"Until one day, he mentioned that the world around him seemed to be moving slower. That was the exact moment I realized he was simply moving much, much faster."
For some inexplicable reason, this particular quote echoed softly in Charlie's mind.
The excited cheers in the common room slowly faded as the impromptu chess tournament concluded. The crowd of students dispersed, melting back into the cozy corners of the tower to tend to their own evening activities.
Hector walked over, a polite smile on his face. "Fancy another round, Charlie?"
Charlie shook his head. "I think I will pass. I only managed a draw because I stole your opening trap. If we play again, I will not stand a ghost of a chance." Furthermore, he had far more pressing, magical mysteries to investigate.
"Fair enough," Hector nodded with a tiny, understanding sigh. "For someone who claims it was their first time playing, you were incredibly formidable. Your commands and timer-tapping were unbelievably fast."
"It was just beginner's luck with magical chess," Charlie smiled, turning toward the staircase. "I am off to tackle our assignments."
Professor McGonagall had demanded seven inches of parchment on the theory of Transfiguration. Thus far, she held the undisputed record for the most demanding homework load.
"Homework it is," Anthony agreed, throwing an arm around Hector's shoulders. "Let us finish it early so we can properly enjoy the weekend." The three boys climbed the winding stairs back to their dormitory.
Once inside, Charlie meticulously cleared his desk. He borrowed Anthony's brass pocket watch, propping it open against his inkwell.
The hands read 9:47 PM.
Curfew at Hogwarts was strictly eleven o'clock. Wandering the enchanted corridors after that hour was an invitation for trouble. The Prefects naturally recommended that everyone be tucked into bed precisely by eleven.
When Charlie had previously read about the Hogwarts house system, he had always equated Prefects to strict hall monitors or rigid student council presidents. However, after two days of careful observation and listening to Anthony's endless stream of gossip, Charlie realized they functioned more like the eldest siblings of a massive, chaotic family. Their primary role seemed to be helping the younger, homesick students acclimate to castle life. Over the past forty-eight hours, he had constantly seen first and second-years tugging on the robes of the older students for guidance. There were twenty-four Prefects in total across the four houses, all overseen by the Head Boy and Head Girl. It was a rather brilliant, self-sustaining ecosystem of magical childcare.
His wandering thoughts were interrupted as the brass minute hand ticked to 9:48 PM.
He shook his head, focusing on his internal clock. He closed his eyes and steadily counted to ten in his mind. He opened his eyes and checked the watch.
Twelve seconds had passed.
It was a perfectly normal margin of human error. This confirmed that the mind-accelerating effects of the previous Lunar-Lightning chocolate had completely worn off.
It was time for the main event. He turned his attention to the highest-dose Lunar-Lightning chocolate resting on a silver tray.
He laid out his crisp parchment, sharpened his quill, and popped the candy into his mouth.
Because this chocolate had the potion mixed directly into the shell rather than contained in a liquid center, the initial reaction was less explosive. However, as it melted, tiny, aggressive bolts of blue lightning began to crackle and pop fiercely against his tongue and the roof of his mouth. It stung sharply.
The popping candy effect was far too intense.
Note to self, Charlie thought, wincing slightly. This dosage is entirely unsuitable for commercial sale. Perhaps I can introduce a binding agent to slow the melting process, allowing the body to absorb the Lunar-Lightning dew in a much gentler fashion.
He pushed through the stinging sensation and looked down at his Transfiguration assignment.
A faint, brilliant spark of blue light flashed in his eyes.
Instantly, the mental fog vanished. His thoughts crystallized. It took him barely thirty seconds to completely outline the entire essay in his head.
His hand moved with terrifying speed. The scratching of his quill against the parchment sounded like a frenzied beetle scurrying across dry leaves. Pages flipped, ink flowed, and his writing was heavy, decisive, and relentless.
Exactly thirty minutes later, Anthony lifted his head from his own painfully slow essay. He looked over at Charlie with an expression of profound suffering.
"By the beard of Merlin," Anthony whispered.
Charlie had been writing at a breakneck pace for half an hour straight. Driven by sheer curiosity, Anthony crept up behind Charlie's chair and peered over his shoulder.
He began to read the beautifully written text. "The ever-changing nature of Transfiguration, and the fluid desires required to cast it, all rely on a singular, foundational spell. Since the starting point is fixed, the caster must forge an unbreakable cornerstone: the absolute purification of magical intent. Regarding the method of strengthening this intent without relying on external, primal needs, my current deductions are as follows..."
Anthony's jaw dropped.
What on earth is this? he thought, utterly bewildered.
Was homework not supposed to be a desperate, word-for-word translation of the textbook, padded with as much fluff as possible to reach the required length? Why was Charlie writing a philosophical thesis detailing his own personal theories?
Sensing the presence behind him, Charlie quickly glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to his work.
"What are you looking at? My formatting?" Charlie asked, pointing to the parchment. "This first section covers what we learned in class today. The second section details the debate I had with Professor McGonagall afterwards."
Charlie shifted the parchment, revealing a perfectly organized document. It was roughly eight inches long. The left and right margins were exactly two finger-widths wide, and the top and bottom margins were precisely one finger-width. The letters were neat, uniform, and slightly smaller than a pinky fingernail.
Nestled gracefully within the text were highly detailed diagrams Charlie had drawn himself. They illustrated proper wand movements and complex trajectory vectors. Tiny arrows pointed to specific nodes on the wand-path, annotated with instructions on where to raise the pitch of the incantation, where to draw out a syllable, and where to forcefully drop the tone.
"This looks like... the front page of the Daily Prophet," Anthony stammered.
To be perfectly honest, Anthony had never seen a homework assignment look like this. Was the goal not simply to write a massive block of continuous text until the parchment was completely black with ink?
"Does it?" Charlie asked, inspecting his own work critically.
It did look rather professional. It strongly resembled the structured PowerPoint presentations and corporate reports he used to design in his past life.
He decided to leave it as it was. Surely Professor McGonagall would not object to excellent organization, especially since the academic content was flawless. He had no desire to waste precious time rewriting it poorly just to blend in.
However, Charlie did make a mental note about his penmanship. His English handwriting was entirely too rigid and blocky. It lacked that flowing, elegant cursive charm expected in the wizarding world. He would need to practice his calligraphy if he wanted his work to look truly authentic.
Dismissing these minor concerns, Charlie handed his completed Transfiguration essay to Anthony so he could use it as a reference. He then pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment.
Now it was time for his real work: documenting the results of the Lunar-Lightning chocolate experiment.
Anthony wisely decided not to interrupt the genius at work and quietly returned to his own desk, clutching Charlie's essay like a sacred artifact.
Ten minutes later, Charlie dotted his final sentence.
He closed his notebook. He would review these experimental notes tomorrow with a fresh, un-accelerated mind to verify his conclusions. It was an old, reliable habit. Work completed in a manic state of focus always looked perfect in the moment. Only by letting the emotions fade and returning to it later could one spot the hidden flaws.
Charlie stretched his arms high above his head, letting out a satisfied yawn. He glanced over at Anthony and Hector, who were still furiously scribbling away, occasionally pausing to groan in frustration.
Charlie checked the brass pocket watch one last time.
It was 10:32 PM.