The spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower fell completely silent, save for the howling wind whipping past the windows. Anthony and Hector exchanged a long look.
After a brief hesitation, Anthony waved his hand dismissively. "Alright, whatever. Water under the bridge. Besides, I said some pretty horrible things back there too."
Only then did the young girl finally lift her head. She took two deep, shaky breaths, and beneath her red, puffy eyes, a genuine smile blossomed once more. "Thank you. I'm Hermione Granger."
Anthony and Hector formally introduced themselves in return.
Neither of them was a stranger to the name Hermione Granger. Honestly, it was highly unlikely there was a single first-year who didn't know it by now.
She was the infamous Miss Know-It-All, the girl who always had her hand in the air before the question was even finished, and whose answers were perpetually flawless.
They had overheard more than a few whispers suggesting Hermione truly belonged in Ravenclaw.
Of course, the actual Ravenclaws didn't entirely agree with that assessment.
If pressed for a reason, they simply felt that Hermione was driven more by a desperate need for teacher approval than by a genuine, insatiable curiosity for the knowledge itself.
Naturally, that was an observation they strictly kept to themselves.
"Come on, it's almost time for Astronomy," Charlie said.
He turned around and continued leading the way up the spiral stairs. Soon, they reached the very top of the tower.
The Astronomy classroom featured a massive, hemispherical dome. Through it, a breathtaking expanse of brilliant starlight blanketed the sky.
However, if one were to look at the tower from the outside grounds, the glass dome was completely invisible.
It seemed the roof was enchanted with a spell similar to a one-way mirror. From the outside looking in, it appeared to be a perfectly ordinary stone roof.
But from the inside looking out, it was clearer than crystal, completely untainted by a single speck of dust.
The classroom itself was circular, with a ring of large brass telescopes lining the perimeter.
In the center of the room, arranged neatly within the circle of telescopes, sat the students' desks.
Twenty telescopes, twenty small desks.
"Have you lot ever heard of the 'Astronomy Classroom Theory'?" Charlie asked.
Hermione, Anthony, and Hector all shook their heads.
"If you place your textbook on the left side of the desk next to the telescope, every single person who comes after you will subconsciously place their book on the left side too.
"If you choose the right side, everyone else will follow suit and place theirs on the right.
"In that moment, you become the undisputed architect of the rules!
"And I—am about to become the very first person to place my book on a desk!"
With that dramatically proclaimed, Charlie raised his textbook high and slammed it down onto the left side of a telescope—
"Students, please place your textbooks on the right side of your desks," a female voice rang out.
"Understood, Professor Sinistra," Charlie instantly yielded, dropping into a lightning-fast bow toward the source of the voice.
A female professor in flowing robes stepped into the light. The top half of her robes were pitch black, seamlessly fading into a deep purple and finally a vibrant, celestial blue at the hem, mimicking the breathtaking expanse of the Milky Way.
And within that woven galaxy, tiny points of starlight continuously flickered and pulsed.
It wasn't an illusion; the pattern on the fabric was genuinely moving, constantly shifting and evolving into complex, real-time star charts.
The woman wearing this magnificent garment was incredibly young and beautiful. Without a doubt, she was the youngest professor at Hogwarts, looking as though she had only just graduated from university herself.
"However, Mr. Wonka, I am quite fond of your little theory. Though, I must say, it sounds much more like a philosophy a Slytherin student would espouse."
"Professor, am I to understand that comment as blatant discrimination against the students of Slytherin House?" Charlie grinned.
Professor Sinistra raised a hand to cover her mouth, but the obvious amusement dancing in her eyes gave her away.
"Perhaps it is precisely because you harbor a deep dislike for Slytherin students that you chose to twist my words so completely."
Charlie chuckled softly, opting not to push the banter any further.
In the exact center of the room lay a massive, circular blue rug.
Professor Sinistra stepped onto it, looking at the students still lingering near the entrance. "Alright, everyone, please come in. Class is about to begin.
