Upon realizing the unique advantage he possessed for cultivating the Cinder-fern, Char's eyes lit up with possibility. He immediately summoned the troll priest, Sirius, and asked if he could refine pure gemstones from raw ore.
Sirius looked at him, bewildered by the question. "Of course, my king," he rumbled. "Refining gemstones for wealth is a foundational skill for alchemists. Nicolas Flamel himself wrote in his notes that as a young man, he discovered an unknown mine and refined an entire chest of gems from it. Such abilities flow in the blood of us, the descendants of the Fire God. After all, the gods on Mount Olympus often tasked our great ancestor with creating not just magically potent artifacts, but also glittering gems to adorn their palaces, temples, and idols."
Char looked surprised. "But isn't turning stone into gold something that requires alchemy on the level of the Philosopher's Stone?"
"The Philosopher's Stone's power is to transmute base stone—stone that contains no gold—into pure gold," Sirius explained. "That is creation from nothing, the highest level of alchemical transformation. But for most of history, what alchemists did was extract pure gold from ore that was already rich in it. Or, a more difficult task, concentrating and refining pure gemstones from ores that contained only trace amounts of the necessary components. This is fundamentally different from true transmutation."
Char nodded, understanding dawning on him.
To demonstrate, Sirius brought out a large basket of multicolored stones and placed them within the alchemy array. With a tap of his wand, the lines of the array flared to life, and a strange, invasive magic seeped into the stones. Soon, crystal-clear, purely colored gemstone crystals—some blue, some green—began to grow on their surfaces as the remaining rock dissolved into wisps of smoke.
When the light from the array faded, several soybean-sized gems lay before Char, mostly sapphires with a few emeralds mixed in.
Sirius, however, shook his head with a hint of regret. "My own alchemical skills are a shadow of Nicolas Flamel's. If he were to construct the array, he could probably smelt an entire mountain, producing unimaginable substances. I have seen in my bloodline memories our great ancestor using a furnace larger than a mountain to forge weapons for the gods from the very elements of the world. I wonder if I will ever reach such a level."
Looking at Sirius's mournful expression, the corner of Char's mouth twitched. It felt like listening to a top student's humblebrag. Sirius had only just begun his study of alchemy and had already achieved this level of mastery. Meanwhile, Char could barely comprehend the basics of alchemical texts. The difference was staggering.
But Char felt no envy. He was self-aware enough to know his own limitations. Even a prodigious talent like Dumbledore wasn't a universal genius. It was far more reasonable to focus his own limited time and energy on his strengths and seek cooperation in other areas.
Char picked up one of the sapphires. With a slight exertion of pressure, he crushed it into a fine powder and carefully mixed it into the soil near the Cinder-fern spore.
The next moment, the reward orb suspended above the spore visibly quickened its expansion. Char's eyes lit up with joy. Using gems to accelerate the spore's growth truly worked. Although he knew the effect would eventually diminish as the gem concentration increased, under ideal conditions, he could likely reduce the maturity time to less than a year.
As he watched, he noticed something even more surprising. The gloss of the reward information itself had deepened slightly. Did this mean the reward level was also slowly increasing?
"If I continue this," he thought, his excitement mounting, "and use enough gems, I might be able to raise this Cinder-fern's reward to the diamond level." A qualitative change. He had only acquired a few diamond-grade plants, and each had been incredibly difficult to obtain. To raise this fern to that level would require the constant service of an alchemist refining gems. It was a luxury no fern in the history of the magical world had ever experienced.
"Sirius," Char said, "this fern will require a continuous supply of gems for its cultivation. I'll have to trouble you with the refining."
His words made Sirius flustered. "My king, it is my honor to serve you. It is no trouble at all. But…" An embarrassed look crossed the troll priest's face. "There are not many gem-rich minerals around Sprout Island. While the seawater contains nearly all resources, using it for alchemy is highly inefficient. I fear that even with a full day's work, I might not refine a gem the size of a grain of rice. To produce gemstones in large quantities, it is best to use the corresponding ores. That is the traditional way of the alchemist."
