Looking at the new line of words flickering on the system panel, Char's eyes sparkled with astonishment. After his Occlumency soared to the platinum level, he had unlocked a surprising new ability—a gold-level sixth sense enhancement. A curious expression danced across his face as he gently massaged his brows, still tender and aching from the recent strain.
Char couldn't shake the sensation that an invisible "eye" had awakened between his eyebrows. Yet, whether he touched the spot or peered into a mirror, nothing unusual appeared. Pondering the sixth sense enhancement noted on the system panel, he wondered if there might be a connection between the two.
Moments later, Char set aside speculation. The truth would reveal itself through action. Engaging his Occlumency, now refined to a platinum depth, he felt an unprecedented mastery over every fragment of his energy. Even untapped spiritual depths, previously beyond reach, surfaced in this moment. His mind grew razor-sharp, his thoughts crystal clear.
The most striking transformation, however, came post-Occlumency surge. Char sensed his spiritual energy truly coalesce into a spiritual eye between his brows. When he directed his focus there, the world around him dimmed instantly. No longer did he see the tangible realm; instead, a bizarre landscape of countless interwoven lines and vibrant colors unfolded before him. An indescribable feeling stirred in his heart.
Soon after, Char recalled descriptions from the original story he'd read in a past life, centering on Professor Trelawney of Divination. Her classes were often mocked by students, who gleaned little from tea leaves or chaotic omens. Even Hermione, ever respectful of professors, fumed after a Divination session. Trelawney's critique only highlighted Hermione's lack of innate talent in the subject.
Later, during Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts, the spiteful bureaucrat taunted Trelawney, demanding proof of her supposed clairvoyance. Naturally, Trelawney couldn't perform on command. Most characters in the original tale dismissed her as a fraud. Yet, in reality, Trelawney's predictions—whether through tea leaves, tarot cards, or cryptic utterances in a trance—often proved true, even if she herself remained unaware of their accuracy. She was, undeniably, a genuine prophet.
Reflecting on this, a contemplative glint appeared in Char's eyes. "Trelawney spoke of clairvoyance," he mused. "With this third eye, one might peer into realms hidden from ordinary sight, perhaps even glimpse destiny. Could her so-called visionary eye be akin to the spiritual pupil I sense now in my inner world?"
Yet, doubts lingered. Though Char could perceive these intricate lines and colors, they revealed nothing concrete. Predicting monumental events that could shake the wizarding world, as Trelawney did, seemed far beyond his grasp. Moreover, wizards like Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Snape, with Occlumency skills surpassing his own, likely possessed even keener sixth senses. Their spiritual vision should be sharper. Yet none of them could pierce the veil of fate. How had Trelawney achieved it, especially when the original story suggested she lacked Occlumency altogether?
Unable to unravel this mystery, Char soon shifted his focus away from Trelawney and the enigmatic "third eye." Though he couldn't yet decipher the spiritual realm he glimpsed, the enhanced sixth sense offered undeniable advantages. In the face of looming dangers, this heightened intuition might provide early warnings, giving him a crucial edge.
Beyond this, Char noticed another change on his system panel. The luster of his Demeter ritual magic shone far brighter than before. "Legends say that in the ancient Age of Olympus, the gods demanded priests with extraordinarily acute senses to receive divine messages," he thought. "Could this imply a powerful sixth sense? Now that mine is enhanced, I might align closer to those ancient standards. Perhaps that's why my ritual magic tied to Demeter, the goddess of fertility, has also advanced."
Char nodded with satisfaction at this development. The improvement in his Demeter ritual magic was vital. Not only could it hasten plant maturity every few months, but after his last ritual boosted his magical finesse, he could now bless seeds using a silver cup. This saved immense effort in selection and cultivation, elevating the quality of his crops. If he could push this ritual magic to an even higher tier, greater marvels might await.
"All things considered," Char reflected, "even setting aside enigmatic abilities like the sixth sense, this Occlumency upgrade is a massive win." A faint smile curled on his lips.
But in the next instant, a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his brows. Char's smile froze. He hadn't anticipated that activating this new sixth sense and opening his spiritual eye would provoke such a reaction. What was happening?
Steeling himself, Char reopened his spiritual eye. Once more, the world transformed into a chaotic tapestry of lines and colors. As he gazed upward at the sky, a chilling sight emerged. Countless dense black threads cloaked the heavens above Hogwarts. Vast swathes of unsettling, murky hues churned overhead, resembling a suffocating dark cloud blanketing the castle.
Moments later, another pang struck between his brows, forcing Char to retreat from this eerie vision. The earlier satisfaction and joy clouded over with confusion. "What is this?" he muttered. "What's happening? Is this Quirrell's doing? What has he unleashed?"
By now, a night had passed. The young wizards, free from classes, turned their attention to preparing for final exams. Today, the exam schedule would be posted. Char watched as the door to the Hufflepuff common room swung open, revealing Professor Sprout. Her face was ashen as she pinned the test schedule in the most prominent spot.
With Char's keen eyesight, he scanned the details effortlessly. Subjects like Charms, History of Magic, Transfiguration, and Flying were listed without issue—exam times, classrooms, and specifics all clearly noted. Yet, as he reviewed the form, one subject's information was conspicuously absent.
Char couldn't resist asking Professor Sprout, "Where's the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam schedule? Why isn't it listed?"
The question deepened the gloom on Sprout's face. She spoke through gritted teeth, "Because this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts assessment is unlike any before. All first-year wizards must enter the Forbidden Forest for real combat!"