"Over the past few lessons, I believe you have all gained a firm grasp on the proper operation of your telescopes, as well as a foundational understanding of basic astronomical concepts. Therefore, starting tonight, we will officially dive into the core curriculum of Astronomy.
"Tonight, our subject of observation is the Moon. This particular unit will carry us right up until the Christmas holidays.
"The Moon itself, along with the specific constellations that orbit it, will be the primary focus of our studies."
A hand immediately shot up into the air.
"Professor, I have a question that's been lingering in my mind for quite some time."
"Go ahead, Mr. Wonka."
"Is there a fundamental difference in the magical world between the astronomical term 'Moon' and the more mystical Latin root 'Luna'?"
"Oh, an excellent question indeed.
"And, remarkably, that is precisely what we are here to study. We observe the Moon, so that we may comprehend Luna."
Another hand quickly darted into the air.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Sinistra gestured toward Hermione.
"Will the material we learn in this class be applicable in our future Divination courses? I read in a book that celestial bodies and lunar phases play crucial roles in mysticism and Divination."
Professor Sinistra's instinct was to nod immediately, but as she raised her head, she froze.
She clearly wanted to give a definitive "yes," but some unseen external factor forced her to swallow her confident response.
The corners of Charlie's mouth twitched upward. He had a fairly good guess as to what that "external factor" was.
It was highly likely she was thinking about their current Divination professor.
After a brief lecture, the young wizards, under Professor Sinistra's guidance, adjusted their telescopes and locked onto the moon.
"As long as we're looking through this enchanted ceiling, it's as if the cloud cover doesn't even exist," Charlie muttered quietly.
"That is the power of magic," Professor Sinistra said softly as she walked past.
Charlie smiled. "But magic doesn't actually physically push the moon closer, does it? So the image we're looking at right now... isn't it technically a 'modified' or 'enhanced' image? Are we genuinely observing the real moon?"
Professor Sinistra stopped right behind Charlie. She crossed her arms and asked, feigning confusion:
"Why does your mind immediately jump to the assumption that the image is 'modified,' rather than accepting that magic simply commanded the light to bypass the clouds entirely?"
Bypass...
Light refraction?!
Charlie couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. He listened closely to the voice behind him; he hadn't heard Professor Sinistra's footsteps approach at all.
Still, he continued his train of thought. "But achieving that would require calculating an insane amount of specific variables, wouldn't it? The altitude of the cloud layer at any given moment, the density of the fog, the precise angle of refraction between the starlight and the lenses..."
"But Mr. Wonka, magic requires no variables."
"Whether you are faced with an ancient, rusted padlock or a complex, modern gear-lock, the Unlocking Charm is all you need. Whether you are attempting a simple transfiguration of inanimate matter or a highly complex biological metamorphosis, the foundational principles of Transfiguration remain the exact same.
"You never need to know the specific, underlying variables.
"Remember this, students: magic never concerns itself with precise variables.
"If it required such rigorous, exhaustive data to function... would it truly still be magic?"
Charlie stared through the lens of his telescope at the massive, cratered surface of the moon.
The craters were breathtakingly beautiful, yet the moon itself was so incredibly far away from the people standing on the ground.
He was currently observing its minute, physical details, yet the professor was lecturing him on the macro, mystical concepts of its existence.
The cognitive dissonance was jarring, to say the least.
But what was even more bizarre was that, despite recognizing this dissonance, Charlie's mind immediately drifted back to his own experimental notes.
If precise data and variables didn't matter in magic... what about logic?
When he took notes, his theoretical deductions regarding the precise effects of sun-dew and moon-dew were entirely grounded in pure logic.
And so far, his logical deductions hadn't led to any catastrophic failures...
"Professor, what about logic?"
"Logic is still a necessity. It is said that at the entrance of the ancient Academy of Athens sat a massive stone, bearing the inscription: Let no one ignorant of logic enter here," Professor Sinistra replied.
