "Delphi" appeared again.
Junior. Why aren't you speaking? Does Senior's name not sound pleasant to you?
As the words formed, an intoxicating magical charm spread outward.
Even though Char was only reading and not directly confronted with the spell, a faint trance overtook him. For a brief moment, he seemed to glimpse a beautiful, alluring figure humming gently on the other side of the parchment.
But then the Guardian Trees stirred. Their branches swayed as a silvery light shimmered across their leaves, radiating sacred power. Under that holy aura, the seductive magic was steadily dissolved. The vision of the "humming Senior" faded away.
Char's heart pounded in shock.
Even through parchment, Voldemort's magic could exert such force?
No wonder, in the original timeline, a simple diary nearly cost Ginny Weasley her life. Voldemort's personal presence was even more irresistible. With a mere word, he had once extracted the darkest knowledge of Horcruxes from Professor Slughorn—a secret no sane wizard would ever reveal.
Fortunately, this time the seductive spell was directed at Shadow Thorns, not at Char directly. Plants could not be tempted by beauty or desire. And with the Guardian Trees' sacred power reinforcing him, the situation remained stable.
Even the young Guardian Tree saplings nearby seemed unaffected, their leaves trembling lightly under the holy light. His recently earned reward, the Occlumency Blessing at Bronze Level, shone with a deeper glow as it resisted the lingering temptation.
Char exhaled softly, then unstoppered two vials of Holy Tree Potion. With a wave of his wand, silver mist spilled out, wrapping around the saplings. The sacred aura deepened, like moonlight cascading over the grove, calming Char's heart. His tense expression eased.
Only then did he direct Shadow Thorns to write back.
I didn't reply just now because I suddenly had a toothache. Senior's name is simply too sweet.
On the other end, Voldemort froze. His face twisted into an odd expression.
Hmm?
This brat was… flirting with him? It was corny, but there was a trace of charm—almost reminiscent of Voldemort's own younger self.
Still, Voldemort's smirk soon returned. If this boy had the wits to banter like that, then surely his guard was weakening. The bait was working.
The quill scratched again.
I've shared a secret with you. Shouldn't you, Junior, offer me one in return? Fair is fair, don't you agree?
I've heard rumors that you cultivated a mutated subspecies of Devil's Snare. A remarkable feat indeed. Tell me, have you found a way to deal with them?
Char's eyes narrowed. So that was it. The "Two-Faced Man" wanted a method to bypass the Devil's Snare guarding the next challenge.
But in the original story, that obstacle had been child's play. First-years had bypassed it with Hermione's fire spell. For Quirrell, such a trap should have been trivial. Unless—
"Professor Sprout," Char realized. "She must have replaced the ordinary Devil's Snare with the mutated ones I cultivated—and somehow forced them to maturity. Perhaps she even gave them fire-resistant properties. That would explain why Voldemort is struggling."
The thought made Char chuckle bitterly. Voldemort was desperate for a weakness. But there was a problem: although Char had indeed cultivated the new strain, they were still immature. Aside from their natural fear of light and fire, he knew of no special weaknesses. Even under Legilimency or the Imperius Curse, Voldemort would gain nothing.
But that didn't mean Char couldn't play along.
After all, this was an opportunity. Voldemort was not only a Dark Arts master—he was also one of the greatest Transfiguration experts in history. Dumbledore's equal, in fact.
Unlike the headmaster, who guided students through riddles and hints, Voldemort favored direct exchanges: a secret for a lesson, obedience for power.
If Char could pry even a sliver of insight from Voldemort, it might be enough to shatter his current bottleneck in Transfiguration.
With a calm breath, Char directed Shadow Thorns to write:
The weakness of the mutated Devil's Snare? Naturally, I know it. I cultivated them myself. The weakness is—
On the other side, Voldemort and Quirrell leaned forward, eyes wide with anticipation.
But the words that followed shattered their hopes:
No. Headmaster Dumbledore told me this weakness must never be revealed to anyone. As a reward for keeping the secret, he promised to teach me Transfiguration personally.
Voldemort's expression darkened. So close! He slammed his fist against the desk, seething with frustration.
But he calmed quickly.
