Chapter 43: Treasure House, Upgrade

In the empty field in front of Hogwarts Castle, surrounded by towering grandstands, stood the tall circular structures of the Quidditch pitch. Right next to the pitch was a large storage warehouse where all the broomsticks were kept. Over the years, every scrapped broomstick from Hogwarts had been tossed into that warehouse. Normally, no one ever went near it—except Madam Hooch.

But today was different. Madam Hooch had received a surprising request that caught her off guard. She stared at the small Hufflepuff student standing before her.

"Charle, are you saying... you want to work part-time in the abandoned warehouse?" she asked with disbelief. "And you want to take on the job of pruning and tidying up the discarded broomsticks?"

For a moment, she suspected it might be a prank. But then she remembered—this was Charle. A little badger. Hufflepuff students weren't like those mischievous Gryffindors, right?

Charle responded earnestly, "Yes, Madam Hooch. I really like abandoned broomsticks. I believe each one has a story—a legacy. Maybe some of them once carried world-class Quidditch players across the sky. Even if they're abandoned now, they shouldn't be forgotten. And they definitely shouldn't be left in a mess. I want to help. I want to prune their branches and tidy them up."

Hearing this, Madam Hooch was struck by an unexpected sense of respect. Her gaze toward Charle softened with approval. As the flying instructor, she had always despised students who were careless with their broomsticks. A student who cared deeply for broken ones? Who wanted to prune them? That was nearly unheard of.

Still, despite Charle's sincerity, her expression grew conflicted.

"Charle, I understand and agree with your thoughts. But according to Hogwarts' school regulations, first-year students aren't allowed to take part in any part-time activities. It goes against the Protection of Young Wizards Act. Besides, the flying class budget is tight. We barely have enough to maintain the current broomsticks, let alone hire a warehouse manager..."

Before she could finish, Charle interrupted with a bright smile.

"No, no, no, Madam Hooch. The Protection of Young Wizards Act—it's like the Muggle Child Labor Protection Act. I understand that law very well."

He straightened up and explained seriously, "What is a part-time job? It's only considered part-time if you're paid. If I don't receive payment, then it's not a job—it's voluntary work."

Madam Hooch blinked. "Not... getting paid?"

"Exactly!" Charle said. "It's just extracurricular learning if I'm doing it for free. I worked on a Muggle plantation for years. I promise you—I know exactly how to work within child labor laws. No one understands loopholes better than me!"

Madam Hooch was momentarily speechless.

No way... are young wizards nowadays this... noble?

Voluntary labor? No payment? Just for learning?

It almost sounded too good to be true.

Just then, her eyes drifted to the broomstick in Charle's hand.

She gasped. "Wait... Is that—?"

"A custom-made Nimbus 2000?" she asked, astonished.

She reached forward, eyes sparkling. "I've seen the mass-produced ones. But never a custom model. The Nimbus Company supposedly adjusts the magic in every single twig for custom orders. I heard they perform at least 30% better than standard ones!"

Charle smiled and offered the broom forward.

"Would you like to take a closer look, Professor? If I can work in the abandoned warehouse as an extracurricular activity, you're welcome to fly this broom around a few times."

Madam Hooch's eyes sparkled like a child seeing their first broomstick.

She took the Nimbus 2000 reverently, unable to hide her infatuation.

Letting Charle clean up broomsticks in exchange for learning?

Wasn't this a fair deal?

"Deal!" she declared without hesitation, handing him the warehouse key.

While she lovingly inspected the glimmering broomstick, Charle walked briskly to the warehouse and unlocked the door.

The moment he pushed it open, a dense cloud of dust burst out, stinging his nose and eyes. When it cleared, the sight before him was staggering.

A mountain of broken broomsticks.

This wasn't an exaggeration. It truly was a towering pile of broomsticks—collected and forgotten over hundreds, maybe even a thousand years.

Charle picked up the one closest to him.

It was ancient—probably over a hundred years old. The tail twigs were made of birch, dry and brittle. Most had lost all life. But if he focused hard enough, he could sense it—just a faint tingle. A trace of magic still lingering in a few twigs.

"Arbor-Siccus!" he chanted.

A beam of light burst from his wand. It struck one of the twigs, carefully trimming off the part that still held a flicker of magic.

Charle's eyes lit up in delight.

Using the Pruning Charm on these twigs didn't feel quite like working with magical plants, but it was close—close enough to count as real practice.

And there were thousands of broomsticks.

Enough to last him half a year of training.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeble pulses of residual magic deep within the branches. He had to search carefully. Find the precise point where magic still clung to the wood.

This wasn't just spell practice.

It was also training his magical perception.

Charle's heart surged with excitement.

A goldmine.

Where others saw a trash heap, he saw a treasure trove.

He eagerly got to work, carefully casting the Pruning Charm again and again, concentrating on the faint threads of lingering enchantments.

Time passed quietly.

Meanwhile, Madam Hooch remained captivated by the Nimbus 2000, inspecting every detail like it was a work of art. But then she remembered something.

Hufflepuff's Quidditch training session was scheduled for that afternoon.

She regretfully set the broomstick down and headed to the warehouse.

"Charle," she called out as she entered. "Your team's training is about to begin. Don't you want to get ready?"

Startled, Charle looked up. His face was slightly dusty, but his smile was bright.

"Already? Ah... thank you for the reminder, Madam Hooch. I'll be back after practice."

He picked up the Nimbus 2000 and walked off toward the pitch.

After he left, Madam Hooch walked over to the spot where he'd been working.

There, resting on a workbench, was an old broomstick, newly pruned and lovingly arranged. Beside it were a few carefully trimmed twigs—neatly lined up like precious samples.

She stood there silently for a long while.

Her eyes grew slightly moist.

"This child… Charle," she whispered. "He truly cherishes broomsticks."

"What a good child…"

Her heart swelled with admiration—and a tinge of sadness. A child like this, with such devotion and magical potential… What a rare combination.

Meanwhile, Charle made his way across the field.

A smile lingered on his lips.

On his system panel, the words "Pruning Charm" glowed with renewed brilliance—now gleaming with a brighter silver hue.

"At this rate, the Pruning Charm might become my first spell to reach the Gold level."

His eyes sparkled with anticipation.

With light steps and a light heart, Charle entered the Quidditch pitch.

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