"You've got some serious nerve, Charlie," Anthony said.
"My legs were turning to jelly just listening to you," Hector chimed in quickly. "I was half expecting him to hex you into next week."
"Was it really that intense?" Charlie asked, looking at his friends and offering a helpless shrug.
"What did you expect? I have zero experience defying authority, let alone not being terrified of it," Hector muttered. "Honestly, Charlie. You never went to a Muggle primary school, did you?"
"Spot on," Charlie said, pointing a finger gun at Hector with a satisfied smirk. "No traditional schooling means no deeply ingrained fear of terrifying teachers."
"You absolute lunatic," Hector laughed. "Whatever. Let's just head back to the common room before we push our luck any further."
With hours to go before dinner, Charlie couldn't wait to resume the experiment he had abandoned the night before. There were just too many possibilities regarding his Lightning Dew extract.
At five o'clock, he popped a Lunar-Lightning chocolate into his mouth. To be precise, it was a new prototype: chocolate infused with Lightning Dew, featuring a pure Moon Dew center.
Anthony and Hector had wandered off somewhere. After eating the chocolate, Charlie began to stroll aimlessly around the Ravenclaw common room.
He observed the students around him, taking in every smile and furrowed brow. His gaze drifted to the setting sun outside the window, then to the imposing statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, and finally to the ticking grandfather clock.
The common room wasn't particularly crowded. As the experimental chocolate kicked in, Charlie entered a state of sensory overload, yet it brought an unexpected, profound tranquility. If he needed to focus on a complex problem right now, he felt he could slip into a state of absolute flow in an instant.
A girl was painting by the window. Charlie walked over and stood quietly behind her.
While Hogwarts didn't exactly offer extracurricular art classes, the students naturally pursued their own hobbies in their free time. This older Ravenclaw was clearly deeply invested in her canvas.
She was painting a portrait. More accurately, she was copying a masterpiece. A dark background, a yellow dress, and a striking blue turban wrapped around the subject's head. The painted girl was turned slightly, looking out of the frame.
The Girl with a Pearl Earring. A world-renowned Muggle oil painting.
Charlie watched in silence as her delicate brushstrokes flowed across the canvas like a gentle river. The piece was nearly finished. He figured he might as well stick around to witness its completion.
Suddenly, the artist's brush stopped dead, like a river abruptly dammed. She sat perfectly still, staring intensely at the girl on the canvas.
"What is it missing?" she muttered softly to herself. She stared for a long time, completely stumped.
Five minutes later, Charlie couldn't hold his tongue any longer.
"The light."
The girl jumped, startled out of her trance. She spun around to look at him, but quickly froze as he continued.
"The light source is coming from the top left, slightly behind her. If you adjust the shadows and highlights based on that angle, it might pop more. Don't just mindlessly replicate the exact colors from the original."
"You are right. You are absolutely right. I cannot just copy the pigment..."
She completely forgot to ask when he had sneaked up behind her. She turned back to the canvas, snatching up her brush with renewed vigor.
Twenty minutes later, after adding one final, delicate touch of white to the pearl earring, the girl dropped her brush into a jar of murky water.
At that exact moment, a voice broke the silence. It was light and crystal clear.
"Thank you."
"Me? No need to thank me," Charlie smiled. "I just made a random suggestion. Honestly, it is very generous of you not to hex me for interrupting your creative process."
The artist turned around, looking thoroughly confused. "What did you say?"
Meeting her bewildered gaze, Charlie blinked. He slowly turned his head back to the canvas.
"Was that you talking?" Charlie asked the painting.
"Yes," the clear voice replied.
The girl in the painting raised a hand. The artist had not actually painted a hand, but magic had done the rest, manifesting a slender, pale arm within the frame. The painted girl gently tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and looked out at them.
"So, what is my name?" she asked.
"Um..." The artist was at a complete loss for words.
"Well, I haven't really thought about it," the artist stammered, turning to Charlie for help. "Do you know?"
"I only know the original painter was a Muggle named Vermeer," Charlie offered.
"Perhaps you should give me a name," the girl with the pearl earring suggested softly.
The artist panicked, waving her hands frantically. "I... I don't know! This is my first time trying to create a magical portrait!"
She clearly hadn't anticipated this part of the magical artistic process. She hadn't expected to name her creation, let alone have a polite conversation with it. It felt exactly like suddenly acquiring a teenage daughter out of thin air, one whose face belonged to someone else entirely.
"I see," the painted girl said, her painted eyes dropping in disappointment. "My apologies."
"How about Riley? Riley Vermeer," Charlie suggested.
"Is that acceptable?" the painted girl asked, looking at the artist.
"Is it?" the artist echoed, looking pleadingly at Charlie.
"?" Charlie stared back. "Why are you looking at me? Aren't you her creator?"
Hearing this, the artist grabbed Charlie's sleeve and dragged him a few steps away from the easel.
"I have no idea what I am doing," she whispered frantically. "This is my first attempt. I saved up my allowance for months to buy these magical pigments. I figured I should copy a famous masterpiece for my first try so I wouldn't waste them."
"And you didn't expect her to turn out so..."
"So sentient! She is like a living, breathing person in there!"
"Exactly," the artist nodded vigorously. "I have absolutely no idea how to handle this."
"Just treat her like a normal magical painting," Charlie said, stating the obvious.
"How am I supposed to do that? I treat every piece of art like my own child, but this... this 'child'..."
"This 'child' can't actually call you 'Mum' or step out of the canvas, or you'd really be having a meltdown right now, wouldn't you?" Charlie teased.
"You are too clever for your own good. What year are you? First year?"
"That is hardly the point. The point is, you should probably go check on your kid."
The artist glanced back. Riley was tilting her head, watching them from the canvas. The original masterpiece was famous for the subject's evocative gaze, a single backward glance that inspired endless imagination. Now that the painted girl was truly 'alive', that gaze was amplified a hundredfold, filled with palpable confusion and anxiety.
Charlie felt the older girl shudder next to him.
"How about you take her?" the artist blurted out. "Consider it a gift from an older sister."
"Give her to me?" Charlie was taken aback. "A magical portrait like that must have cost a fortune to make."
"I couldn't have finished it without your advice. She belongs to you just as much as me."
Charlie stared at her in silence.
"Please! Just do me this one favor," she pleaded. "I swear I am never painting a magical portrait ever again."
"Fine, whatever," Charlie sighed, nodding reluctantly. "I suppose I'll just find a blank wall to hang it on."