The following afternoon, Wednesday, there was only one short class: History of Magic.
After class, Charlie made his way up to the fourth floor.
The owl door knocker seemed to be dozing. It wasn't until Charlie approached and reached out to tap it that it suddenly jerked awake.
"Oh, little wizard," the owl knocker drawled lazily. "Professor Chambers is not in his office."
"Alright," Charlie sighed, slightly disappointed, though he knew it was a distinct possibility.
"He is currently teaching in the classroom at the very end of the left corridor on the fifth floor. You may go see him now."
"Won't that interrupt his class?" Charlie asked hesitantly. "I can just wait here for him to finish."
"Usually, no," the owl replied.
Charlie nodded and headed upstairs.
Most students heading to the fifth floor were making a beeline for the library. Once Charlie turned down the left corridor, the crowds completely vanished.
A few steps later, Professor Chambers' voice drifted out from an open classroom door.
"Binding a spell to an inanimate object is not nearly as difficult as you might imagine. Assuming you have actually been paying attention in my previous lectures, I expect every single one of you to successfully complete today's objective."
It sounded like Professor Chambers was right in the middle of a lecture. Charlie slowed his pace and quietly stopped at the classroom door.
Perhaps auditing the class wouldn't be such a bad idea.
"The primary difficulty in crafting a Quick-Quotes Quill lies in the hovering mechanic, paired with making the quill inherently understand what you wish it to record. This requires three distinct incantations. Your task today is to figure out how to perfectly splice those three spells together—"
Professor Chambers' voice abruptly cut off.
Charlie, who had been listening intently, frowned. What had happened in there? Had someone fallen asleep in class?
As he stood there confused, a silent figure suddenly materialized right beside him in the doorway.
"Come in."
Charlie jumped out of his skin. When did he even notice me?
Feeling incredibly awkward, he followed Professor Chambers into the classroom.
There were barely ten students inside. Glancing at their collars and House crests, Charlie realized all four Houses were represented.
He even spotted a familiar face: the sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect.
Did that mean out of an entire year group, across all four Houses, only a dozen students had opted to take Alchemy?
Each student sat at a five-foot-wide desk. A long, pristine quill rested in the center of each workspace, with books, notes, and parchment neatly stacked to the right.
On their left sat the exact same complex, multi-lens instrument Charlie had found in the Room of Requirement's alchemy studio.
"Whoa, is that a first-year?" a Hufflepuff student asked, sounding highly amused.
"Yeah, he's a first-year," the Ravenclaw prefect confirmed.
The entire class stared at Charlie as if he were a rare exhibit in a zoo.
"Silence," Professor Chambers commanded. His voice wasn't rushed or overly harsh like McGonagall's, nor was it suffocatingly dark like Snape's.
It was just perfectly, calmly authoritative.
And in this tiny classroom full of upperclassmen, it was more than enough.
"If you wish to listen in, find an empty desk at the back and take a seat," he told Charlie.
As he spoke, he raised a hand and casually waved it toward the back of the room.
Instantly, a heavy oak door materialized in the stone wall.
Hogwarts was full of shifting, disappearing, and reappearing doors. But this was the first time Charlie had ever seen a wizard actively, consciously command one to appear.
Did that mean if Charlie got bored, he was free to just slip out the back door?
If so, Professor Chambers had gone through unnecessary effort.
Charlie's curiosity was currently peaking; he had absolutely zero intention of leaving. He nodded gratefully at the professor and quickly made his way to an empty desk in the back row.
Professor Chambers resumed his lecture. Today's practical assignment was crafting a Quick-Quotes Quill. Charlie knew exactly what they were; he'd seen them sold in Diagon Alley.
He had only purchased standard quills, of course. Genuine magical artifacts were always absurdly expensive.
According to the professor's lecture, the students needed to successfully combine the [Hover], [Thought Perception], and [Writing] charms.
They couldn't just violently smash the three spells together and blast them into the feather.
Just like a properly structured sentence required a subject, verb, and object, magical circuits required flow.
The goal of the lesson was figuring out how to efficiently and harmoniously link the three charms and securely anchor them into the quill.