Char pondered this. It was a significant problem. Just accelerating the growth would require hundreds of gems. Attempting to raise the reward level could require thousands, or even tens of thousands. Buying them outright would be astronomically expensive in either the Muggle or wizarding world. The only sustainable path was to buy the raw ore and have Sirius refine it.
But where would he get the ore? Few wizards were interested in minerals, and the magical world's economy was based on small-scale production. Finding a stable, large-scale supplier would be difficult. In the Muggle world, however, it would be simple. He could contract a mining company for regular deliveries. Transporting it would be easy with magic, and the transaction wouldn't violate the Statute of Secrecy, which only forbade using magical currency, not trading real, refined gems.
The plan was feasible. Char's eyes lit up, and he immediately began searching a Muggle business directory for mining companies. He dismissed the large corporations; their bureaucratic processes would be too slow, and his order would be too small to warrant their attention. He needed a smaller, more agile company that would value his business and could deliver quickly.
His finger traced down the page until it stopped on a company in Surrey specializing in drilling rig sales and ore mining. "Grunning Company," he read. "Alright, you'll do."
***
It was nine o'clock in the morning in the offices of Grunning Drilling and Minerals Ltd. Old Mr. Grunning nursed his coffee, his face a mask of worry as he scanned the industry news in the paper, muttering under his breath. "Damn Krauts. Coming for the drilling rig business. No, no, no."
Just as he repeated the phrase for the thirteenth time, a knock sounded at his office door.
Old Mr. Grunning shot to his feet, his face flushing red. "What is it?!"
This was a small company. The staff were all long-timers who had worked there their entire lives. He knew the sound of his accountant's knock, and this one was different—it held a note of unusual urgency.
The accountant's trembling voice came from the other side of the door. "Boss, a customer is here. He says he has an order he wants to discuss with you."
Hearing this, old Mr. Grunning's grimace instantly transformed into a smile. At a time like this, an order was his favorite thing in the world. "Then what are you waiting for?! Hurry, send him in!" he boomed, pulling the door open himself.
The sight that greeted him, however, made him pause. It was only his familiar accountant and… a child?
A moment later, old Mr. Grunning finally processed the situation. "Wait a moment. The client you mentioned…"
Char met the old man's gaze. "That would be me," he said coolly. "Mr. Grunning, let's discuss the cooperation quickly. I came a long way, and I have many other things to attend to. Of course, if you're not interested in the order, I can find another company."
The boy's gaze was so intense it felt as if it held some unnatural power. Old Mr. Grunning, a man who had spent his life in business and prided himself on reading people, felt a jolt of anxiety he hadn't experienced even when facing industry titans. This was no ordinary child. He clearly had an unimaginable background, and Mr. Grunning had already managed to displease him.
Thin beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead as he scrambled to recover. "No, no, no! Please forgive my foolishness. Grunning Company welcomes every order, especially from a promising young man such as yourself. Come in, come in, let's talk cooperation."
He offered his business card with both hands. As Char took it nonchalantly, he handed over one of his own. The moment old Mr. Grunning's fingers brushed the card, his heart skipped a beat. It was heavy, silver with gold inlay, and were those… crushed gems in the corners? The card alone was worth a small fortune. His experienced eye for minerals confirmed its authenticity in an instant.
He quickly glanced at the name. "Mr. Sprout," he said with newfound enthusiasm. "I wonder how Grunning Company can assist you? The quality of our extra-large drilling rigs is legendary. If your family is looking to drill for oil in the Middle East, Grunning is your perfect partner."
Char noted the shift in attitude and smiled inwardly. The luxurious business cards Sirius had created were working perfectly. The old man thought he was the scion of a wealthy family playing at oil drilling.
He waved a hand dismissively. "No, I'm not interested in drilling rigs or oil. I'm not yet of age to inherit those businesses. I require a large, steady supply of gemstone ore. For my own reasons, I prefer not to work with the major mining giants, which is why I chose your company. Do you understand?"
Old Mr. Grunning's face took on a knowing expression. *Ah, a big family letting one of the children practice with a new venture. Gemstone luxury industry? A fine choice.* He nodded repeatedly, though a hint of embarrassment crept onto his face. Grunning's business might include mineral mining, but its main profit came from drilling rigs. The amount of ore Char was likely to require far exceeded their annual output.