What on earth is the Academy of Athens? Charlie wondered internally.
What, is that another hidden magical school operating behind the veil of the Muggle world?
Behind him, Professor Sinistra's footsteps faded away as she moved on to help Michael Corner calibrate his telescope.
While observing the moon, the students were also required to actively sketch it, along with mapping the surrounding star charts.
It was worth noting that the Hogwarts telescopes seemed to possess a built-in auto-tracking feature.
They were half an hour into the lesson. From a strictly astronomical standpoint, if they hadn't been manually adjusting their telescopes, the moon should have drifted out of their field of view ages ago.
Yet, through the Hogwarts lenses, the moon appeared permanently locked in place, never once escaping the center of the frame.
At half-past ten, the class concluded.
They had exactly thirty minutes before curfew, leaving them just enough time to make the long trek back to their common rooms.
On the spiral staircase leading up to Ravenclaw Tower, Anthony stretched lazily and sighed. "Astronomy is so unbelievably dull. Astronomy is exactly like magic—at first glance, it seems so incredibly mysterious and beautiful. But once you actually dive into it, you realize it's just buried under mountains of endless, dry texts."
"Those texts contain knowledge," Hector pointed out.
Anthony nodded. "Mate, I know that. But it's tedious, isn't it?
"Whenever I watched my mum and dad cast spells growing up, I thought it was the most brilliant thing in the world. I spent my whole life desperately waiting for my Hogwarts letter.
"But now that I'm actually here... I feel like my enthusiasm is already starting to burn out."
"That's completely normal," Charlie agreed with a nod.
"When that acceptance letter arrives, I don't think there's a single person alive who isn't vibrating with excitement. But when you're suddenly staring down the barrel of endless homework essays and massive textbooks crammed with dense text... it's impossible not to feel a bit drained."
"Unless your name is Hermione Granger," Hector muttered quietly.
The deadpan delivery felt exactly like a perfectly timed, incredibly dry joke. Both Charlie and Anthony burst out laughing.
"Spot on. Aside from Hermione, I genuinely don't think anyone else possesses that kind of burning, relentless curiosity for a wall of text," Anthony nodded in absolute agreement.
In truth, Anthony wasn't the only one feeling the burnout.
If even the notoriously studious Ravenclaws were feeling it, the other Houses were undoubtedly faring much worse.
Every year, Muggle-born students made up roughly half the Hogwarts intake. When each of those children received their letter, they were filled with an unparalleled, sky-high passion.
But as the systematic, rigid curriculum washed over them, that initial wide-eyed wonder for magic slowly began to erode.
When the relentless tide of homework and dense lectures finally hit...
The romanticized curiosity of magic inevitably faded.
Except for one thing: Flying.
Thursday afternoon.
"Mr. Charlie Wonka, due to your blatant talking in class, two points will be deducted from Ravenclaw," Snape's cold voice echoed through the dungeon.
"Why does he always have to single me out by my full name? Is he actively trying to get me ostracized by Ravenclaw? Oh, what a tragedy. It's a shame I'm so universally beloved," Charlie muttered, casually running a hand through his hair.
Hector couldn't help but snicker.
Charlie was entirely unbothered by the concept of being "universally beloved." And honestly, Ravenclaw as a whole didn't care all that much about House points anyway.
"I'm starting to realize both of you have an incredible talent for deadpan humor," Anthony whispered from the desk directly behind Charlie and Hector.
"I wonder how Gryffindor's flying lesson is going?" Anthony continued. "Should we track down Harry Potter at dinner and ask him about it?"
"I guarantee their flying lesson is going to be an absolute disaster," Charlie stated matter-of-factly. There was no sarcasm in his voice; he delivered it as a simple statement of fact.
"What? Why would you say that, Charlie?" Hector asked quietly.
Charlie thought back to the plot of the original books.
After a moment's consideration, he pursed his lips, raised his hand, and called out, "Professor Snape, I'm experiencing some severe stomach cramps. Requesting permission to visit the hospital wing, sir."
