Early morning, in the Great Hall.
The sheer chaos of the previous night seemed entirely non-existent. The Halloween decorations still adorned the room, sustaining the festive, lively atmosphere.
A crowd had gathered around the oracle pumpkin head by the entrance. Students were practically fighting to shove pieces of parchment into its mouth, desperate for some minor revelation.
It wasn't just that the troll had been knocked unconscious by Harry; it felt exactly as if the beast had never even been there.
"What are you standing around for? Do you want some divine guidance too?"
The sudden voice made Harry jump out of his skin. He hopped forward a step and whipped around. Charlie was standing right behind him, though Harry had absolutely no idea when he'd arrived.
Charlie looked incredibly sharp and refreshed, showing zero signs of morning grogginess. He was wearing his felt hat. Catching Harry's eye, he tipped the brim slightly in greeting.
"Divine guidance?" Harry processed the question, then shook his head. "No, I was just thinking how bizarre this all is..."
He scrambled through his limited vocabulary, desperately searching for the right words.
"I just... I thought everyone would be a lot more panicked. Like, terrified? Constantly looking over their shoulders?"
"That's a bit of an exaggeration, but I see your point," Charlie noted as he began walking into the Hall.
"It makes sense. If we were in the ordinary world, and a grizzly bear or a leopard suddenly broke into a primary school—even if no one got hurt—the atmosphere for the next week would be absolutely suffocating.
"But this is the wizarding world."
He spread his hands in a helpless, 'what can you do' gesture.
"Is that really it?" Harry asked, sounding slightly unsure.
Charlie offered another theory. "Or maybe it's just because Dumbledore is here. Every single person in this castle knows he's the most powerful wizard alive. They genuinely believe that as long as he's around, nothing truly awful can happen."
Harry nodded slowly.
"By the way, Charlie... why do you absolutely refuse to say the word 'Muggle'?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.
"Oh, isn't it glaringly obvious? The word is inherently drenched in a deeply arrogant, superior complex.
"Mug—an easily fooled, gullible person. And the direct counter to it? Wizard—derived from 'wise', a scholar, someone possessing profound knowledge.
"Though, honestly, it doesn't really matter. Wizards are perfectly within their rights to believe ordinary people are stupid.
"I have no idea how the word 'wise' was historically used in the magical world, but in ordinary history, it carried plenty of its own derogatory baggage."
"Right. That makes sense," Harry nodded.
"Do you think ordinary people are stupid, Harry?" Charlie asked, an amused spark in his eyes as he sat down at the Ravenclaw table.
"What? Of course not!" Harry immediately blurted out.
His first thought went straight to the Dursleys. They were absolutely terrified of magic, and in that highly specific regard, yes, perhaps they were foolish.
But then he thought about the countless people he'd seen at school, on the streets, all his life. People were sharp, clever, cunning, and completely varied. How could an entire population possibly be labeled 'stupid'?
"Why on earth would you ask that?" Harry frowned, completely confused.
Charlie looked around at the students bustling through the Great Hall. He smiled slightly, but didn't answer right away.
He had noticed a small subset of students—specifically those from ordinary backgrounds—who arrived utterly terrified of the magical world. And their first instinct, in a desperate bid to quickly assimilate, wasn't to actually study magic. It was to forcefully morph themselves into the stereotypical idea of a wizard.
They dressed in archaic, bizarre clothing. They artificially altered their speech and mannerisms to feign a deep, inherent familiarity with the magical world.
And the most glaring, intense symptom of this assimilation? Their sudden, highly aggressive disdain for non-magical people...
It's as if they're using wizarding arrogance to mask the deep-seated insecurity of their Muggle roots.
Charlie didn't fully understand the origins of the first emotion, nor did he understand where the second truly came from.
He didn't understand it, so he consciously chose to step completely out of that emotional current.
He looked up at the enchanted ceiling. The golden morning sun was making the entire dome shine brilliantly.
The arrogance of a transmigrator, the arrogance of possessing an adult soul surrounded by children, the arrogance of being a wizard, the arrogance of an obsessive scholar, the arrogance of possessing a system...
Wizarding arrogance was simply one tiny facet of it all.
Just as he despised alcohol, he deeply despised arrogance. It clouded judgment. It blinded you, stripping away your most fundamental, essential perception of reality.
He had to be incredibly careful not to accidentally let himself get swept away in that torrent.