"That is, we would have to contract a few larger mines," he began, "and we'd need more equipment. Our production capacity is limited, and orders are tight right now, so the price…"
Char interrupted him by placing a small bag on the table. He opened it, revealing a cascade of crystal-clear gems resting on a bed of gleaming ancient gold coins. He spread the gems across the desk. "Is this enough for the first deposit? I prefer not to go through a bank. The records… I don't want anyone to know what I'm doing."
Old Mr. Grunning took a deep breath, trying to suppress the frantic hammering of his heart. He looked at Char as if seeing the God of Wealth himself. "Dear Mr. Sprout, our sales manager and drilling rig manufacturing manager will be here immediately. They will explain the entire plan to you on the spot."
Char nodded indifferently. He didn't care about the implementation details, only the final quantity and delivery time. But when old Mr. Grunning picked up the phone, a name he barked into the receiver caught Char's attention.
"Mason! Dursley! I'll give you three minutes. Get to my office now!"
*Dursley?* The name wasn't common. And this was Surrey. Char's mind made the connection. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Vernon Dursley, Harry Potter's uncle, was a supervisor at a drilling company.
A moment later, a figure so fat he appeared to have no neck came panting into the office. Char was certain. It was indeed Vernon Dursley. He was followed by a smarmy man in a suit, who enthusiastically handed Char his card. "Dear Mr. Sprout, I'm Mason, sales director of Grunning. I can't wait to introduce you to our mineral excavation plan…"
Char shook his head secretly. No wonder Vernon had to fawn over this Mason in the original story. It was clear who held the upper hand. He recalled Harry's miserable summer—the intercepted letters from Dobby, the disastrous dinner party, being locked in his room. *That child has had a miserable life,* Char thought with a pang of emotion. He still owed Harry a few favors, not least for the use of the Invisibility Cloak. This was a perfect opportunity to repay one.
"Mr. Sprout?" Director Mason's expectant voice broke through his thoughts. "Do you find the plan agreeable?"
Char nodded slowly. "The plan is… adequate." He then pointed a finger at the still-panting Vernon Dursley. "Let this gentleman be in charge of the project. He was the first to arrive. I appreciate his sense of punctuality. I'll feel more at ease with him managing things."
Director Mason's face turned green with instant regret. Vernon Dursley, after a moment of stunned silence, looked ecstatic. "Mr. Sprout! I—I don't know how to thank you. I will personally ensure the drills are built and the mining is completed on time. I promise!"
As Vernon gushed, he blurted out, "Mr. Sprout, I have a child at home around your age, and his birthday is coming up. I sincerely invite you to his party. My wife Penny makes amazing ham, and my son Dudley is a well-mannered little gentleman, just like you…"
He trailed off, noticing the murderous glare from old Mr. Grunning and the mocking smirk from Director Mason. Vernon's face went pale with panic, realizing his blunder.
But to everyone's surprise, Char nodded. "Alright. I'll look forward to the banquet."
Vernon's face flushed red with relief, but Char's next words made him even more nervous. "By the way, Mr. Dursley, is there only one child in your family? I mean, are there any children of distant relatives, perhaps? I find that families who celebrate together are very reliable."
Vernon wiped sweat from his brow. After a moment's hesitation, he gritted his teeth. "Yes, Mr. Sprout. We took in a child from a distant relative. We raise him, pay for his schooling, try to guide him away from the wrong path…"
"That's good," Char said meaningfully. "This way, the birthday party will be much livelier." He then turned and left. "A pleasure doing business with you all."
After the meeting, old Mr. Grunning gave Vernon a paid vacation of more than half a month. "This order is critical," he hissed. "I don't need to explain how important your family's party is. Now go home and prepare! And that child of your distant relative—be nice to him. Keep Mr. Sprout happy!"
The joy of his promotion faded as Vernon left the company. "Be nice to that freak, Harry Potter?" he fumed. "As if I haven't been good enough to him!" But the thought of the lucrative order was enough to make him suppress his resentment. After all, as he muttered to himself, "Mr. Sprout gave so much!"
