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Harry and Seamus were paired up together, while Ron and Hermione sat directly beside them.
Honestly, the grouping was incredibly awkward.
Ever since the night of their first flying lesson, when they had collectively broken school rules, their relationship had thawed slightly.
But as the days passed, and Harry was suddenly gifted a flying broomstick, the dynamic had gradually grown strange again.
Harry guessed that Hermione simply couldn't understand why he had been rewarded with a broomstick sponsored by Professor McGonagall—and made the youngest Seeker in a century—after explicitly breaking the rules.
To her rigidly logical mind, it must have seemed entirely unreasonable.
Of course, Ron wasn't helping matters either; he had never particularly liked Hermione to begin with.
Just as he was thinking this, a loud bang erupted right next to him.
Harry slowly turned his head to see Seamus, whose face was completely covered in black soot. Seamus slowly opened his mouth, letting out a thin trail of white smoke.
Unlike many of the other students who jumped out of their skins, Harry was already entirely used to this. No matter what spell Seamus was attempting, the process always involved at least one or two explosions.
In a way, it was almost a talent.
The practice continued.
The charm was anything but simple; it was arguably the hardest spell Harry had learned so far. He couldn't feel even the slightest magical connection or resonance with his wand.
"Winga—"
"Winga—"
Beside him, Ron's voice was growing increasingly frantic. He was aggressively slashing his wand through the air, his eyes fixed intensely on the feather resting on his desk.
"Hey—stop—"
Hermione unceremoniously reached out and stopped his arm. "You're saying it wrong. It's..."
But just then, a tiny figure popped into Hermione's mind.
Don't be so incredibly condescending, the tiny figure—looking remarkably like Charlie Wonka—floated over her left shoulder and whispered in her ear.
It's inherently abrasive when you boss people around, the little Charlie flew over to her right side, whispering into her other ear.
Looking back up, Hermione met Ron's deeply impatient, irritated glare.
"What? Have you got something to say?" Ron snapped indignantly.
"Nothing," Hermione said, shrugging slightly. She paused for a second before adding gently, "I just meant... maybe you could try slowing down a bit."
Hearing Hermione's suddenly soft, entirely non-abrasive tone, Ron froze in surprise.
He turned his head away, staring down at the feather on his desk. "Right. Okay."
"Exactly. Just slow it down. Try it like this," Hermione raised her own wand and pointed it at the feather. "Wingardium Leviosa."
"Just make the 'gar' nice and long, and enunciate clearly. You can definitely do it."
Ron looked at his wand uncertainly. Could this battered old thing, with the unicorn hair literally poking out the end, actually pull it off?
Still, thankfully, Hermione's gentle interruption had managed to calm him down significantly.
Over the next half hour, Ron tried again and again.
But this time, with Hermione patiently helping him alongside, his execution improved dramatically.
It wasn't just him, either; even Harry benefited massively from Hermione's advice.
In fact, the entire row of students sitting around Hermione had naturally slowed down, practicing their spellcasting with calm, deliberate focus.
Just as class was ending, Ron gave his wand a final swish and flick. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather on his desk slowly drifted into the air, hovering two or three inches above the wood.
He immediately looked at Hermione in sheer surprise. Hermione simply offered a tight-lipped smile and lifted her chin proudly.
The look in her eyes clearly said, See? I told you so. I knew you could do it.
The sound of clapping echoed from the front of the room. It was Professor Flitwick.
Just as he had easily overheard Anthony whispering about wanting to blow him a kiss during the Ravenclaw lesson, Professor Flitwick had noticed exactly what was happening in this corner of the classroom.
He had seen the near-argument, Hermione's flawless Levitation Charm, and how she had actively, patiently guided her classmates.
"I believe, Miss Granger, that as the first student to successfully cast the Levitation Charm, you have thoroughly earned a House point. And for so wonderfully assisting your friends, you certainly deserve another."
Hermione ducked her head, her ears flushing bright red in embarrassment.
"I'm fairly certain the school rules don't mention anything about earning points for helping classmates," Ron and Harry teased with a laugh.
"Oh, shut up, you two. I don't just rigidly obsess over the rules all the time," Hermione shot back, rolling her eyes.
