"Mr. Sun-About-to-Rise," a voice carried on the wind whispered into Charlie's ear.
He turned toward the sound and saw Dumbledore standing by the window of the Headmaster's Tower.
Dumbledore smiled. "If you do not descend soon, I imagine Madam Hooch will be quite cross with you."
Charlie scratched his head awkwardly. "Apologies, Professor. I got a bit caught up in the moment."
"I never would have guessed you were someone so easily swayed by emotion," Dumbledore noted.
"Perhaps as a wizard, when one isn't actively required to study or analyze the world, acting on emotion makes life a bit more comfortable."
With that, Charlie tapped two fingers to his forehead in a crisp salute to Dumbledore, then slowly began his descent.
Down on the ground, Madam Hooch shot Charlie a sharp look. She opened her mouth to reprimand him, but after a moment of thought, ultimately said nothing.
The boy was clearly a natural flyer, and he had come down obediently enough.
The lesson ran long. It wasn't until the sky was completely pitch black that the young wizards were finally dismissed from their first flying class.
Naturally, every single one of them was still practically vibrating with adrenaline; not a single student felt remotely tired.
"What a shame. Why do we only get one flying lesson a week?" complained Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff.
"No homework, no biased, permanently scowling professor, and we don't have to practice the exact same wand movements a hundred times over," Ernie Macmillan wholeheartedly agreed.
Their sentiments echoed the thoughts of nearly every student present. In the eyes of the young wizards, flying class was absolute perfection!
Anthony noticed Charlie looking distracted. He walked over and nudged him with his elbow. "Charlie, what's on your mind?"
"Don't tell me you're already planning out what to do this weekend," Hector teased.
"No, just thinking about something else," Charlie replied vaguely.
If the autumn wind possessed a distinct conceptual weight compared to an ordinary breeze, what about the other natural elements?
Currently, his most abundant and frequently tested element was moon-dew. However, he was absolutely certain that the changing phases of the moon had zero effect on the properties of the moon-dew itself.
As for sun-dew, that was a constant; the sun hung in the sky every single day.
If the sun and moon didn't change, the only dynamic elements he had left to test were lightning and the autumn wind.
But those two alone weren't enough to definitively prove his theory.
I wonder if I could harvest something unique during a total lunar or solar eclipse?
Or the very first snow of winter? Or the first crack of spring thunder in March?
If there really is a tangible difference, then my sweet shop is going to have a highly exclusive line of 'seasonal' chocolates.
He smiled silently to himself, immensely looking forward to the possibility.
"You look incredibly creepy smiling to yourself like that. Did you think of something funny?" Anthony asked.
"No, I was just thinking I need to find time to pop into the library after dinner," Charlie shook his head.
"That's a rare sight. Didn't you say you wanted to thoroughly digest the textbooks before moving on to anything else?"
"It's good to relax occasionally," Charlie said easily. "Picking up some light reading for the weekend is perfectly normal, right?"
"Fair enough. What about you, Hector?" Anthony turned to the other boy.
"Me? Since it's Friday, I'll probably just write a letter to my mum and dad. We had our first flying lesson today; I'm sure they'll want to hear all about it," Hector replied.
"Makes sense," Anthony nodded. "Alright, Charlie, you're on your own for the library, then."
Charlie nodded, offering no further explanation.
Dinner flew by—or rather, Charlie inhaled his food at record speed. Once the feast appeared, he finished eating in under twenty minutes, patted his comfortably full stomach, and bid his friends goodnight.
The Hogwarts library was located on the fifth floor. As Charlie made his way up the stairs, he mentally mapped out his current schedule.
First came his daily studies. This was non-negotiable. For the subjects he genuinely intended to master, he needed to maintain a high level of dedication.
This included pre-reading, reviewing lecture notes, and completing homework assignments, which roughly consumed fifty percent of his free time.
Another thirty percent was dedicated to self-studying advanced spells.
For example, he was currently working on the Avifors Spell, a fixed-transfiguration charm. Essentially, it used a specific incantation to transfigure an object into a specific result—in this case, turning inanimate objects into birds.
There were many fixed-transfiguration spells, such as Avifors, Serpensortia (the Snake-Summoning Spell), and Avis (the Bird-Conjuring Charm), all of which fell under the umbrella of Transfiguration.
While the general incantation Vera Verto was a staple of the curriculum, it certainly didn't mean the young wizards spent seven straight years learning only that one spell.
Although fixed-transfiguration spells had a very clear, hard ceiling in terms of utility, they were significantly easier to learn and master.
Currently, his schedule dictated that every Monday afternoon and all day Saturday were strictly reserved for spell practice in the Room of Requirement.
The remaining twenty percent of his free time was dedicated entirely to his candy-making.
But tonight, he had decided to focus on something else entirely. More accurately, it was something he should have looked into ages ago, but had only recently formulated a viable plan for.
The Hogwarts library boasted ceilings roughly twenty feet high, filled with towering, labyrinthine rows of bookshelves, every single one packed tightly to bursting.