"By the way, Charlie!" Harry's voice violently snapped Charlie out of his thoughts. "I wanted to say thanks for the gift last night. The surprise."
"Don't mention it. I appreciate your business," Charlie nodded.
Harry fell silent for a moment. He bit his lip, hesitating, before finally asking, "Can I buy some more—"
"Give it a while," Charlie cut him off smoothly, immediately rejecting the request.
"I don't know what you dreamt about, Harry. But a dream is just a dream. It isn't reality."
Right. I definitely need to lower the concentration of Dream Sand in the next batch.
Charlie had a fairly solid guess as to what Harry had dreamt about.
For Harry Potter, the magic packed into that Dream Chocolate was likely just as dangerously addictive as the Mirror of Erised.
No, it was better. Significantly better.
Hearing the firm rejection, a sharp wave of disappointment washed over Harry. But once the feeling faded, he was forced to admit that Charlie was entirely right.
He gave a heavy nod. "Yeah. You're right."
With that out of the way, the conversation finally pivoted to the topic Charlie was actually most curious about.
"I heard you pulled off something massive last night," Charlie said, staring intently at him.
"You already know?" Harry asked, looking incredibly surprised.
But then, he realized something odd. Logically, anyone hearing that story for the first time should have been completely floored.
Every single person who had heard it so far had stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.
But Charlie didn't. He was just looking at Harry with perfect, terrifying calm.
"Mind telling me the exact sequence of events that led you to that decision?"
Harry nodded blankly, and slowly recounted the events of the previous night in grueling detail.
Perhaps because he inherently trusted Charlie, he ended up telling him absolutely everything—from the three-headed dog on the third floor to spotting Snape sneaking up the stairs.
Naturally, he kept his voice to an incredibly low whisper and explicitly begged Charlie to keep it a secret.
"So, you broke away from your House group, ran straight downstairs, intending to warn the professors about Snape. And in doing so, you ran headfirst into the troll?"
"Exactly. I tried to hide, but the bloody thing had a brilliant sense of smell," Harry nodded.
"And how exactly were you so certain the other professors didn't already know Snape was heading to the third floor? Have you considered that, given the absolute chaos, Snape might have been explicitly dispatched to check on and protect whatever is hidden up there?"
Harry froze completely. He stared at Charlie, then slowly shook his head. "I... I didn't think about that."
"Right. Doesn't matter," Charlie nodded, returning his attention to his breakfast.
"I imagine you don't feel any lingering trauma or regret over it. Honestly, if we rewound the clock, you'd likely do the exact same thing."
"Maybe?" Harry replied, entirely unwilling to commit to a definite answer.
"As long as you are absolutely certain that you are the one actively making your own choices, that's all that matters," Charlie said, taking a sip of his pumpkin porridge.
He was finally beginning to understand the mechanics of it all.
Because Neville was inherently clumsy and forgetful, Charlie could physically stop him from falling off a broomstick, but he couldn't stop him from forgetting a password and getting locked out of his common room.
Because Harry Potter was inherently driven to seek out trouble and shoulder massive burdens, he was always going to find an excuse to break away from the safety of the group.
Because Hermione inherently cared deeply about rules, order, and her friends, she was always destined to become the maternal, guiding figure for Harry and Ron.
"I honestly thought you were going to tell me off," Harry admitted, looking slightly embarrassed.
The way Charlie had calmly interrogated him had made Harry feel exactly like he was standing in front of a professor.
"Absolutely not," Charlie shook his head.
"Because you are exactly who you are, you will do exactly what you do.
"I only asked those questions because I was genuinely curious about where the butterfly went."
"What butterfly?"
"The butterfly currently flapping its wings," Charlie smiled mysteriously. "Though I suppose the butterfly might simply be too small right now..."
After finishing breakfast, Charlie said his goodbyes to Harry.
"Are you heading back to the common room?"
"No, I'm off to find a quiet place to read and practice some charms."
"Are you always like this?"
"Always. I haven't run into my personal troll yet, mate. But I firmly believe that one day, my troll is going to step out of the shadows, clutching a massive club, entirely blocking my path."
With that, Charlie offered a playful wink and walked away.
Watching Charlie leave, Harry suddenly felt a bizarre sense of déjà vu. For a split second, looking at Charlie's retreating back, he almost thought he was looking at Dumbledore.
Especially that sly, effortless smile and the knowing wink.
Harry quickly shook his head. "I am definitely overthinking things."
Eighth floor. The Room of Requirement.