Seeing Char appear in front of him with his wand drawn, Marcus Flint was stunned for a moment. Then, he actually laughed. He couldn't believe Char was so arrogant, or perhaps just stupid. After being at a clear disadvantage against Malfoy, unable to even fight back, he now wanted to take on a fifth-year?
Inside Marcus Flint's mind, the memory of being slaughtered by Char on the Quidditch pitch, a shameful record that would haunt him forever, resurfaced. He also recalled his father's letter, detailing how Char had humiliated and expelled him from the island. New and old grudges intertwined, making his expression even more gloomy. He would seize this opportunity to teach Char a lesson so painful that he would have to stay in the infirmary for at least two months. As for whether he could actually succeed, the thought never even crossed his mind. On the court, where wands were forbidden, Char's extraordinary strength was truly unmatched. But now, in a proper duel, he had no fear. He was a fifth-year student; he had learned more powerful magic than Char had ever even heard of.
His thoughts turned, and a ferocious glint flashed in his eyes. He grinned at Char. "Since you challenge me, your teaching assistant, then of course I'll give you some pointers." He twirled his wand playfully, as if the outcome was already certain. "Why don't you go first?" he said pretentiously. "Let me see what kind of magic you've got."
Char laughed too, no longer bothering to waste words on him. The Slytherin's actions had already made him very angry. The next moment, he swung his wand and lunged forward, a short and quick spell leaving his lips. "Serpensortia!"
A cloud of smoke suddenly exploded, filling the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. In the blink of an eye, the smoke condensed into a monstrous five-headed snake that was almost as tall as the ceiling when it raised its heads. A chilling hiss echoed through the room. All the first-year wizards fell into a terrified silence. The five-headed snake before them was immense, its scales a gleaming, sinister black. Hissing tongues flickered, and cold, slender snake eyes fixed on their target.
All five snake heads stared at Marcus Flint at the same time, their gaze like that of a predator spotting its prey, as if they could swallow him whole in a single bite.
Marcus Flint stood frozen, his face a pale, ashen white. His pupils had dilated, and the hand holding his wand was shaking uncontrollably. The scene before his eyes was something he could never have imagined in his five years at Hogwarts, where he had only learned to cheat in exams and play dirty at Quidditch. His savage energy could only be used on wizards smaller than himself. When faced with a monster that genuinely looked like it wanted to eat him, his courage shattered completely. With a choked gasp, he dropped his wand and collapsed to the ground.
The next moment, the five-headed snake swam forward, its huge body crushing Flint's. Even though the snake Char had transfigured was not as heavy as a real one, the impact still broke at least a dozen of Flint's bones. A teeth-grinding clicking sound echoed in the classroom. The other Slytherins turned pale at the sound. Some wanted Quirrell to intervene, but when their eyes darted to the podium, they saw that the professor's face was even paler than theirs. He looked as if he was on the verge of death, about to be scared to death himself. Let alone stopping Char, he was lucky not to have fainted.
In desperation, a Slytherin gritted his teeth and mustered the courage to say, "Char Sprout! You are suspected of intentionally harming a classmate! You—you must stop immediately, or you will be punished by the school rules!"
Char looked confused. "Intentionally hurting a classmate? Did I? Who did my spell hurt?" While speaking, he walked forward nonchalantly and "accidentally" stepped on the fingers of the hand Flint had used to hold his wand, rolling his foot slowly. Flint let out a bloodcurdling scream and then completely fainted.
"Oops!" Char exclaimed, feigning surprise. "Why is there someone in my blind spot? My magic is too big; it has a huge blind spot. When I ran over him, I thought it was just a speed bump! Why is he lying here? Isn't this a scam?"
The Slytherins widened their eyes, their lips trembling with anger. "You—who do you think you're fooling? Who in their right mind would believe you?"
The next moment, the Hufflepuffs stepped over Marcus Flint one by one, their voices filled with exclamations and curses.
"Oops! Why is there a person lying here?"
"What is he doing lying on the ground? Who would notice him?"
"Have you forgotten the rules of practical training? You can't stand in the aisle. It's easy to get hurt by mistake, let alone lie down!"
Susan kicked Marcus hard. Pansy Parkinson, her face bruised and swollen from their earlier fight, shuddered as if the kick had landed on her. The experience of being pinned to the ground and beaten had left her with a deep-seated fear. An enraged badger was like a madman. She never wanted to offend Hufflepuff again.
Char spread his hands innocently. "Look. We can't see him. Lying in a place like this, isn't this Marcus Flint's own problem? Do any of you have any objections?"
Before he even finished speaking, Malfoy yelled sharply, "I have no objection! I can testify that it was Marcus Flint lying there entirely on his own. Who can be blamed for this?" He also stepped forward. "Who can see him? I didn't see him, anyway." As he passed, he delivered a sharp kick. He felt a wave of relief. The Flints and the Malfoys weren't on the best of terms anyway, and that idiot Marcus was always being sarcastic to him. Taking advantage of Char's momentum to get a kick in felt good. Cool!
