Over the next few days, Charlie gradually got a taste of all the subjects Hogwarts had to offer.
In Charms class, Professor Flitwick standing atop a pile of books while lecturing had Charlie stifling laughter.
Despite his goblin ancestry and tiny stature, Professor Flitwick was incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about teaching. The first time he called Harry's name, he was so excited he nearly toppled off the book pile.
"Mr. Potter!" Flitwick squeaked, his voice trembling with excitement.
"What an honor, such an honor!"
Herbology was taught by Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff House.
She was a plump witch, always clad in patched-up clothes and with soil under her nails, but she was endlessly kind to students, even those who were completely clueless about plants.
Since Charlie insisted on joining the Weasley twins on nightly adventures around the castle, he was perpetually drowsy during the day.
In Charms class, Professor Flitwick would tap his desk sharply with his wand and deduct house points when Charlie nodded off.
"Mr. White, this is the second time you've fallen asleep in my class this week! Five points from Hufflepuff!"
But whenever Charlie woke up and flawlessly demonstrated a charm, Flitwick would get so excited he'd award the points right back.
"Brilliant! A perfect Levitation Charm! Five points to Hufflepuff!"
Professor Sprout, by contrast, took a gentler approach.
Whenever Charlie dozed off in her class, she would quietly walk over and gently rub his head with her rough but warm hands until he stirred awake.
"Mr. White, I know you're tired, but Mandrake cries don't go quieter just because you're asleep."
Her voice was always soft, never accusatory.
Charlie felt so guilty about this that he actually made an effort to stay awake in her class.
Soon, Friday arrived.
There was only one class in the morning, Potions, held jointly with Gryffindor.
Charlie had once again stayed up late with the Weasley twins exploring the castle, so by the time he got to the classroom, he was already face down on the desk, snoring.
Ernie and Justin sat on either side, completely unfazed by his behavior at this point.
"What do you think Snape will do when he sees Charlie?" Justin whispered.
"I don't know… but it definitely won't be anything like Professor Sprout," Ernie said, glancing nervously at their sleeping friend.
The classroom door burst open.
A man with greasy black hair strode in. His long black robes billowed behind him like a giant bat's wings.
The room went dead silent. All students held their breath.
Snape walked in, eyes locked on Harry.
As he approached the podium, he began speaking in a flat, cold voice.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making."
Harry could feel goosebumps crawling up his skin. Something about Snape's intense focus on him felt… ominous.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class. Many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I do not expect you to truly understand the delicate power of simmering cauldrons, the soft sheen of steam, the subtle effects that creep through the blood and ensnare the senses…"
Just as he was about to call Harry's name, something in the corner of his eye stopped him.
He turned his head, and saw Charlie, completely passed out on his desk.
The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Well, well," Snape said, his voice low and venomous.
"Looks like we have someone who believes he's above potion-making. So advanced, he needn't even stay conscious."
No one dared to speak.
Ernie nudged Charlie lightly, but all he got was a sleepy mumble in response.
Snape's face darkened. He picked up the chalkboard eraser and hurled it across the room.
It landed squarely on Charlie's head.
Charlie jolted awake, blinking in confusion as he found everyone staring at him, and Snape's glare was sharp enough to cut through glass.
"Name," Snape snapped.
"Charlie White."
"Mr. White," Snape sneered.
"It seems my class is so dull to you that you'd rather nap through it."
Charlie rubbed his eyes, realizing he was in the wrong. Falling asleep was bad enough, but to slump across the desk like that was downright disrespectful.
"Apologies, Professor. I stayed up late revising and dozed off by accident."
Snape narrowed his eyes, lips curling into a cold smirk.
"Revising? More like sneaking around the castle, I imagine."
Charlie's heart skipped.
How did he know? Did he see me with the Weasley twins last night?
"Well then, since you have such boundless energy for midnight strolls, you must be quite the potions expert."
Snape's words were slow, every syllable laced with ice.
"Tell me, Mr. White, what do you get when you combine powdered valerian root with wormwood infusion?"
Charlie froze. Wormwood? Wasn't that for treating colds or something? Better not risk a guess. Might as well be honest.
"I don't know, Professor."
Hermione's hand shot up so fast it nearly dislocated her shoulder.
Snape ignored her completely, his lips twitching with mockery.
"Tsk. Seems your troll-sized brain doesn't match your inflated reputation. I heard you performed well in Transfiguration. Yet in my class, you know nothing."
A few students snickered.
"I'll give you one more chance," Snape continued.
"What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Hermione's hand went even higher, nearly grazing the ceiling.
Ernie whispered something, probably trying to help, but his voice was too quiet. Charlie didn't catch it.
Snape shot Ernie a frosty glare, instantly shutting him up.
Charlie frowned. This was clearly a setup.
"I don't know, Professor."
"What a pity," Snape said with exaggerated disappointment.
"An empty head like yours should at least listen in class, you dunderhead."
The laughter in the room grew louder.
"One final question, Mr. White," Snape said, eyes glittering maliciously.
"Where would you find bezoars?"
Now Charlie was done playing along.
He'd admitted his mistake and apologized. But Snape was obviously picking a fight.
If that's the game he wanted, Charlie wouldn't back down.
"Professor," Charlie said, voice calm and cold. "In dung."
Because of how he paused, the sentence carried a delicious ambiguity.
The classroom erupted in laughter.
Snape's face turned an alarming shade of greenish-gray.
"Enough!" he roared. Silence fell like a hammer.
"Utterly pathetic!" Snape snarled.
"Valerian root and wormwood make the Draught of Living Death, an extremely powerful sleeping potion. Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, also known as aconite. And bezoars are found in the stomach of a goat!"
"Spare me your cocky attitude, this isn't your Gryffindor common room."
Apparently, Snape had assumed Charlie was from Gryffindor.
Charlie was burning with fury.
He knew falling asleep in class was wrong, but everyone had their limits.
If he'd been corrected or even punished fairly, he would've accepted it. But the constant jabs and insults?
"Professor," Charlie said, meeting Snape's gaze dead-on. His voice rang clear through the room.
"Powdered valerian and wormwood can be used in all kinds of potions depending on the added ingredients. How was I supposed to guess which one you meant?"
"And there are countless varieties of aconite. Do you expect a first-year student to distinguish all of them on day one?"
"And as for bezoars, if goats aren't full of dung, then what, pray tell, is your brain made of?"
Dead. Silence.
Hermione's jaw dropped. She looked like she'd just seen a unicorn commit murder.
Harry stared at Charlie, eyes wide with admiration.
This guy was a war god.
Snape's face turned from pale, to green, to an angry purplish red.
"THIRTY THOUSAND POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!!" he bellowed so loudly the windows rattled.
<><>---------------------------------------
200 P.S = 1 Extra Chapters