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HOGWARTS: REGULUS LORD OF THE STARS
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American Horror: Grind Edition
A moment later Hagrid pulled out a glass jar. Inside were yellowed, dried, crumbled leaves that looked exactly like tea.
He shook some out onto the table. "Here you go, little one."
Before Charlie could react, Hagrid shoved the entire jar into his hands.
"Take it. This should last her more than a year. You can brew tea with it too, if you want."
Charlie stared at the jar in surprise. "This is a whole jar of mandrake leaves?"
"Bah, it's not like it's anything valuable. Just a little gift for the wee rabbit."
Hagrid laughed heartily.
Not valuable—?
Mandrake wasn't exactly a common turnip. If you compared it to cooking spices, mandrake was more like an expensive, high-grade one.
Even in potions where mandrake served as the main ingredient, the amount used was never huge—always measured in ounces.
That alone showed how potent and precious the plant was.
These leaves weren't fresh, but they were still worth a small fortune.
A whole jar like this probably cost dozens, maybe even over a hundred Galleons.
"Really?" Charlie asked again.
Hagrid raised one massive hand, cutting him off. "I've got plenty more where that came from."
Charlie stopped protesting and tucked the jar away. "Thanks, Hagrid."
He smoothly changed the subject. "So you've been working in the Forbidden Forest the whole holiday?"
Hagrid nodded. "Aye, there's always plenty to do."
"I see. I thought you might head out somewhere for Christmas."
At the word "Christmas," Hagrid's smile dimmed a little. He scratched his head. "This is my home. Staying here's just fine. I can look after Fang, keep an eye on the owls, and make sure the creatures near the edge of the Forest don't freeze over in the winter."
Noticing his own tone had dropped, he quickly straightened up and added, "Besides, it's not lonely. Lots of professors stay at Hogwarts over the break—Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, and plenty more. Everyone's right here."
Charlie paused.
Right. Those details weren't in the story he remembered. In the books, the professors felt like background characters who were always just… there, as if the world outside Hogwarts had nothing to do with them.
Maybe I should go visit the professors, the thought flashed through his mind.
After chatting with Hagrid a while longer and finishing a cup of hot tea, Charlie got ready to leave.
Alice hopped onto his head with a soft poof. He said goodbye to Hagrid, and the boy and rabbit headed back out into the snow.
Back in the dormitory, Charlie knocked out some homework first. Once afternoon rolled around, he left the common room and made his way up to the eighth floor.
This time his target wasn't the Room of Requirement. He walked past the tapestry of the troll clubbing Barnabas the Barmy and stopped in front of Professor Flitwick's office.
He knocked. After a short wait, the door opened.
"Lucky me," Charlie muttered.
He really hadn't run into many professors lately.
Professor Flitwick looked surprised to see who it was.
"Oh, Mr. Wonka—no, how about I just call you Charlie? It's Christmas break, after all. No need to be so formal."
"Of course," Charlie nodded.
Flitwick was wearing a bright red sweater over a shirt, with trousers and dress shoes. The whole look screamed "scholar enjoying a cozy day at home."
"Come in, come in."
Flitwick ushered him inside. The desk was covered with books and piles of parchment—he seemed to be working on some calculations.
"I'm not interrupting, am I, Professor?"
"Not at all!"
Flitwick smiled cheerfully. "Anything you feel like eating? It's about teatime anyway."
"Whatever you have is fine."
The professor tapped the desk. Two cups of hot tea appeared instantly, just like the food that materialized on the House tables in the Great Hall.
So the kitchens are connected to the professors' offices too?
"Very sharp observation," Flitwick praised with a nod. "Now, what brings you here, Charlie? What question do you have for me this time?"
"No question today. I just thought I should come wish you a Merry Christmas, Professor."
Flitwick's smile widened. "Don't give me that smooth talk, you slippery boy."
Charlie grinned. "Alright, since I'm here, I might as well ask one small thing."
"Go on then."
Charlie didn't rush. He stood up and walked to the side of the office.
There were many trophies and photos on display—the same ones he'd noticed last time.
His eyes landed on one particular trophy.
[All-Britain Dueling Championship — 1941]
"During Grindelwald's reign of terror?" Charlie sounded surprised.
Flitwick left the desk and came over to the cabinet, looking even more astonished. "Your History of Magic is better than I thought."
"Yes, that was the last one they held. The tournament was suspended after that because of everything that happened. It still hasn't been restarted."
"So you were the final champion."
Flitwick gave a small, wry smile. "I just got lucky. A lot of people had other things on their minds back then."
"It was a terrifying time. The whole of Europe felt like it was under a thick black cloud. A bleak, miserable period."
"I'd already entered every major and minor competition in Britain and picked up a few wins. After a while it stopped being fun, so I wrote to Headmaster Armando Dippet and asked to teach here at Hogwarts."
Flitwick's eyes lowered as he drifted into memory.
Back then he had been famous. Besides the official tournaments, he'd competed in all sorts of underground duels in London and across Britain. He'd even entered the fierce contests held by the warlike Viking wizards.
As a renowned duelist, every organization had tried to recruit him. Tired of the hassle, he finally decided to join Hogwarts and become a teacher.
The reason he'd thrown himself into dueling in the first place was the heavy blood-purist discrimination he faced because of his heritage. He wanted to prove—with every victory—that even someone small like him was no weaker than anyone else.
That was all.
He had never wanted to get dragged into political fights, and he certainly never wanted innocent blood on his hands.
"So, what was the question you wanted to ask?"
Flitwick looked at Charlie.
It can't just be small talk, can it? he thought.
"Professor, I've finished learning all the first-year charms. Now I want to learn a spell that can protect me in an emergency. I was hoping you could give me some advice."
Flitwick didn't look surprised that Charlie had already mastered the entire first-year curriculum. The boy always attached extra thoughts and questions to his homework—many of them well beyond the current year's material.
"I thought you'd just keep teaching yourself second-year spells on your own."
"I'm curious, Charlie. Why the sudden interest in dueling magic?"
"Because of the troll."
Charlie met Professor Flitwick's eyes.