Classes ended, and Anthony and Hector practically sprinted toward the Great Hall.
They couldn't wait to track down the Gryffindors and ask about their flying lesson.
But the moment they approached, a heavy, gloomy atmosphere radiated from the Gryffindor table.
Ron was slumped over the table, clutching his head and squirming restlessly. A short distance away, Neville sat with red, puffy eyes, looking as though he'd just finished crying.
"Hey, what's wrong with you lot?" Anthony asked, taking the lead.
"It's because of me. Harry Potter is going to be expelled," Neville sniffled.
"You? Expel Harry Potter? What on earth happened?" Anthony threw his hands up, completely baffled.
"It's all my fault," Neville repeated.
"It's Malfoy's fault, isn't it?" Ron lifted his head. "That bloody git."
Seamus chimed in, joining Ron in fiercely cursing Malfoy. Through their overlapping, rapid-fire complaints, Charlie quickly pieced together the truth.
It turned out that after Charlie had slipped away, Madam Hooch, terrified that Neville might have suffered some internal injuries, had escorted him straight to the hospital wing anyway.
Charlie could only shake his head in helpless resignation.
He had spent a mere five minutes entirely rewriting his friend's fate of a shattered wrist and broken leg.
It had been an incredibly worthwhile trade.
But it seemed the butterfly's wings hadn't stirred up much of a storm after all.
Once the pale, trembling Neville was led away by Madam Hooch, the rest of the story had played out exactly as Charlie remembered from the original books.
"Well, that's a bit anticlimactic," Charlie muttered, scratching his head.
"Why do you lot keep tossing the word 'expelled' around? Relax. I highly doubt Harry Potter is getting expelled."
If literally anyone else had been threatened with expulsion, Charlie might have bought it.
But the famous Harry Potter getting booted from Hogwarts?
From a certain perspective, it was a pretty decent joke.
Seeing Charlie's absolute calm, Ron couldn't help but nod in agreement.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. If Hogwarts was actually in the habit of expelling people, my twin brothers would have been kicked out ages ago."
"Exactly. Hogwarts isn't nearly that ruthless," Seamus agreed.
"It's all Granger's fault," Ron muttered. "She's the one who won't stop blabbing about getting expelled and breaking school rules."
"Malfoy isn't here. Probably lounging in his dorm. He definitely doesn't care about what happened, and he clearly isn't worried about getting expelled either."
"Too right. Let's just stop worrying about it," Seamus nodded, patting Neville on the shoulder.
Neville nodded slowly. "Alright."
Then, he looked up at Charlie. Suddenly, a memory from that afternoon clicked into place.
"Oh, right! Charlie, was that you this afternoon? I saw you standing up in the corridor."
"It was," Charlie nodded.
"I was just heading back from the loo, happened to see you falling, and tossed a Hover Charm your way."
"That was you?!" Ron and Seamus whipped their heads around to stare at Charlie.
"Just lending a hand," Charlie shrugged, shooting a glance at Anthony.
Anthony immediately caught the hint and seamlessly changed the subject. "Right, so, how was the actual flying? What was the lesson like?"
"Piece of cake, obviously," Ron stated confidently.
He then launched into a wildly exaggerated tale of his own flying prowess, making it sound as though he was the undisputed king of the pitch.
Charlie tuned out the rest of the conversation. Sitting at the long table, he pulled out a book and began reading while waiting for dinner to be served.
Two floating candles drifted over, casting a warm glow across his pages. The Great Hall was bustling with students and deafening chatter, but Charlie remained entirely unfazed, completely immersed in his book.
Half an hour later, an abrupt spike in the noise level finally dragged him back to reality. Harry Potter had returned.
The outcome was completely unchanged. The boy's "punishment" involved a minor point deduction and detention—a fate Malfoy wouldn't escape either.
But Malfoy certainly hadn't earned a spot on his House Quidditch team in his first year.
Of course, Harry didn't breathe a word of that. Professor McGonagall had sworn him to secrecy, and Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Captain, was desperate to keep his new Seeker a secret weapon.
"Brilliant news that you aren't expelled. Just a bit of detention."
"Charlie called it."
"Great news, mate."
"Thanks," Harry smiled. Beside him, Neville continuously muttered breathless apologies and thanks.
The next day. Friday.
In the afternoon, the highly anticipated flying lesson finally began.
Truth be told, the chaos of yesterday's Gryffindor class heavily impacted today's lesson.
Class officially started at half-past three.
But by the time they were actually allowed to attempt liftoff, an hour and a half had already passed.
Madam Hooch was aggressively strict today. With her sharp, hawkish eyes and neat, short hair, she paced the ranks, delivering warning after stern warning.
"No one leaves the ground until I blow my whistle."
"Flying is not a joke. You are suspending yourselves high in the air; one moment of carelessness could cost you your life."
Throughout her speech, she kept a white-knuckled grip on her wand.
