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"So I've been thinking—what happens in third year when I run into a Boggart and it turns into you?"
Charlie's voice echoed in the cramped classroom.
"Strange, right? By all logic I should see myself standing in front of a massive chocolate factory. That's what I actually want."
The man in the painting raised both hands in an exaggerated flourish, like the world's greatest mime, every gesture dripping with theatrical flair.
He had always been like this—silver-tongued, hands never still, spinning tall tales and cheap tricks to pull every passerby into his orbit.
After a big street performance he'd tip that battered hat and beg for enough coins to eat.
Charlie watched the ridiculous pantomime, chin lifting just a fraction, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
"Here we go again, huh? Too bad you're not some lost prince from another world. I've already landed in that so-called other world."
The man in the mirror froze, suddenly awkward. He gripped his polished walking stick with both hands and planted it in front of him like a shield.
Charlie shook his head and let out a dry huff.
Weston was the king of bullshit. Nine out of ten things that came out of his mouth were pure fantasy.
Charlie still remembered being five years old when Weston sat him down with that serious face.
"All right, kid. Time I told you the truth so you stop looking at me like that. My real name? I'm a prince from the magical world."
Five-year-old Charlie had stared back with total blank calm.
Weston had thrown his hands up, muttered some nonsense "spell," clenched his fist, and thrust it toward Charlie's face.
When he opened it, a piece of chocolate sat in his palm.
"See? Magic."
Charlie had glanced at the cheap milk chocolate without interest.
"First, I don't give a damn about chocolate. Second, were you shaking down kindergartners for protection money?"
"Come on, magic!" Weston insisted.
"Sure. Magic." Charlie turned back to the fireplace. It was getting dark and the winter was brutal.
Weston didn't care about the cold or the dark. He hopped forward like a clown and squatted beside Charlie.
"Listen. Three years ago today, you were born."
"More accurately, you found me."
"No, no—wait, I've got another secret. Why aren't you like other kids? Don't you ever wonder where you came from?"
Charlie didn't even look at him. "Got it. My magical family was wiped out. You're the butler who escaped with me and now I'm carrying some blood feud."
"?? Not that! Stop interrupting."
"You know what we are? We're children of the sky and earth. You and me both."
He slung an arm around Charlie's shoulders and pulled him close.
"All right then. What's the point of the sky and earth spitting us out?"
"Excellent question!"
Weston lit up. He grabbed Charlie by both shoulders and spun him around so they were face to face.
His eyes locked on Charlie's with that intense, almost religious stare he used when he was about to sell something big.
"We were sent here to change the world. That's our purpose."
Charlie stared right back, silent.
Weston thought he'd finally hooked him. Then Charlie spoke in that lazy drawl.
"Hard to believe we're freezing our asses off and you still don't believe in God."
Weston looked genuinely pained. He never could figure out what went on inside this kid's head. All he knew was that Charlie carried this heavy, world-weary air—like nothing ever really mattered.
He shook Charlie's shoulders. "No, I'm serious. Listen to me—"
Weston figured Charlie was feeling the gap, watching other kids with parents and getting bitter.
So he got deadly serious. "Listen, Charlie. We really are different. Every kid is born for a reason.
Some kids are the missing piece that completes their parents' story—born out of love.
Some are born to carry on their parents' work or dreams.
Some are born because the family needed another pair of hands. And yeah—that life sucks."
He let go with his right hand and drew an elegant little line in the air with thumb and forefinger, guiding Charlie's thoughts.
His voice had that old magic in it—the kind that could stop traffic.
"But us? What's our reason?
Look at us. We don't have to inherit anyone's dreams. We never got that love. We didn't get handed a business or a duty.
But we're here for something. Otherwise why the hell would we exist?
So what is it?"
He yanked Charlie into his chest and pointed with his left hand toward the sky.
As his palm swept across the night, the stars burst into view through the hole in the roof—Cheshire's winter sky, moon hanging high, the Milky Way blazing.
They looked like a swarm of little spirits cramming themselves through that broken patch.
Charlie had never noticed before how that leaky, drafty hole could hold an entire galaxy.
"We're meant to change the world. That's why we're here."
Back in the present.
Charlie lifted his eyes to the mirror.
"You know, for one stupid second I actually believed you were a prince from the magical world."
Mirror-Weston tipped his hat with a smug little grin.
"Too bad three years later you couldn't even get rid of the tumor in your own body—and the real tragedy is there actually is a hidden magical world out there. Just not the one you sold me."
Charlie took a slow breath and let it out.
The dark classroom stayed silent for a long time.
Finally he spoke again. "But that's over now. You shouldn't be here anymore."
He walked toward the mirror, slow and steady, until only a fist's width separated him from the glass.
He stared straight into Weston's eyes. Weston stared back, smiling the same half-smile he always had, like he was waiting for something.
Charlie laughed softly and nodded.
"Yeah.
I'm going to change this world.
That's exactly why I'm here."
