Late at night, the corridors of Hogwarts echoed with the hurried, tired footsteps of Professor Snape. He had just finished guiding the sixth-year students through their NEWT Potions course and was making his way to his office, his mind already turning to the next day's lessons and the endless list of tasks awaiting him.
As the Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House, Snape's schedule was always packed. Teaching students of different grades, mentoring those with potential, preparing ingredients, and, if he was lucky, finding a sliver of time for his own potions research—it all left little room for anything else. Even something as simple as washing his hair often had to wait.
"Damn it," Snape grumbled under his breath as he strode through the dimly lit corridor. "We're running low on Flobberworm slime. It's needed for several classes tomorrow. I need to get it sorted."
He paused mid-stride, suddenly remembering that he had assigned the task to Char. He'd given the boy a whole basket of Flobberworms to process—a tedious, unpleasant job that most students would dread. Snape smirked to himself. He was certain Char would have given up by now. If he hadn't finished, Snape could deduct points from Hufflepuff, and even Professor Sprout wouldn't be able to object.
With that thought, Snape quickened his pace, eager to catch Char in the act of slacking off. But as he neared the Potions classroom, he noticed that the lights were still on, casting a long shadow on the stone floor. Snape's steps faltered. Was Char really still working?
"No way," Snape thought, shaking his head. "He must be pretending. As soon as he hears my footsteps, he'll start working hard to impress me."
With a snort, Snape pushed open the classroom door, ready to expose Char's laziness. But what he saw made him pause. Char was sweeping the floor, the classroom spotless, and the basket of Flobberworms was empty. Dozens of jars, filled with clear, high-quality mucus, stood neatly on the workbench.
Char looked up, his face lighting up with genuine relief. "Professor Snape, you're finally here! I've finished all the Flobberworms, and I've even started cleaning the classroom. If you have any more, I'd be happy to process them for you!"
Snape blinked, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Char had not only completed the task, but he'd done it with remarkable efficiency and care. The mucus was of a quality Snape rarely saw, even from his own hands. For a moment, Snape was at a loss for words. He'd expected Char to be overwhelmed, to give up, to make mistakes. Instead, the boy was asking for more work.
Snape's first instinct was to find fault, to deduct points anyway. But even he had to admit that Char's work was flawless. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Your handling of the Flobberworms is… acceptable. But it's still rough. Let me show you how it's done properly."
He retrieved another basket of Flobberworms and demonstrated the correct technique. His movements were swift and precise, the mucus he extracted even clearer and thicker than Char's. Char watched with rapt attention, his admiration evident. Snape was, after all, a master of his craft.
"Now you try," Snape said, stepping back.
Char nodded, picking up a Flobberworm and mimicking Snape's technique. He focused, sensing the magic within the creature, and squeezed gently. The mucus that emerged was noticeably better than before. On his system panel, the silver luster of his Magic Perception Enhancement ability brightened, spreading a little further toward the next level.
Char's heart swelled with excitement. "If I keep this up, my magic perception will reach silver level soon," he thought. "Between trimming brooms, processing potion ingredients, and harvesting goldfish spider plants, I'll be unstoppable!"
Snape watched, his expression unreadable. He'd intended to make Char suffer, but the boy seemed to thrive on the work. Snape found himself torn between annoyance and grudging respect. "I'll let him work for a few more days," Snape decided. "When he can't take it anymore, I'll send him away. No one can keep up this pace forever."
With that, Snape left Char to his work and returned to his office, his mood slightly improved. For the first time in ages, he had a little extra time to devote to his own research.
The next day, Snape found another large basket of materials waiting for Char—this time, porcupine quills. He expected the boy to falter, to make a mistake, to give him an excuse to deduct points. But once again, Char surprised him. The quills were perfectly prepared, and the Flobberworm mucus was more than enough for two weeks of classes.
Snape's satisfaction was fleeting, quickly replaced by a renewed determination to find fault. "Tomorrow," he told himself. "Tomorrow I'll catch him out."
But tomorrow came and went, and Char's work remained impeccable. Day after day, Snape assigned new tasks—preparing ingredients, cleaning cauldrons, organizing the storeroom. And day after day, Char completed them with quiet efficiency, his skills improving with each passing hour.
By the end of the week, Snape had grown accustomed to Char's help. He found himself with more free time than he'd had in years, time he could spend on his own research and experiments. The thought of deducting points from Hufflepuff slipped further and further from his mind.
On Friday, Snape suddenly realized that a whole week had passed without him deducting a single point from Hufflepuff. Slytherin was still trailing in the House Cup. "Next week," he told himself. "Next week, for sure. As soon as Char makes a mistake, I'll deduct points."
But his resolve was tested when Char approached him with a request. "Professor, I'd like to take the day off," Char said, his tone apologetic.
Snape's eyebrows shot up. "A day off? What for?"
"Professor Flitwick has finished developing my exclusive spell," Char explained. "It's very important to me, so I'd like to go and learn it today."
Snape stared at Char, his expression unreadable. He wanted to refuse, to insist that Char stay and work. But he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Instead, he turned away with a dismissive snort.
"Humph. What kind of special spell could Flitwick have developed in a week that's worth missing work for? If you'd asked me, I could have designed something far more powerful. You have no vision."
With that, Snape swept out of the room, leaving Char standing there, a little bewildered but mostly relieved.
Char's mind was already racing ahead. The exclusive spell—Professor Flitwick's gift—was waiting for him. He hurried through the castle, his heart pounding with anticipation. Whatever the spell was, it would be another step forward in his journey, another tool to help him protect those he cared about.
As he walked, Char thought about the past week. He'd worked harder than ever before, but he'd also learned more than he'd expected. Snape's gruff demeanor hid a wealth of knowledge, and Char had soaked up every lesson, every demonstration. His magic perception was stronger than ever, and his confidence was growing.
He reached Professor Flitwick's office and knocked gently. The door swung open, and Flitwick greeted him with a warm smile. "Char! Right on time. Are you ready to learn your new spell?"
Char nodded, his eyes shining. "Yes, Professor. I can't wait."
Flitwick beamed. "Excellent! Then let's get started. This spell is designed just for you—a tool to help you grow, to help you protect, and to help you shine."
Char followed Flitwick into the office, his mind buzzing with possibilities. Whatever the future held, he was ready to face it—one spell, one task, one day at a time.
Epilogue: The Next Step
As Char settled into a chair in Professor Flitwick's office, he couldn't help but reflect on how much had changed in just a few short weeks. He'd started as a nervous little badger, unsure of his place at Hogwarts. Now, he was trusted by professors, respected by his peers, and on the verge of mastering a spell created just for him.
Flitwick handed him a scroll, its edges glowing faintly with magical energy. "This is your spell, Char. It's designed to work with your unique talents and your dedication to growth. I think you'll find it quite remarkable."
Char unrolled the scroll, his eyes scanning the elegant script. The spell was complex, but it resonated with him on a deep level. He could feel the magic within it, waiting to be unleashed.
"Take your time," Flitwick said gently. "Practice it here, and when you're ready, we'll see what it can do."
Char nodded, his heart full of gratitude and excitement. He knew that this spell would be another step on his journey—a journey that had only just begun.
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