Upon returning home, Vernon stormed upstairs and called for Harry, who braced himself for the worst. But instead, he was shocked to hear his uncle grit his teeth and tell Petunia, "Go buy that freak two sets of decent, fitting clothes. And new glasses. Make him look like a human being! Dudley, you will stop bullying him for a while!"
Amidst Aunt Petunia's incredulous shrieks and Dudley's wails, Harry pieced together what had happened. The anger and loneliness from weeks of unanswered letters vanished, replaced by a wide smile. *"Char Sprout?"* he thought, his heart soaring. *"Merlin, it must be Char! He hasn't forgotten me!"*
***
Back at Hogwarts, a hint of a smile played on Char's face. Harry would finally have a more comfortable summer. He considered the favor for the Invisibility Cloak repaid.
Just then, he noticed a letter in the mailbox of his small greenhouse. It was from Hermione. With a sense of foreboding, he opened the envelope, which felt as thick as a textbook. The contents were exactly as he'd expected: page after page of dense questions about magical linguistics, followed by a gracious invitation.
"Are you free tomorrow? I'm going to London and thought we could find a place to discuss these academic issues. I have an amazing discovery I can't wait to tell you in person. It will be a breakthrough!"
Char felt a headache coming on, but he also felt a spark of curiosity. Hermione rarely used such exaggerated language. This "breakthrough" might actually be something significant. Recalling how she had stayed up all night compiling papers for him, he sighed. It seemed he had another favor to repay.
He settled down to study the questions, preparing for his meeting with Hermione. Suddenly, a rapid, jarring sound cut through the quiet of the greenhouse—a cacophony like a thousand wind chimes being thrashed by a gale.
Char turned in shock. The sound was coming from the Demeter silver cup. But it wasn't the pleasant chime of ritual magic; this was a piercing alarm. At the same time, a stinging pain erupted from the spiritual eye between his brows, and his sixth sense flooded his mind with an image of a dark, gloomy alley. *Knockturn Alley?*
He realized instantly that the alarm must be related to Demeter. In the current magical world, that could only mean the Robinse family, who claimed to be her descendants. His mind flashed to the black-robed figure who had "saved" him. *Ed Robinson. Something has happened to her.*
A coldness settled in his eyes. Ed Robinson held knowledge he desperately needed, and she had helped him. He couldn't let anything happen to her. After a quick assessment of the risks—weighing his own formidable power, the Sword of Gram, his shadow magic, and his extraordinary vitality—he made his decision.
He tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. "Borgin and Burke's!"
He spun out of the emerald flames into the dark shop and immediately knew something was terribly wrong. A strange scent hung in the air, sweet but with a coppery tang of blood. He took one sniff and felt a wave of intoxicating, bloodthirsty impulse churn in his heart. His Occlumency flared, suppressing it instantly.
Holding his breath, he cast a Bubble-Head Charm. Through the clear orb, he saw fine, shimmering powder drifting in the air. *Pollen.* Looking out the window, he saw that all of Knockturn Alley was blanketed in it. Dark wizards were stumbling from their hovels, moving like walking corpses, all wandering toward the place where he had met Ed.
A chill went down his spine. *This is all for her?* The scene felt familiar. A memory from the ancient herbology book surfaced. A terrifying, aggressive, and poisonous plant capable of devouring minds: the Blood Soul Thorn. Its pollen induced an intoxicating, bloodthirsty state, and those who succumbed to it would have their minds and knowledge consumed as nutrients.
*How could it still exist?* he wondered in horror. *And here, in Knockturn Alley?*
His gaze swept across the dark alley again, and then he saw it. A reward orb, emitting the potent, unmistakable light of a legendary item, pulsed from a hidden corner.
[You have discovered a Blood Soul Thorn branch that has survived from ancient times.]
[Raise it to maturity to receive the reward: [Soul Devourer (Legendary Level Secondary Sublimation)], [Blood Plague Control (Legendary Level One-Time Sublimation)], [Blood Poison (Legendary Level, One-Time Sublimation)]…]
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