Once every student had successfully summoned their broom to their hand, she finally allowed them to line up and take off one by one.
She absolutely refused to let the next student mount their broom until the previous one was safely hovering in the air.
"Charlie Wonka. You're up," Madam Hooch called out.
Charlie carried his broom over to the designated starting line beside her.
"Let the broom feel your intent. You must be absolutely clear that you want to fly, and precisely how high you intend to go.
"Just like passing through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, you cannot hesitate or feel fear. Fear will muddy your intent, and the broom will sense it."
"I'm ready, Professor," Charlie nodded.
"Remember to push off the ground firmly. If your mind is already anticipating the landing before you've even left the grass, you will never get airborne."
With that, she raised her hand and brought her whistle to her lips.
Charlie mounted his broom, his muscles tense and ready.
At the sharp blast of the whistle, Madam Hooch threw her arm down.
Charlie locked his eyes on the sky and kicked off hard.
The broomstick instantly surged upward beneath him, carrying him high into the air toward the clouds.
"Lower your altitude, Mr. Wonka!" Madam Hooch shouted from the ground.
Feeling the wind whip past his ears, Charlie gently willed the broom to level out.
But the moment Madam Hooch turned her attention to guiding Anthony's takeoff, Charlie subtly coaxed his broom a bit higher.
The sun was beginning to set, painting the distant horizon in a stunning blend of deep blues and vibrant oranges.
The Forbidden Forest was a sea of dark green, its outermost canopy edged in brilliant, burning gold.
Birds darted through the leaves, while the Black Lake shimmered like a massive, dark gemstone set into the vibrant landscape.
In the distance, the streets of Hogsmeade looked relatively empty, likely missing the bustling crowds of Hogwarts students.
After all, most wizards from the rest of Britain preferred doing their shopping in Diagon Alley.
A whistling gust of wind swept past him. Suddenly, an inexplicable feeling of desolate bleakness washed over Charlie.
Wind?
No, it wasn't just an ordinary breeze.
It was the autumn wind. The specific wind that blew only as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon.
He drew his wand and pointed it directly into the gale.
During the summer holidays, Charlie had attempted to harvest "wind energy," but it had been entirely impossible to contain.
Wind was an ethereal, formless concept. Compared to lightning, sun-dew, or moon-dew, it was infinitely more elusive.
But today's wind... felt different.
A moment later, a faint, shimmering golden wisp wrapped itself around the tip of his wand.
He had actually harvested it!
In his previous attempts, any wind he managed to grab instantly dissipated like a leaking balloon. The element simply refused to be tamed or stored.
But this time, amidst the desolate chill of autumn, the wind seemed to carry an extra, heavier conceptual weight. It allowed him to anchor it.
Damn it, I didn't bring any vials.
After a moment of thought, Charlie made a bold decision. He would infuse the wisp of wind directly into his own body.
He turned the wand on himself, gently tapping the tip carrying the autumn breeze against his chest.
Alright, let's see exactly what this does. Charlie pocketed his wand.
He glanced down at the grounds below, genuinely thrilled by the unexpected harvest during his flying lesson.
A perfect lesson! Charlie smiled. Though, the invisible Cushioning Charm on the broom was incredibly uncomfortable. He shifted his weight again.
Every flying broom was enchanted with an invisible Cushioning Charm, roughly the shape and feel of a bicycle seat.
However, the charm on Charlie's school broom was wildly unstable, constantly wobbling beneath him.
Worse still, the footrests near the tail twigs were incredibly loose.
And that didn't even cover the rough, splintering wood of the handle itself.
"The Cleansweep series is famously durable, but absolutely terrible to actually fly," Anthony said, floating up beside him.
He wasn't gripping his broom with both hands. Instead, his left hand was held open while his right hand pinched tightly at his palm.
"Got a splinter?"
"Yeah, and it stings like mad," Anthony nodded, wincing. "I flew up to ask if you knew any healing charms."
Charlie shook his head.
"Healing a tiny scratch is easy enough, but getting the actual splinter out first is the tricky part."
"Guess I'll have to go down and ask Madam Hooch," Anthony sighed.
"Want me to try using a Hover Charm on it?" Charlie offered.
"What good is making a splinter float?" Anthony asked, confused.
"The floating isn't the point. I'm trying to use the charm to gain physical control over it."
"Oh?"
Intrigued, Anthony held his hand out flat. "Alright, give it a go, then."
Honestly, he seemed more curious to see if Charlie could actually manipulate something that minuscule than he was worried about the pain.
Charlie drew his wand again, locking his eyes on Anthony's palm.
The tiny wooden barb, barely a centimeter long, was buried deep in the skin.
A tiny bead of red blood swelled around it. "Wingardium Leviosa—" Charlie commanded, giving his wand a precise flick.
Exactly as expected, the spell had absolutely zero effect.