Charlie wandered the aisles curiously. The library was deathly silent; even the floating candles seemed terrified to let their flames flicker too loudly.
Every single bookshelf was identical in size and shape.
Up ahead, Charlie watched a younger student pull a book from a shelf. The exact second the book cleared the shelf, it suddenly inflated like a balloon, violently expanding in size.
Crash!
Unsurprisingly, when a book abruptly transforms from the size of a standard novel into a massive, heavy tome the length of a human forearm, an eleven-year-old child isn't going to be able to hold onto it.
The heavy thud was deafening in the dead silence of the library. Immediately, the rapid, furious tapping of footsteps approached.
"What is the meaning of this racket?!" A severe-looking woman appeared, clutching a feather duster tightly in her hand.
"I'm so sorry, Madam Pince."
"Shh!" Madam Pince shushed him fiercely, her brow furrowing deeply. She looked down at the dropped book, a flash of genuine pain crossing her eyes.
"You must treat these books with the utmost respect," Madam Pince hissed angrily. "You ought to know that the Hogwarts Library houses the largest collection of magical texts in all of Britain!
"There are countless books here that simply do not exist anywhere else in the world. For all you know, the book you just violently dropped could be the only surviving copy of a priceless magical text!"
"I'm very sorry, ma'am," the young wizard mumbled, staring at his shoes.
Madam Pince carefully picked up the heavy tome and shoved it back into the boy's arms. "See that you are more careful next time. Do not let this happen again."
The boy looked as though he'd just been granted a stay of execution. He clutched the book to his chest and hurried away. Charlie reckoned if the boy wasn't terrified of making too much noise, he would have sprinted out of the library at top speed.
Once the boy was gone, Madam Pince turned her sharp gaze onto Charlie.
"And what exactly are you looking for, young man?" Madam Pince asked softly, her tone still clipped.
"I'm looking for literature regarding magical portraits, ma'am. I'm incredibly curious as to how the Fat Lady is capable of controlling the locking mechanism of the Gryffindor common room. What specific charms are utilized in that process?"
Hearing Charlie's highly specific question, Madam Pince took a deep breath. Her eyes lost focus for a moment as she rapidly searched her mental catalog of the library's contents.
A moment later, she exhaled slowly. "If you are seeking general knowledge regarding the creation and mechanics of magical portraits, I recommend An Introduction to Magical Portraiture and Vespinck: The Bizarre and Peculiar Portraits I Have Encountered Over the Years.
"However, if your curiosity is specifically focused on the Fat Lady and the castle's defenses, then Hogwarts: A History is absolutely mandatory reading.
"You will find the first two texts in section C-2, under 'Magical Arts.'
"Hogwarts: A History is located on the B-3 History shelves. They dominate the entire front row; you cannot miss them."
"Thank you very much for your guidance, Madam Pince," Charlie smiled and nodded politely.
"You are quite welcome. Oh, and a word of warning: the Peculiar Portraits book is incredibly heavy once removed from the shelf. I highly suggest you brace yourself and use both hands."
Charlie suppressed a smile, immediately recalling the scene he'd just witnessed. "I certainly will, ma'am."
Bidding Madam Pince farewell, Charlie made his way toward the C-2 section.
Yes, magical portraits.
Naturally, Charlie hadn't suddenly developed a profound, burning passion for fine art. The thing he had desperately wanted to do since arriving at Hogwarts wasn't painting—it was setting up a small business.
He had spent the past few nights deeply agonizing over this exact problem.
He was only a first-year. First and foremost, he couldn't realistically sell large quantities of magical sweets to the upperclassmen under his own name. If he tried, he'd spend half his day just trying to explain where the incredibly potent chocolate came from and how an eleven-year-old was brewing it.
Furthermore, Charlie absolutely did not want the entire school knowing about his Nature Harvest ability.
He didn't view his ability as some dark, shameful secret that needed to be violently protected. If he had to describe it, it was more like a birthmark on his chest.
If someone accidentally saw it, it wasn't the end of the world. But that certainly didn't mean he wanted every single person he met demanding, "Oh, mate, take your shirt off and let me see it!"
Obviously, if Charlie sold the chocolate himself, he'd be subjected to a daily barrage of: "Oh, how exactly do you make this? Is it your special ability? Show me how it works!"
He simply didn't have the patience for that.
And honestly, selling the chocolate under his real name carried far more negative consequences than just annoying questions.
His coursework and normal student life would undoubtedly be severely disrupted by constant customers and inquiries.
He had briefly considered tracking down the Weasley twins to act as his distributors. But after careful consideration, he deemed it far too risky.
The twins undeniably possessed a brilliant mind for business, but they were far too chaotic and high-profile.
Charlie ultimately decided that the best possible scenario was to find a completely independent, reliable "salesperson" to handle the front end, while he remained entirely hidden behind the scenes, occasionally brewing new batches without disrupting his studies or his peace.
But where on earth was he supposed to find someone like that?
A few nights ago, thoroughly frustrated by the problem, he had sat up in bed, leaning against the window frame, staring blankly around the dormitory.
And then, his eyes had landed on a girl.