"Regardless... thanks, Hermione," Ron said, his tone carrying a rare note of genuine sincerity.
"You're welcome," Hermione replied, packing up her books. Right now, she desperately wanted to find Charlie; the tiny, nagging voice that had floated over her shoulders earlier had looked exactly like him.
That afternoon, Charlie mentally reviewed the Dancing Feet Spell as he walked downstairs, heading toward the Great Hall.
The Hall was bursting with noise and chaotic energy. The professors were currently putting the finishing touches on the decorations for the Halloween feast.
Professor Flitwick stood dead center in the room, surrounded by a crowd of students. He raised his wand toward the enchanted ceiling. "Avis!"
Everyone stared intently at his wand as a massive, dark cloud erupted from the tip. But they weren't birds; they were bats.
The massive, dense swarm—easily hundreds, if not thousands, of them—flew up into the upper reaches of the Hall.
On the other side of the room, Professor McGonagall was walking the perimeter. Every time she gave her wand a sharp flick, the surrounding decor instantly transformed.
Cobwebs began to drape over every nook and cranny. Stacks of grinning, carved pumpkin heads materialized in the corners, surrounded by massive, violently melted clusters of candles that looked as though they had been burning for centuries.
Charlie also spotted Professor Chambers. He was currently setting up the students' alchemical artifacts in and around the entrance to the Great Hall.
For example, the rigged pumpkin head Charlie had seen earlier—the one that violently feigned an explosion when someone stepped too close—was placed strategically right next to the main doors.
Any unsuspecting young wizard walking into the Hall was guaranteed to jump out of their skin.
Meanwhile, the flying pumpkin carriage, leaving a trailing path of glittering pixie dust, was currently zooming through the air above the tables.
Finally, the professor stepped completely outside the entrance. He conjured a small, square table and set an entirely ordinary-looking pumpkin head dead center on it.
A wooden sign popped into existence right in front of the pumpkin. It read: The Halloween Oracle.
Simply slip a piece of parchment into its mouth, and it would give you the answer you sought.
The exact second Professor Chambers walked away, a small group of girls immediately swarmed the table.
Thoughtfully, the professor had even left a small stack of blank parchment squares right next to the pumpkin.
"Want to give it a try?" one of the girls asked.
"Obviously," another girl replied. She picked up a slip of parchment, clasped it between her hands, and closed her eyes. "Should I confess my feelings to Cedric?"
"Er... right, you don't actually need to say it out loud," Charlie offered gently.
The girl jumped, whipping her head around to look at him. Her face flushed violently red. "When on earth did you get here?!"
"Please, pretend I'm not even here," Charlie smiled easily.
The girl quickly turned back around and shoved the piece of parchment into the pumpkin's carved mouth.
A moment later, the pumpkin's carved eyes began to glow. With a quiet clunk, the piece of parchment was violently spat out from the stem at the top of the pumpkin, crumpled into a tight little ball.
She unrolled it. It read: Wait for a better opportunity.
"Oh," the girl muttered, her shoulders instantly slumping in disappointment.
Her friend quickly offered some comfort. "Maybe Valentine's Day would be better anyway."
"Exactly. Maybe it's just not the right time. The oracle has spoken."
"I suppose it's right," the girl nodded, clutching the parchment tightly and forcing a smile back onto her face.
"Do you lot want to try?" she asked, stepping aside.
Naturally, they did. Her friends immediately crowded closer.
Charlie quietly backed out of the crowd.
It was entirely predictable. No matter the era, no matter the method, human beings constantly sought out divination to find comfort and reassurance about the future.
Even if said divination was completely, unapologetically fake.
Yes, this was Charlie's project. He had simply hollowed out the pumpkin and placed an automated Copying Quill inside.
He had pre-programmed the quill with a highly specific runic array of vague, positive-sounding phrases and fortunes.
Things like: Wait a little longer, Why not?, The answer is right beside you, Give it your absolute best effort...
These incredibly vague, generic phrases could successfully answer ninety percent of the questions in the world.
In truth, the actual alchemical complexity inside the pumpkin head was pitifully low.
But its interactivity was absolutely off the charts.
Standing just outside the Great Hall, watching the crowd of students around his oracle grow larger by the second, Charlie let out a long, deeply satisfied exhale.