Char's gaze turned towards the rest of the Slytherins. They all shuddered, the arrogance they had before class completely gone. "No problem! No problem!" they stammered. They thought about it. The fate of those who had opinions was too miserable. Marcus Flint was already down on his luck; what was a little more suffering? One by one, the Slytherins quickly stepped over the unconscious Flint and fled from the classroom. Malfoy was the last to go. Before leaving, his eyes swept over the five-headed snake, still lurking in the room. His eyes were full of a fiery color. That spell is so cool! he thought. I must learn it myself, and become as good as Char!
After Malfoy left, the young Hufflepuffs finally breathed a sigh of relief, the tension of the fight draining away. Everything that had just happened seemed like a dream. It wasn't until now that they reacted.
"So we won, right?"
"Of course! I beat the Slytherin across from me until he started crying!"
"I knocked out his front teeth!"
Susan showed off her swollen fist fiercely. "I definitely gave that ugly Pansy Parkinson a facelift," she said with full confidence. "I should ask her for the plastic surgery fee!"
The kids all laughed suddenly. In the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, they had mostly lost their practical exercises. It had made them lack confidence. But after today's fight, a strong sense of self-assurance was clearly visible on their faces. They were no longer as timid as before.
"I don't think Slytherin is that great," one said. "They're all just pretentious guys. If you're afraid of them, they'll be proud and powerful. But if you confront them head-on, they're weak. Our house is still the strongest!"
"But the strongest one is still Char," another added. Their eyes fell on him. Having been absent for so long, they had thought he would need time to catch up. But now it seemed that wasn't necessary. Char was omnipotent.
Char lifted the Serpensortia curse. Looking at the Hufflepuffs' fiery eyes and their equally bruised and swollen faces, he said helplessly, "Don't you feel any pain?"
Following his reminder, the pain in their bodies finally registered, making them grimace. "Ahhhh! It hurts!" "My face is swollen too!" "If you hit someone, it hurts you too. I have to hit the Slytherin more gently next time!"
Char looked at them like this and smiled. A thought came to him. If this continued, what would these little badgers look like in their seventh year? Probably very different from the image of the house they started with.
He turned and left the classroom. Around noon, Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurried out of their Potions class. Ron's face was full of urgency and anticipation. He couldn't wait to know what had happened in the other Defense Against the Dark Arts class, especially Char's performance. Somehow, if he could beat Char in one subject, it would make him feel very happy.
Hermione looked a little worried. "Those Slytherins… they will definitely take ruthless action. I hope Char isn't hurt."
"Yes," Ron added, trying hard not to smile. "It's not good to be injured."
Just then, as they passed a crowd in the corridor, they heard bursts of discussion. "How tragic. Dozens of bones were broken. I heard it might take several months to recuperate."
The discussion made Hermione's face pale. Ron eagerly rushed into the crowd. "What happened? Who was injured? Was it Char?"
The news from the crowd was like a bucket of cold water poured over him. "Slytherin? No, you're wrong. This time, they suffered another major setback from Hufflepuff." Then came the details that made Ron doubt his own ears. "Char summoned a five-headed snake as tall as the ceiling. The fifth-year, Marcus Flint, fainted without even casting a spell. All the Slytherins present bowed their heads and admitted defeat, not even daring to raise an opinion."
Ron stood there, his expression completely frozen. The hand holding his wand lost its strength. His face suddenly felt hot and red. Before, he had been feeling smug because Professor Quirrell had called him a genius. But if he was a genius, what was Char? He suddenly felt like a deflated balloon, the energy he had to compete with Char gone without a trace. Hermione, however, seemed relieved, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly.
After returning to the small greenhouse, Char had already put the trivial episode out of his mind. His thoughts were racing. The plants in the greenhouse just need time. The first phase of reclamation on Sprout Island is complete. My magic has reached a bottleneck. For subsequent development, I need the Pute Fruit. The sooner, the better.
The plan that had been in his mind for so long emerged. After a careful calculation, he took a deep breath and wrote a line on the parchment. "Senior, I caused quite a stir in the castle today. Many students were injured, and the professors will probably be busy for a while. Tonight is our best chance to explore that island."
On the other side, looking at the words emerging from the parchment, Voldemort's eyes flashed with heat. It seems that today, the Philosopher's Stone will fall into my hands. Dumbledore, you old fool, you never dreamed that I would find the true hiding place of the stone. When you see me back in my prime, I'll give you a big surprise!
Quirrell hurried to congratulate him, also breathing a sigh of relief. After so much time, could he finally get the Philosopher's Stone? He had been feeling a strange discomfort lately, as if something in his blood was silently eroding him. He thought it might be a manifestation of the unicorn curse. But with the stone, all problems would no longer be problems.