More accurately, a girl inside a painting.
Exactly. A magical portrait. How incredibly brilliant.
True, a magical portrait couldn't physically move out of its frame. It couldn't physically hand a customer their chosen product, nor could it physically collect the money.
But what if he provided the portrait with a "shop"?
A completely independent, automated storefront. A system where the young wizards selected their desired sweets, the magical portrait verified their selection and confirmed their payment, and the automated system released the goods.
What Charlie needed to do right now was research the actual, magical viability of that idea.
He quickly located section C-2 and found the book Madam Pince had recommended: Vespinck: The Bizarre and Peculiar Portraits I Have Encountered Over the Years.
Madam Pince's warning had been entirely justified. While resting on the shelf, the book appeared to be the size of a standard notebook. But the second Charlie pulled it free, it rapidly expanded into a massive, heavy encyclopedia.
Its dimensions were genuinely comical; Charlie had to wrap both arms around it just to carry it. The spine alone was thicker than his fist.
He lugged the massive tome over to a nearby reading table and began to read.
Beyond being a textbook, it was essentially a curated art gallery. The left-hand pages featured massive, highly detailed reproductions of various portraits, while the right-hand pages detailed exactly when and where the author had encountered the piece, the history behind it, and the specific magical anomalies that made it unique.
For example, there was a piece titled Iverson's Howl. The painting depicted a man named Iverson, sitting elegantly in a high-backed chair, dressed in exquisite, aristocratic clothing, looking the picture of refined grace.
However, the man was a werewolf.
According to the author, the artist had actually mixed genuine werewolf blood into the paints.
Under normal circumstances, the painted Iverson remained entirely polite and cultured. Logically, a magical portrait should remain static in its nature; it was merely an imprint of the subject at the time of painting, and should permanently maintain that state.
But the reality was terrifyingly different. Whenever the real-world moon was full, the painted Iverson would forcefully transform into a werewolf, succumbing to an uncontrollable, bloodthirsty rage within the canvas.
As a result, this single painting was responsible for the destruction of countless other portraits.
Every full moon, Iverson would burst out of his own frame, invade neighboring portraits, and violently slaughter the painted inhabitants.
Eventually, the original owner, utterly exhausted by the endless destruction, sold the piece for a fraction of its worth.
According to the author, by the time he encountered the painting, it had changed hands over a dozen times. If the piece wasn't so morbidly fascinating, it likely would have been burned to ash years ago.
Ultimately, an American collector purchased the painting and commissioned a custom frame forged entirely from pure silver.
Only then was Iverson physically restrained, unable to breach the silver borders and invade other canvases during the full moon.
The physical ingredients of the paint actually influence the magical nature of the subject? That's incredible.
And the pure silver frame actually physically restrained a painted werewolf.
The interaction between magical portraits and physical reality was far more complex and fascinating than he had imagined.
Naturally, this was fantastic news.
The more a portrait could interact with and be bound by the physical world, the more viable Charlie's "shop" concept became.
He wasn't in a rush. He slowly turned the pages, absorbing the information as the hours slipped by. Eventually, Madam Pince walked over and interrupted his reading.
"It is nearly curfew. I imagine you have no desire to end up in Mr. Filch's office tonight," Madam Pince warned.
Charlie looked up, glancing around the library. Only a handful of students remained. "Apologies, ma'am," Charlie said, standing up. "I'd like to check this book out, please."
"Certainly. However, you are only permitted to check out one book at a time. Have you checked out any other materials recently?"
"No, ma'am. This is my very first time visiting the library."
"Follow me to the desk, then," Madam Pince nodded, leading Charlie toward the exit.
"You there, little witch. It is time for you to leave as well," Madam Pince called out to another student along the way.
Charlie glanced over, his eyes narrowing slightly before he called out, "Evening, Hermione. What are you reading? You look completely lost in it."
Hermione looked up, momentarily startled.
"Evening, Charlie. This is the first time I've ever seen you in the library." She turned to the librarian. "Madam Pince, I'd like to check this out, please."
"That is fine. Have you returned Quidditch Through the Ages?"
"I returned it this afternoon, ma'am," Hermione nodded.
"Very well. Bring it here."
Hermione nodded, clutching the book to her chest as she fell into step behind Madam Pince.
Charlie casually glanced at the cover of the book in her arms: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander.
"Suddenly interested in magical creatures? The Golden Snidget, perhaps?"
"Ah—no—well, yes. I wanted to learn a bit more about the history of the Golden Snidget. I read that they have dedicated nature reserves now, but that numerous wizards still actively poach them."
Charlie studied her face. Her eyes looked exhausted, framed by heavy, dark bags.
"Looks like you didn't sleep well last night," Charlie chuckled softly.
"Ah—yeah, exactly," Hermione stammered slightly. "Flying class was just so thrilling. I lay in bed for hours and couldn't stop thinking about it."
Oh, really? I would have thought a massive, three-headed dog was slightly more thrilling than a broomstick, Charlie thought dryly.
Naturally, he kept that thought to himself, simply offering a knowing nod.