Even though Char had braced himself for surprises, the news struck like lightning. Shock and horror flashed across his face. Young wizards venturing into the Forbidden Forest? Was this truly the exam's format this year? It seemed utterly reckless!
Char could handle the Forbidden Forest—his strength far outstripped his peers, and his vitality was unmatched. Nothing in those woods could bring him down. But what of the other young wizards? No matter their talent, they were fragile. Even Snape had nearly perished at the claws of a transformed Lupin. While few threats in the Forest matched a werewolf, dangers abounded. The eight-eyed giant spiders alone could devour an entire class of students. Sending first-years into such a perilous place for a final exam—how could this be anything but madness?
"Why such an arrangement?" Char pressed.
Professor Sprout took a deep breath, her voice heavy with frustration. "He's gone too far. In the past week, Professor Quirrell's reputation has soared. His ties with Minister Fudge at the Ministry of Magic have tightened. The entire wizarding world, from major outlets to small papers, is rallying behind him. Then Quirrell raised a question: the man-eating monster in the recent disappearance wasn't especially powerful, so why did it take so long to handle? He claims it's because British wizards have lacked proper Defense Against the Dark Arts training for ages. Since starting school, students haven't truly learned to confront darkness or danger. So, Quirrell proposed setting up a safe, non-lethal area just outside the Forbidden Forest. He wants children to learn combat from their first year, ensuring they're not helpless against real threats like those disappearances."
Char's mind raced. "And Headmaster Dumbledore has no objections?"
Sprout's face twisted with a mix of anger and derision. "The Ministry of Magic approved Quirrell's request. The school board backed his idea. Even most parents, swayed by surveys, agree. Quirrell's built such momentum, and the fear of man-eating monsters lingers. They believe it's vital for young wizards to learn self-protection. On top of that, Quirrell secured Harry Potter's signed consent. If everyone, even the Boy Who Lived, deems it necessary, what can Dumbledore do, even as headmaster of Hogwarts?"
Hearing this, Char slowly processed the gravity of the situation. A complex mix of emotions swirled within him. At its core, the reason for this turn of events was painfully simple. Dumbledore was cornered. He had designed a trial within Hogwarts involving the Philosopher's Stone, aiming to gauge Voldemort's recovery and, more crucially, to temper the savior, Harry Potter. But Quirrell had turned the tables, leveraging public opinion and Harry's trust to flip the game in his favor. Now, Quirrell held the advantage on home turf.
This was an overt scheme. Clearly, on exam day, Quirrell would orchestrate a trap in the Forbidden Forest to ensnare Dumbledore and the other professors. Meanwhile, he'd slip into the trial and seize the Philosopher's Stone. Dumbledore faced an impossible choice: protect the Stone and risk the students' lives, or save the young wizards and jeopardize the Stone. Quirrell had overplayed his hand, and the stakes couldn't be higher.
Char exhaled, shaking his head slightly. He could scarcely have imagined that, nearing the end of the school year, the trajectory of the Philosopher's Stone saga would warp into this. Yet, moments later, he snapped out of the shock. Whether Voldemort secured the Stone or not—what did it matter to him? If the sky fell, Dumbledore would bear the weight. After all, this mess stemmed from Dumbledore's choice to overlook Quirrell, using him as a sharpening stone for others. Solving it was Dumbledore's burden.
Besides, Dumbledore wielded the Elder Wand and hadn't yet fallen to the fatal curse of the Resurrection Stone ring. Even if Voldemort claimed the Philosopher's Stone and restored his body, he'd be no match for Dumbledore on this turf. Moreover, the Stone wasn't some instant-use trinket. Crafting a new body required intricate steps. And this was Hogwarts—Dumbledore's stronghold. If Voldemort managed to escape with the Stone from here, Dumbledore might as well retire in disgrace. No matter how grim things seemed, they couldn't spiral that far out of control.
On the contrary, as the news settled, Char's eyes gleamed with opportunity. He spotted a silver lining. Since Quirrell aimed to entangle Dumbledore with this scheme, his focus must now be on rigging the Forbidden Forest. Until the final exams, Quirrell had to ensure no harm came to the young wizards. If a student were seriously injured or killed at Hogwarts, Dumbledore could seize the excuse to nix Quirrell's plan. All of Quirrell's painstaking efforts—building hype, swaying factions—would crumble to nothing.
In short, even if Quirrell itched to strike at Char, now wasn't the time. All Char needed to do was steer clear of the Forbidden Forest and avoid walking into Quirrell's crosshairs. This granted him a relatively safe window. Only a week remained until the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. For others, a week vanished in a blink. Even a prodigy like Harry couldn't master potent spells in such a short span to leap forward in strength.
But for Char, a week could herald a complete metamorphosis. Especially after calculating the timing, his eyes shone brighter. "It's nearly time," he murmured. "The Putt fruit on Sprout Island should be ripe by now, shouldn't it?"
Char's gaze drifted to the system panel. His legendary vitality had already undergone a transformation, yet his legendary power lingered at a pivotal threshold. Could this be the moment? If his legendary power ascended once more, whatever lurked in the Forbidden Forest would quake before this unrivaled might!
In the next heartbeat, Char retrieved his portkey. As the world spun in a dizzying whirl, he arrived at Sprout Island. What met his eyes was a breathtaking sight—vast clusters of glowing reward orbs and sprawling fields of ripe Putt fruit, ready for harvest. Drawing a deep breath, Char extended his hand. In an instant, the sea of radiant orbs engulfed him, a wave of triumph washing over all he'd sown.