At that moment, Char used a Portkey to return directly to Sprout Island. He wore his Invisibility Cloak, its purple thread casting a deep shadow. Eugene was with him, also under the cloak. He brought another disposable Portkey. With this, he had four ways to escape from Drya Island. He also carried all the potions Snape had given him, along with several bottles of prepared blood. After carefully checking his equipment one last time, he blew his flute and summoned the Kraken. "Tonight, You-Know-Who will come to the North Sea. Just as we agreed, you stay there. When the time comes, I will create opportunities for you." The Kraken's tentacles swayed slightly, and it dived back into the seabed.
With all his preparations complete, Char flew towards the location of Drya Island. Half an hour later, a mysterious, mist-shrouded isle appeared before him. He stood for a moment, then wrote the final words on the parchment, tied it to a stone, and threw it to the bottom of the sea. "Senior. I have found a leak in the island's protective magic. Deep under the sea, the magic is greatly weakened. We can use it to reach the island. I'll leave the parchment here to show you the way. I'll go to the island first to check for danger. Time is running out, come quickly!"
The next moment, Char cast a Bubble-Head Charm on Eugene, hid his broomstick among the nearby rocks, and then took the house-elf and dived into the sea. The so-called protective magic loophole was not a forgery; the Kraken had indeed told him about it. But everything else was a surprise prepared for the two-faced man. Lead him away from danger? Dream on. You've recovered so well, so strong… shouldn't you be helping to attract the attention of the Quintapeds? Char wasn't just using him to attract the monsters; he had prepared an even bigger surprise for after he had been worn down by the island's defenses.
A few minutes later, in the dark seabed, he saw the protective magic. It was much weaker here. He swam forward, feeling as if he was stuck in mud, but for his physique, it was nothing. A moment later, he and Eugene, wrapped in the Invisibility Cloak, passed through the magic. A terrifying and oppressive atmosphere came over them. The air seemed to be filled with an ominous energy. He had experienced the ferocity of the Acromantula, but in the face of the strange magic that permeated this island, the giant spiders seemed tame.
"This is Drya Island," he whispered, holding his breath. He cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, taking no chances. After eliminating all possible risks, he threw a dozen test tubes filled with his own blood onto the beach. As they shattered, the abundant vitality in the blood diffused through the air.
Instantly, the originally peaceful island was filled with strange, thin sounds, like human speech but also something else entirely. Not long after, a monster, two or three people tall, covered with red hair, with five human hands for "feet," rushed out from the bushes, heading straight for the smell of blood. Then, Char's pupils contracted. Eugene covered his mouth to stifle a scream of horror. A deformed human head extended from the monster's red hair, greedily licking the bloodstains scattered on the beach.
Even having seen countless terrifying descriptions of Quintapeds in ancient books, Char still felt a chill run down his spine. He truly didn't know what kind of dark magic could turn a person into such a monster. It was worthy of its 5X danger classification. Even Newt Scamander didn't keep these things.
But now, as he looked at the Quintapeds gathering on the beach, a strange look appeared in his eyes. He hoped that the "meeting" he had prepared for the two-faced man would satisfy him. He took Eugene and disappeared into the depths of the island.
Soon after they left, bubbles began to rise in the water again. Quirrell's large turban surfaced. Voldemort's ecstatic voice echoed in his mind. "We're through. It was a piece of cake. Char, that little one, is really reliable! Quirrell, go to the island and find the Philosopher's Stone!"
But at that moment, he felt Quirrell's body stiffen. "Master—Master—" Quirrell stammered. "Something seems amiss. On the shore… why are so many people looking at us? They—they are drooling?!"
Voldemort was also stunned. He quickly took over Quirrell's body. The next moment, seeing the scene before him, even his pupils suddenly contracted to the extreme. On the beach, dozens of Quintapeds were extending their heads and staring at him. Before he could react, they jumped straight into the sea. "Meat… Meat!"
Quirrell screamed in fear. "Master, it's a trap! It's a trap! This must be a trap to lure us here! Char Sprout lied to us!"
Voldemort gnashed his teeth. "No, no! How could he lie to us? He is loyal. It's Dumbledore! Only Dumbledore could do such a sinister thing!" Then, he felt even more relieved. He had recovered enough strength to deal with the current situation. "Dumbledore, you sinister old man, you could never have imagined how much strength I would recover. I want the Philosopher's Stone, and no one can stop me!"
He raised his wand, and a terrifying magic emanated from the tip. A black flame, seeming to burn the entire beach, soared into the sky and condensed into a monster as hideous as a Quintaped itself. This scene, even Char, far from the beach, could feel clearly. At the same time, more and more Quintapeds rushed towards the commotion.
Char breathed a sigh of relief. The chaos Voldemort was making would probably attract most of the monsters on the island. His own actions would be much safer. He and Eugene quickened their pace and headed towards the center of the island. And just as they emerged from the trees and came to a building where the island's wizarding family had once lived, Char's gaze suddenly became fiery. It fell on a dense patch of round fruits. The hand under the Invisibility Cloak suddenly tightened. The Pute Fruit. Found.
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