Charlie parted ways with the others and returned to his dorm. Ernie and Justin were already snoring like dead pigs. Charlie tiptoed through his nightly routine, then climbed into bed.
Two days passed in the blink of an eye. By Friday morning, Charlie was groggily dragging himself out of bed.
As usual, a hearty breakfast prepared by Billy awaited him at the bedside, hot eggs, crispy bacon, freshly baked toast, the aroma was mouthwatering.
"So thoughtful…"
Charlie munched his breakfast, quietly appreciating Billy's five-star service.
[Your Majesty indulges in excessive pleasure. Tyrant Points +1]
Come on, can't a monarch enjoy his luxuries?
After eating his fill, Charlie wandered off toward the Potions classroom.
As always, Snape spent the entire class targeting Charlie and Harry, creeping up behind them like a specter and docking points for the tiniest slip-ups, speaking in that ominous whisper of his.
Today's lesson was on a new potion: the Confusion Draught.
Fortunately, Charlie had drawn the perfected version of the Confusion Draught recipe from a recent lottery, one that was even more refined than the textbook's formula.
Twenty minutes in, Charlie's cauldron was gently emitting a pearly silver vapor, with a glossy iridescent sheen floating on top of the potion's surface.
Snape approached his workstation. His eyes flickered in surprise, but his expression remained as lifeless as ever.
Oh, and if anyone tells you Professor Snape ever shows emotion, give them a hard kick and tell them to stop writing fantasy novels.
"Hmph. Barely acceptable," Snape muttered coldly.
"Though your speed suggests you were rushing, clearly an act of recklessness. Hufflepuff, minus one point."
Charlie didn't even flinch anymore. He was numb to this game. Snape could probably find fault in a perfectly executed potion just because the bubbles didn't pop in rhythm.
When the bell rang, everyone packed up with relief.
Just as Charlie was about to leave, Fred and George appeared at the door, wearing matching devilish grins.
They raised their eyebrows at him, signal received.
"Everything ready?" Charlie whispered.
"All set," Fred replied, grinning like a gremlin.
...
Down an empty corridor.
Charlie had noticed Quirrell passed through here daily, so they asked the twins to create an automatic grappling hook trap.
Fred pulled out a compact magical hook. At the tip was a thin, retractable cord glowing with a faint magical sheen.
"Tested this thing yet?" Charlie asked curiously.
"Trust me, brother," George patted his shoulder proudly. "Just wait till you see this hook in action."
Fred climbed up to install it in the ornate carvings on the ceiling.
"The concept is simple," he explained. "The enchantment detects the target. Once Quirrell walks under it, it automatically springs and snags the turban."
"Snatches it before he even realizes what hit him," George added.
Charlie nodded in approval. These twins really had a talent for mischief engineering.
Once installed, the hook blended perfectly into the decor. Invisible. Deadly.
The trio crouched behind the corner.
Moments later, familiar, timid footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Charlie peeked out. Yep. Professor Quirrell, trembling, wrapped in his ever-present purple turban, tiptoeing forward like a startled rabbit.
"Here he comes," George whispered excitedly.
"Showtime," Fred said, eyes sparkling.
Quirrell strolled obliviously into the trap zone.
The moment he stepped beneath the sensor, the hook shot out, snag!, grabbing the corner of his turban.
The cord pulled upward with brutal force.
But… something unexpected happened.
Instead of coming off, the turban stretched.
It clung to the back of Quirrell's head like superglue, deforming grotesquely, as if it were made of rubber.
"AAARRGGHHHHHH!"
A bloodcurdling shriek tore through the hallway.
But the voice didn't sound like Quirrell's usual cowardly stammer. It was low, raspy, and inhuman. Like a snake hissing through cracked glass.
Charlie winced.
Damn, that looked painful.
Was the turban fused to his skull?
[Your Majesty has tormented a teacher. Barbarous cruelty! Tyrant Points +50]
...Fifty?! From a simple prank?
Suddenly, it didn't feel so bad. In fact… it felt kinda good.
Quirrell scrambled wildly, grabbing the hook and pulling the turban back down. He hurriedly fixed it, looking around with a tense, predator-like wariness.
His usual timid facade was gone, replaced with a chilling vigilance.
He bolted down the hall.
After confirming he was gone, the trio crawled out from their hiding spot.
"Damn," Fred said with a sigh.
"Didn't even get a peek at the back of his head."
"That turban's glued on tighter than a Niffler on gold," George muttered.
"You think he got cursed by an Egyptian ghost or something?" Charlie snorted.
"Probably reeks of garlic too."
They packed up the gadget. Fred looked disappointed. George sighed.
Charlie, on the other hand, was grinning ear to ear, fifty Tyrant Points made his day.
"Don't worry," he patted them on the back.
"Trial and error. We'll get it next time."
Fred and George exchanged glances, a dangerous glint in their eyes.
No turban would stand in the way of their prank legacy.
"Anyway, I've got to check in with Professor McGonagall." Charlie waved as he left.
It was Friday, his official detention day.
...
Meanwhile, back in Quirrell's office,
SLAM.
He collapsed against the door, panting heavily, his turban askew.
"M-My lord… someone attacked me," he stammered.
From beneath the turban came a voice, cold, menacing:
"You imbecile! You let children outsmart you?!"
"I-I'm sorry, my lord!" Quirrell dropped to his knees.
"I wasn't prepared, "
"Silence."
Voldemort's voice could freeze lava.
"You, a fully grown wizard, were humiliated by children?!"
Suddenly, Quirrell screamed in agony, clutching his head.
It felt like needles were drilling into his brain.
"AAAHHHHH! M-Mercy, master!"
He writhed across the floor, begging, sobbing, snot mixing with tears.
"I gave you a chance, Quirrell. Many chances."
"If I didn't still need your body, you'd be long dead."
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… please forgive me…"
The pain faded.
Quirrell collapsed, twitching, covered in sweat and tears.
...
Meanwhile, in McGonagall's office, Charlie was quietly shelving books.
[Your Majesty's reckless antics have made a teacher weep! Tyrant Points +2]
Charlie blinked.
...Who cried?
He glanced at McGonagall, calmly grading essays, expression as stern as ever.
[Ding! Reminder: Your Majesty's recent mischief has caused a teacher to cry uncontrollably. Tyrant Points +2]
...No way. It couldn't be…
Quirrell?
Did that guy seriously go home and cry?
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35 Advanced Chaptes on p(a)treon
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