Weston stepped back, left foot sliding behind him. He took off his hat and bowed deeply.
Then he turned, swinging his stick with that familiar swagger, and walked off into the endless dark of the mirror.
Charlie turned too. Back to back, they moved apart.
But the Charlie inside the mirror stayed put, still wearing that same small smile.
He twirled his wand and it became a walking stick. He tapped it twice on the ground—solid, crisp sounds.
Behind mirror-Charlie a huge, towering chocolate factory rose out of nothing.
It stayed there until the real Charlie left the classroom. Only then did the image fade.
Outside in the corridor Charlie headed downstairs, lighter than before.
He'd only glanced at the Mirror of Erised on his way down earlier and spotted Weston. He hadn't lingered then—he'd gone straight to the second floor, had that talk with Dumbledore, and come back to finish this.
Yeah. Finish it.
Charlie didn't want to stay trapped in the past. That shit was dangerous.
If you wanted to get mystical about it, maybe this counted as a heart demon?
It shouldn't have happened.
He'd eaten Dream Chocolate plenty of times. If he'd been this obsessed with the past, why hadn't he dreamed about it?
Only one answer made sense—blood moon essence.
After he drank it the rage had hit him hard. The winter snow had cooled the anger, but the thought that rose with it never really left.
It had been sitting quiet in the back of his mind. If he hadn't looked into the Mirror of Erised today he might never have dragged it out.
"Looks like I need to be more careful with the blood moon stuff from now on. It makes people angry. Violent. Nothing comes free."
He picked up the pace. He wanted to get back to the dorm and write this down before he forgot.
The rest of Christmas break Charlie buried himself in the spellbook Flitwick had given him.
Not every charm was as easy as the one he'd picked up today with just a day of thinking.
By January the holiday ended.
The night before term started the Hogwarts Express came hissing through the mountains like a long silver snake and pulled into Hogsmeade station.
A little while later—
Knock knock.
Someone rapped on the dormitory door.
"Come in."
The door creaked open just a crack. A tiny creature in a filthy shirt stood there—bald, ears huge and pointed and floppy, nose enormous.
He looked like a house-elf, only more so.
The Gringotts goblins at least tried to look human. This guy leaned all the way into "other."
"G-good evening, young master!" the house-elf stammered, terrified.
"Evening." Charlie nodded and smoothed his expression.
He'd thought it was Anthony and Hector. Opening the door to this little guy had made him frown without thinking.
Maybe that was why the creature looked ready to bolt.
Two floating trunks hovered behind him.
"Those theirs? Come on in.
Technically I'm not supposed to see you, right? But you're delivering luggage and I happen to be here."
"Yes! Yes, sir!"
Charlie realized he'd underestimated house-elves.
He thought that was just polite small talk. The elf answered like it was normal.
The second the words left his mouth the little creature slammed his own head into the wall.
"Stupid Saro! Stupid Saro!! How could you let a wizard see you?
This is a disaster. This is your shame!"
He got more frantic, bashing his head harder.
"Hey, buddy, I'm not mad at you."
"Stupid Saro! Stupid Saro!"
"Just drop the trunks." Charlie tried to calm him.
"Oh no, now I'm wasting the young master's precious study time too!"
The elf grabbed his own throat with both hands, squeezing like he wanted to strangle himself.
At the same time the two trunks drifted gently over to Anthony's and Hector's beds.
The second he finished he vanished with a loud pop—no goodbye, nothing.
Charlie stared at the empty spot where the elf had been, mouth slowly falling open.
What the actual hell?
How the fuck did wizards train these things?
Their souls were literally branded. That wasn't normal obedience—that was soul-deep programming.
Charlie filed it away. He needed to find a book on this. Soon.
About twenty minutes later Anthony and Hector burst through the door.
"Well, well, look who's actually in the dorm," Anthony laughed. "Didn't expect you to be sitting here like a good little boy."
"Seriously," Hector added. "Figured you'd be up at the club by now."
"What new spell did you learn this time?" Anthony asked.
"Just a couple of tiny ones. Welcome back. How was Christmas?"
"Eh. Had its moments." Anthony grinned. "Especially on the train."
"Oh—right. You gotta see this."
He dug in his pocket, pulled something out, and set it on Charlie's desk.
The thing popped its head and four stubby legs out of its shell and looked around curiously.
A land turtle with a high-domed shell and a hexagonal yellow crystal set right in the center of its back.
"You actually bought one?" Charlie stared. Anthony had mentioned wanting a pet, but this was real.
"Of course. I wasn't planning to, but then I read up on them. Turtles are ridiculously low-maintenance."
"All right, let's see Alice race this thing."
Charlie picked the turtle up and set it on the floor. Alice hopped over, ears perked.
Turtle and rabbit stared at each other, sizing one another up.
Then—
Lely suddenly burst out of her painting, eyes wide with panic.
"Mr. Wonka! Something terrible's happened!"