The class had already been running for a while before Charlie arrived. Ten minutes later, the lecture wrapped up, and the students began their practical attempts.
Not a single student reached for their feather right away. Instead, they all hunched over their parchment, furiously referencing their textbooks and the notes on the blackboard to map out their runic arrays and calculations.
Meanwhile, Professor Chambers walked down the aisle toward the back of the room.
"Completely lost, or do you actually have some thoughts on the matter?" he asked.
"A bit of both," Charlie admitted.
Professor Chambers looked slightly surprised, then offered a faint, approving smile.
"At the very least, you are honest. Do you have a specific question for me today?"
Charlie pulled out the wooden oak block inscribed with the [Light] rune.
With a flick of his wrist, he lightly tapped the bottom of the block, sending it drifting high into the air, floating slowly like a balloon.
Professor Chambers reached out and snatched the block from the air.
Five sides of the wooden cube were covered in violently scorched, failed carving marks. Only one face bore a fully complete, functional rune.
"Incredibly crude technique," Chambers noted.
It wasn't an insult. In fact, there was a distinct trace of admiration in his voice.
Because it was crude, he could clearly see the sheer amount of grueling effort Charlie had poured into it.
Because it was crude, he knew Charlie was a genuine beginner—but one with a terrifying amount of drive and execution.
That was far more worthy of praise than raw, unearned talent.
"How long did this take you?" the professor asked.
"I got the oak blocks from Hagrid yesterday afternoon, and I practiced until about one in the morning," Charlie replied.
"You managed this in a single night?"
Professor Chambers' thumb brushed over the carved rune, the rough wood rasping quietly against his skin.
Sunday afternoon, I recommended two dense theoretical texts to him. He read them, sourced the necessary raw materials and tools, and immediately threw himself into hands-on practice without missing a beat.
That is a remarkably complete, highly efficient learning cycle.
And on his very first attempt, he stubbornly pushed through failure until he achieved a tangible result.
Genuine passion, relentless execution, and raw talent...
"Are you aware of the prerequisite grades required to formally enroll in N.E.W.T. level Alchemy?"
At Hogwarts, taking advanced sixth and seventh-year electives always came with strict conditions.
"I imagine," Charlie thought for a moment, "that to take this class, a student would need to achieve high marks in Herbology, Potions, and Ancient Runes."
"Entirely correct," Professor Chambers nodded.
"Do you truly wish to learn Alchemy?" he asked, his tone shifting to something much more serious.
Charlie gave a firm, unhesitating nod.
"My sixth-year class meets on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. They are currently only a month and a half ahead of you in the curriculum.
"You may study independently to catch up. Once you have bridged that gap, you are welcome to join them in their practical exercises.
"Be warned: it will be incredibly difficult. I will not halt my lessons to spoon-feed you foundational knowledge that the rest of the class has already mastered.
"Therefore, the burden of comprehension will rest entirely on your shoulders.
"Furthermore, regarding the three prerequisite subjects I mentioned—I expect you to maintain a proactive desire to master them. I will not tolerate you neglecting your core classes in favor of Alchemy. I will be personally checking your progress with your other professors.
"If you accept those terms, you may come find me in my office whenever I am not teaching."
Charlie nodded eagerly, completely unable to hide the massive grin spreading across his face.
Professor Chambers turned his attention back to the front of the room. The sixth-year students had all turned around in their seats, exchanging shocked, wide-eyed whispers.
"He is simply a student auditing the class out of personal curiosity," Chambers announced cleanly to the upperclassmen. "It is not a matter of great importance. Certainly not more important than the calculations you should currently be focused on."
Suitably chastised, the older students quickly turned back around and buried their heads in their parchment.
Professor Chambers turned back to Charlie. He casually slid his wand from his robes and tapped the air.
A faint, shimmering ring of light bloomed outward, quickly expanding to encompass just Charlie and the professor.
Instantly, the scratching of quills and the quiet murmurs from the rest of the classroom completely vanished, sealing them in absolute silence.
"Now, back to business."