"This boy's defense rests only on a promise to Dumbledore," Voldemort thought coldly. "If I undermine that promise, his resistance will crumble."
The quill scratched again.
So Dumbledore has forbidden you. He promised to teach you Transfiguration in return? Interesting… But tell me—when will he teach you? Dumbledore is endlessly busy. He's never been known to give first-years personal instruction. What if he forgets? Or remembers years too late? And even if he does, can you truly learn from his vague, riddle-filled style?
The words struck deep. Char allowed Shadow Thorns to hesitate, scratching out stuttering replies.
This— I… No way— Then what should I do?
Voldemort's eyes gleamed. The boy's walls were cracking. Time to strike.
Since Dumbledore hasn't paid you yet, there's no binding contract. You could reveal this tiny secret to me. I wouldn't harm you. In exchange, I could guide you in Transfiguration. Perhaps my methods might even suit you better than Dumbledore's.
The hesitation deepened. Text appeared, then was hastily erased, only to appear again. Voldemort watched with growing certainty.
Humans, once tempted, needed only a little push before convincing themselves.
Finally, a line remained:
Can you teach me Transfiguration first?
Voldemort's lips curled in triumph. Resistance? Hardly. This was surrender, thinly veiled.
He answered immediately:
Of course. What do you want to know?
Char's hand clenched into a fist. He forced his heartbeat steady, whispering inwardly: Calm down. The closer to success, the greater the danger. One mistake could be fatal.
At last, he guided Shadow Thorns to pose his question:
I've been studying Serpensortia—the spell that conjures a snake from smoke. The process is complex: first conjuring smoke, then transfiguring it into a living creature. I tried to master it by focusing on a single scale, then building upward. But I've made no progress. Do you have any insight, Senior?
Voldemort blinked. For a moment, genuine surprise flickered in his eyes, followed by admiration.
Most first-years barely sought to cast spells correctly. Yet this boy was analyzing the foundations of magic itself. In that curiosity, Voldemort saw a reflection of his own youth.
Yes, their talents differed vastly, but Voldemort knew such drive was priceless. And improving talent… well, he had found ways. His own Dark Arts Transfigurations had reshaped his body, blood, and magic, granting him sharper perception and greater strength—though at the cost of his once-handsome face.
If this boy truly became his pawn, perhaps he would share such secrets with him one day.
For now, he answered with rare sincerity:
Studying the parts in isolation is a sound method in many disciplines. But not in Transfiguration. Transfiguration is holistic—every part is linked. Isolating a single detail severs those links, leaving you without progress. You must begin from the whole, but simplify. When conjuring a snake, do not fixate on scales, fangs, or eyes. Focus instead on the smoke's outline shifting into the snake's outline. Remember: "As above, so below; as below, so above; to accomplish the miracles of the one thing."
Char's eyes widened as though lightning had struck him. A thousand doubts dissolved instantly. Inspiration surged through him like fire. Voldemort's explanation was sharp, precise, and transformative.
Without hesitation, Char had Shadow Thorns reply:
Senior, I'm going to take a bath.
Then he tore the parchment into shreds and buried them beneath the Guardian Tree.
On the other side, Voldemort froze.
Bath? Now?!
His quill scratched furiously across parchment after parchment, but there was no reply—only the faint rustle of saplings in the holy grove.
Char had no intention of continuing. He had obtained what he wanted. Anything more would be greed, and greed would be his downfall.
He closed his eyes, waiting for his heartbeat to slow. Then he opened them again, wand raised.
"Focus on the whole, not the parts. As above, so below…"
He flicked his wand.
"Serpensortia!"
Smoke burst forth, coiling and shifting. In a blink, it solidified into a sleek, venomous serpent that hissed and writhed across the ground.
This time Char did not blink. He stared intently at the transformation, at the overall shift from smoke's outline to the snake's form. His countless failed attempts, though misguided, had built a foundation. Now, with the correct approach, they all crystallized into success.
The barriers shattered. On his system panel, the bronze glow of Transfiguration deepened and brightened—ascending.
At the same time, the spell Serpensortia surged wildly. Silver light blazed, turned to gold, and at last touched the edge of platinum brilliance.
Char's breath caught.
"This is…?!"
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