"You can't use a Hover Charm directly on a person. It probably failed the targeting condition," Anthony guessed.
"Looks like I'm just not skilled enough," Charlie nodded.
He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the splinter. Suddenly, to Anthony's utter shock, the tiny barb began to slowly wiggle.
A second later, it slipped smoothly out of his flesh and hovered in the air.
"Did your charm actually catch it?!" Anthony stared at Charlie in disbelief.
Charlie furrowed his brow, remaining silent.
A gentle breeze drifted past them. Suspended in mid-air, the tiny wooden splinter began to rapidly wither. It crumbled into ash and was swept away by the wind.
"Wow! Mate, how on earth did you do that?" Anthony asked, eyes wide with excitement.
"I honestly don't know," Charlie shook his head.
Perhaps it was the influence of the autumn wind.
Just a moment ago, as he stared at the splinter, he could have sworn he heard a faint whisper in his ear: I can help you.
And so, he had instinctively tapped into that power.
The power of the wind.
"But..."
The most crucial detail was that the wind had completely disintegrated the splinter.
That was the part that truly shocked Charlie.
Determined to test it, he lowered his altitude and hovered next to the canopy of a tall tree. He reached out and plucked a large, vibrantly green leaf. Left alone, it would have clung to its branch and thrived for months to come.
Wind, Charlie called out softly in his mind.
The autumn wind answered, carrying with it an overwhelming sense of desolate finality.
It swept over the leaf in Charlie's hand, causing it to rustle violently.
Right before his eyes, a sickly yellow hue bloomed at the edge of the leaf and rapidly, aggressively spread outward.
In mere seconds, the vibrant, glossy green leaf transformed into a dead, withered husk.
The wind continued to blow. The dead leaf turned brittle, cracked, and finally shattered into dust, scattering into the autumn breeze.
Had the wind rapidly accelerated the flow of time within the leaf? Or had the autumn breeze forcefully, violently stripped away its vitality?
To think this desolate, evening wind possessed such terrifying power.
Wind was just wind. But because this specific breeze blew only as the dying sun cast its final, melancholic rays, it was infused with a profound, invisible conceptual force.
Charlie hovered there, stunned. For a brief moment, he felt the urge to act like Hermione—to run to the library and bury himself in books, or to seek out a professor for a concrete explanation.
But who could possibly explain this to him?
A heavy sense of defeat washed over him. A profound, sinking feeling of loss.
This magnificent discovery brought him no joy.
No—
No, that wasn't right!
What the hell am I thinking? Have I ever relied on anyone else to figure out my Nature Harvests? Haven't I always explored and tested them myself?
Why am I suddenly having these depressing, defeated thoughts?
I—
The autumn wind is affecting my mind!
Charlie immediately dove toward the ground, slowly pacing back and forth on his broom just above the grass.
The autumn wind is influencing my emotions. It's making me feel bleak and lifeless.
Which means the essence of the wind I absorbed into my body is acting as a bridge.
It allows me to commune with and command the autumn wind.
I can summon it at will, but every time it blows, it sweeps through my own mind as well.
It's transferring its aura of decay and twilight directly into my psyche.
The more he analyzed it, the more perfectly logical it seemed.
But how was he supposed to counteract that oppressive bleakness?
Charlie floated in place, his hands behind his back, thinking rapidly. A second later, he gave his wrist a sharp flick.
A piece of chocolate appeared in his palm.
Sweetness. The natural, instinctual cure for bitterness and gloom.
He tossed the chocolate into his mouth. Almost instantly, the heavy, depressing fog clouding his mind was violently swept away.
His grim expression melted, replaced by a surging wave of pure exhilaration at having successfully harvested a brand-new, incredibly powerful ingredient.
He gripped his broom tightly and shot back into the sky. He flew faster and faster, soaring past the eighth floor, rocketing all the way to the very peak of the castle spires.
The wind howled around him. The sun was now half-swallowed by the horizon.
He threw his arms wide open. His heart hammered with the fierce, burning passion of a rising sun. The wind battered against his chest, whipping his robes violently and sending his hair flying in a wild frenzy.
"The sun is setting every single moment, but it is also rising every single moment!
"Autumn wind! Your twilight bleakness will never smother my dawn!"
On the eighth floor of the castle, an elderly wizard with a long, silver beard stood by his office window, bathed in the fading sunlight, watching the triumphant silhouette soaring through the sky.
Amidst the desolate, dying light of the day, an eleven-year-old boy had thrown his arms wide to embrace the entire world.
"The sun is setting every single moment, but it is also rising every single moment."
He repeated the phrase slowly, softly, turning the words over in his mouth as if savoring a fine delicacy.
He looked at Charlie, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a reflection of his own youth.
A time when he, too, had looked out at the world with that same burning, unyielding passion.
At the thought, Dumbledore couldn't help but let out a quiet, joyful chuckle.