The next week, every afternoon until dinner, Charlie made his way to Professor Chambers' office to help with measurements and experiments.
He saw new instruments almost daily. New techniques. Rare materials. Fresh theories. And on top of all that, Chambers paid him for every ounce of Sun Dew and Moon Dew that got used up. Every time Charlie accepted the coins he felt a little guilty. He was the one walking away with the real prize—the knowledge.
He didn't waste much time feeling bad about it, though. There was too much to digest.
Between his regular classes and the high-pressure alchemy work, his schedule had snapped back to the brutal pace of February. The faint shadows under his eyes had returned.
Saturday the twenty-third.
An empty classroom beside Professor Flitwick's office on the eighth floor.
BOOM.
Charlie hit the floor hard. A smoking hole the size of a dinner plate had been blasted through the front of his robes. His chest was scorched brown and his heart was hammering. He still had his wand clenched in his left hand. He wasn't done.
Before he could push himself up, the abandoned desks around him exploded into motion. Thick purple vines—Devil's Snare in all but name—surged forward and wrapped around him in seconds, pinning his arms and legs tight.
Flitwick stood a short distance away, wand held lightly between two fingers, directing the vines with calm precision.
For most people that would have been the end of it.
Charlie's right arm suddenly went soft and rubbery. It slid free of the vines like warm taffy. He pointed his wand at his own chest.
"Relashio."
The vines went limp in an instant.
At the same moment he flicked his wand toward the mass of writhing plants.
"Vera Verto—"
Three of the vines twisted, thickened, and turned into bright, venomous-looking snakes. They launched themselves at Flitwick.
"Engorgio!" Charlie snapped, and the snakes ballooned to twice their size mid-air.
Flitwick didn't even blink. He smiled, almost fondly, and his wand moved in two quick, economical flicks.
The floor between them surged upward like a wave, Transfiguration turning stone into liquid. At the same time a clean Disarming Charm shot forward—faster than the wave itself—and struck Charlie's wand hand.
His wand went flying.
Charlie lay there, vines still loosely draped over him, and slowly covered his face with both hands.
"Merlin's sake," he muttered into his palms.
Flitwick walked over, retrieved the wand, and tossed it back to him. Charlie caught it without looking.
"I used to think real dueling would be this elegant back-and-forth," Charlie said, voice muffled. "Turns out even when I know the counter to something, I still can't respond in time."
He sat up, wincing. "And that was you not using silent casting."
Flitwick didn't argue. He simply repaired Charlie's robes and the burn on his chest with two neat waves of his wand.
"Your reaction time isn't the main problem," the professor said.
Charlie looked up, waiting.
Flitwick studied him for a moment, then sighed. "You're trying to do two completely different kinds of magic at once, and you haven't learned how to switch between them cleanly."
He gestured at the scorched floor where the snakes had been. "You turned my vines into serpents—good. Then you tried to enlarge them. But I could see the hesitation. You were still thinking in Transfiguration when you should have already been thinking in Charms. Or the other way around."
Charlie nodded slowly. He'd felt it too—the tiny lag, like trying to change mental gears while someone was swinging at your head.
Flitwick began walking toward the door. "Come with me. Office."
Charlie grabbed his robe from the windowsill and followed.
Once they were settled in Flitwick's office, the professor leaned back in his chair and spoke plainly.
"When I first started learning to duel, I had the same problem you do now—only worse. Goblin magic and human magic don't work the same way. So I spent years trying to run both at the same time. Right hand casting human spells. Left hand holding goblin power in reserve."
He smiled faintly. "Eventually I found the answer in something Godric Gryffindor's era duelists used to do. They fought with a sword in one hand and a wand in the other. The physical separation helped them keep the two mindsets from bleeding into each other."
Charlie's eyebrows rose. "So… you want me to practice with my wand in my left hand?"
"Among other things," Flitwick said. "Two long-term habits, and one short-term exercise."
He held up a finger. "First: from now on, when we train, you use your left hand for the wand. No exceptions."
"Second: before every single spell you cast—every one—you take one deliberate breath and decide, consciously, which mindset you're using. Command, or desire. Transfiguration, or Charms. Make the choice before you move."
Charlie nodded. That made sense. It was basically mental hygiene.
"And the short-term exercise?"
Flitwick's eyes twinkled. "Left hand draws a circle. Right hand draws a square. At the same time. Every day. Until it stops feeling impossible."
Charlie let out a short, incredulous laugh. "That's it?"
"That's it," Flitwick said cheerfully. "Simple doesn't mean easy. The old sword-and-wand duelists did variations of that exercise for years. You'll do it until your hands stop fighting each other."
Charlie left the office just after five. The corridor on the eighth floor was quiet, the windows open to a mild spring breeze. He stood there for a while, letting the air clear his head.
Winter time would end soon. The long, gray rains of spring were already starting. But the thunder—the real spring thunder—hadn't come yet.
He was still waiting for that particular essence. Jingzhe. The thunder that woke the world.
After a few minutes he pushed off the wall and headed downstairs. He had homework, notes from Chambers' latest experiments to organize, fresh Moon Dew to collect, and another batch of chocolate to make.
The evening disappeared into work.
Late at night, Lely's painting hung on the wall of the dormitory. Alice was curled in a tight ball on the desk. Charlie sat cross-legged in his chair while Lely finished tucking the latest delivery of chocolates into her enchanted pouch.
"Mr. Wonka," she said, a little hesitant, "Professor Quirrell came again tonight. He bought a lot of Moonlight Chocolate. More than usual."
Charlie paused, then nodded. "That's fine. If he wants it, sell it to him. Galleons are galleons."
Lely didn't look convinced. "It still feels… off. Professor Snape used to buy Dream Chocolate in big amounts too, but this feels different."
Before Charlie could answer, a sleepy voice came from behind him.
"Who are you talking about?"
Hector had rolled over in bed and was now sitting up, rubbing his eyes.
Charlie turned. "Did we wake you?"
"No. Couldn't sleep anyway." Hector swung his legs off the bed and came over, scooping Alice into his arms without thinking. "I heard Quirrell's name. What's he doing?"
Charlie leaned back in his chair. "Buying Moonlight Chocolate. A lot of it."
Hector frowned, absently stroking Alice's ears. "Moonlight? If he was having trouble sleeping or his head was a mess, he'd want Dream, wouldn't he? Moonlight's… sharper. More focused."
Charlie's smile sharpened with interest. "Go on."
"I don't know," Hector admitted. "It just doesn't fit the 'nervous wreck' act he puts on. And he's always been… inconsistent. Talks like he's some big hero who fought dark wizards in Romania, but he jumps at his own shadow half the time."
Charlie watched him. "Which version do you think is real?"
Hector shook his head. "I don't know. But buying that much Moonlight doesn't feel like someone who just wants a good night's sleep."
Charlie was quiet for a moment, then reached into his drawer and pulled out a small box of Dream Chocolate. He tossed it to Hector.
"Take these. You've got the Easter tournament in a week. Try to actually sleep."
Hector caught the box. "Thanks."
He started back toward his bed, then paused.
"Charlie… the shop and us aren't connected, right? So we don't know anything about Quirrell buying Moonlight tonight."
"Exactly," Charlie said. "Keep it that way."
Hector nodded and climbed back into bed.
Once Lely had gone and the room was quiet again, Charlie picked up his notes on Moonlight essence. He stared at the pages for a long time.
If Moonlight reacted badly with certain things…
He closed the notebook.
Maybe it was time to prepare a small gift for Professor Quirrell.