"One point from Ravenclaw. Furthermore, you had best ensure your potion does not suffer a catastrophic failure in your absence," Snape sneered irritably.
"I have absolute, unwavering faith in my partner, sir. There is no room for arrogant solo acts at this desk."
With that, Charlie shot Hector a quick wink and swiftly exited the classroom.
Naturally, he didn't head anywhere near the hospital wing or the toilets. Instead, he made a beeline upstairs to an open-air corridor that offered a perfect, unobstructed view of the Gryffindor and Slytherin flying lesson on the grounds below.
At that exact moment, Madam Hooch was instructing the students on how to summon their brooms to their hands.
Charlie leaned casually against the stone railing, watching them in silence.
Harry Potter. Just as expected, the boy barely had to speak the command before the broom instantly snapped into his hand.
Raw talent really is a terrifying thing, Charlie mused internally.
He honestly had no idea where his own flying aptitude lay.
When it came to mental maturity and focus, he was entirely confident he outstripped every other first-year by a mile.
But whether or not a magical broomstick would actually acknowledge that focus was another matter entirely.
Did pure mental fortitude and a strong desire guarantee the broom would obey?
He honestly wasn't sure.
Once every student had a broom securely in hand, Madam Hooch raised her whistle to her lips.
"Now, on my whistle—"
Before she could even finish the sentence, a single student shot violently into the air.
Charlie's lips pressed into a tight line, the corners twitching upward in a mixture of exasperation and relief.
Exasperation at Neville's innate clumsiness.
Relief because... he was standing right there.
Because I'm here, nothing bad is going to happen.
If Anthony hadn't casually mentioned Gryffindor's flying lesson during Potions, Charlie genuinely might have forgotten this exact moment was supposed to happen.
High above the grounds, the student rocketing uncontrollably into the sky was Neville Longbottom.
He was entirely panic-stricken, his mind completely blank as he clung desperately to the broom handle for dear life.
But a broomstick wasn't a car; the handle wasn't a steering wheel.
Controlling a broom didn't rely on gear shifts, brakes, or accelerators.
It relied entirely on the seamless, instinctual interaction between a wizard's internal desire and their magic.
But Neville was entirely consumed by blind panic. How could he possibly calm down enough to establish that connection?
He zoomed erratically through the air, completely out of control, looking exactly like a panicked, headless fly.
"Come back down, boy! Down!" Madam Hooch shrieked.
She clearly rarely had to deal with a situation this extreme.
Is Neville's lack of control really that much of an anomaly? Charlie wondered.
Madam Hooch's shouting proved entirely useless.
Violently jerked around at high speeds, Neville couldn't hold on for long.
He scraped heavily against one of the high tower windows, and a second later, his grip failed completely.
He plummeted toward the earth.
"Wingardium Leviosa—"
"Spongify—"
Neville's downward momentum was instantly and drastically slowed.
That was the result of the Hover Charm.
Down below, the solid earth suddenly rippled and swelled, turning soft and buoyant, exactly like a pool of water.
That was the result of the Softening Charm.
Under the horrified, unblinking stares of everyone present, Neville hit the ground and immediately bounced back up, ricocheting safely into the air like a rubber ball.
"Good heavens!" Madam Hooch shrieked. She stared at Neville in absolute shock, before whipping her head around toward the source of the incantations.
But there was no one there. The open-air corridor was completely empty.
Charlie was already sprinting back toward the dungeons to face his Potions professor.
Down on the grass, as the effects of the spells slowly faded, Neville's face flushed a deep, beet red.
His eyes were locked intensely on the exact spot where Charlie had just been standing.
He had seen him.
"Charlie," he whispered softly.
Meanwhile, back in the dungeons, Charlie happily accepted Snape's furious, venomous tirade.
It was entirely worth it.
At the very least, his friend hadn't shattered his wrist or broken his leg.
That was more than enough.