"Mr. Soon-To-Be-Rising-Sun." The gentle voice floated on the wind, tickling Charlie's ear.
He turned toward the sound and spotted Albus Dumbledore standing quietly by a tower window.
Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "If you don't descend soon, I'm afraid Madam Hooch will be quite put out."
Charlie rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Apologies, Professor. I got a bit carried away in the moment."
"I wouldn't have pegged you for someone so easily swayed by emotion," Dumbledore noted softly.
"Perhaps as a wizard, when one isn't busy analyzing or studying, acting on emotion makes life a little more comfortable."
With that, Charlie tapped two fingers to his forehead in a cheeky salute to the Headmaster and initiated a slow, smooth descent.
Down on the pitch, Madam Hooch shot Charlie a sharp glare but ultimately held her tongue. The boy flew exceptionally well, and he had the good sense to land without causing a scene.
The lesson had run long. By the time the first-years finally dismounted their brooms, the sky was completely dark. Naturally, they were all far too hyped to feel even a sliver of exhaustion.
"It's a crying shame we only get one flying lesson a week," complained Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff.
Ernie Macmillan eagerly nodded in agreement. "No homework, no grumpy, biased professors, and absolutely no repetitive wand-waving."
A chorus of murmurs backed them up. In the eyes of the first-years, Flying was the absolute pinnacle of magical education.
Anthony elbowed Charlie, noticing his friend staring blankly into space. "What's going on in that head of yours, Charlie?"
"Daydreaming about weekend plans?" Hector chimed in.
"No, just mulling over something else," Charlie replied vaguely.
He was deep in thought about the elements. If the "Autumn Wind" he had collected was fundamentally different from ordinary wind, what about the other forces of nature?
Right now, his largest sample size came from the moon. But he was absolutely certain that the changing lunar phases didn't affect the Moon Dew. As for Sun Dew, that was even more static, considering the sun was a constant presence in the sky.
If the sun and moon remained unchanged, his only usable variables were lightning and the autumn wind. That wasn't nearly enough to test his theories.
I wonder if a total solar or lunar eclipse would give me the variations I need, he thought. Or maybe the first snow of winter, or the first thunderclap of spring?
If different seasons produced differently flavored or empowered elemental properties, his secret candy inventory was about to get a whole line of seasonal, limited-edition treats.
He smiled to himself, thoroughly looking forward to the prospect.
"You look awfully creepy right now," Anthony pointed out. "Did you think of a joke or something?"
"No, I was just reminding myself to hit the library after dinner," Charlie said, shaking his head.
"That's a shocker. Didn't you say you were going to memorize the textbooks first?"
"A wizard needs to relax occasionally," Charlie countered lightly. "Finding some light weekend reading is perfectly normal, right?"
"Fair enough. What about you, Hector?" Anthony asked, turning away.
"Me? I'll probably write to Mum and Dad on Friday. They'll be dying to hear all about our first flying lesson."
"Good point," Anthony agreed. "Well, Charlie, have fun in the library."
***
Dinner flew by, mostly because Charlie ate like a starved Kneazle. He polished off his meal in under twenty minutes, patted his comfortably full stomach, and bid his friends goodnight.
The Hogwarts Library was located on the fifth floor. As he climbed the marble staircases, Charlie mentally mapped out his schedule.
First came his standard coursework. That was non-negotiable. To master the subjects he actually cared about, he needed to dedicate at least fifty percent of his free time to reviewing notes and finishing essays.
Another thirty percent was allocated to learning advanced spells. Lately, he had been working on the Bird-Conjuring Charm, Avis, which was a fixed-form Transfiguration spell.
Fixed-form Transfiguration was exactly what it sounded like: using a specific incantation to summon or transform a specific object, much like Serpensortia for snakes. While the general Vera Verto spell was a staple of their early curriculum, it didn't mean they had to spend seven years exclusively turning beetles into buttons. Fixed-form spells had a strict upper limit in terms of versatility, but they were significantly easier to learn.
He was already spending every Monday afternoon and Saturday practicing these charms in the Room of Requirement.
The remaining twenty percent of his time was dedicated to his candies.
Tonight, however, he needed to tackle a logistical nightmare he had been putting off.
***
The library boasted ceilings over twenty feet high, filled with towering, labyrinthine shelves crammed with thousands of books.
Charlie wandered the aisles, marveling at the utter silence. Even the floating candles seemed too intimidated to let their flames flicker too loudly.
Ahead of him, a younger student carefully pulled a book from a shelf. The moment the spine cleared the wood, the book inflated like a balloon.
BANG.
Naturally, when a book suddenly expands from the size of a standard journal to the length of a human arm, it becomes quite difficult to hold. The heavy thud echoed through the silent library like a cannon blast.
Rapid, furious footsteps approached immediately.
"What is the meaning of this?" Madam Pince appeared, looking positively lethal as she gripped a feather duster.
"I'm so sorry, Madam Pince!"
"Shh!" she hissed, her brow furrowing deeply. She looked down at the massive tome on the floor, a flash of genuine heartbreak in her eyes. "You must treat books with respect!" she whispered angrily. "Hogwarts houses the largest collection of magical literature in all of Britain. Many of these volumes cannot be found anywhere else in the world. You could have just destroyed a priceless, one-of-a-kind artifact!"
"I'm sorry," the boy whimpered, staring firmly at his shoes.
Madam Pince gently lifted the oversized book and shoved it back into the boy's arms. "See that it doesn't happen again."
The boy looked as though he had just been granted a stay of execution and scurried away. If he hadn't been terrified of making more noise, Charlie was sure he would have sprinted.
With the culprit gone, Madam Pince turned her hawk-like gaze on Charlie. "And what are you looking for, young man?" she asked in a hushed tone.
"Just browsing for books on magical portraits, Madam Pince," Charlie replied politely. "I'm quite curious about how the Fat Lady operates the Gryffindor entrance. What kind of charms are involved in that?"
Madam Pince took a deep breath, her eyes losing focus for a fraction of a second as she mentally scanned her vast domain.
"If you want the fundamentals," she exhaled slowly, "I suggest An Introduction to Magical Portraits and Waspink's Guide to the Bizarre and Bewitched Portraits. If your curiosity is strictly limited to the Fat Lady, you'll need to read Hogwarts: A History."
She pointed a bony finger. "The first two are in section C-2, under Magical Arts. Hogwarts: A History is on the B-3 History shelves, very front row. You can't miss it."
"Thank you for your help, ma'am," Charlie smiled.
"You're welcome. Oh, and a word of warning. That Bizarre book is deceptively heavy. Use both hands."
Charlie suppressed a grin, thinking of the poor boy from earlier. "I will, Madam Pince."
***
He made his way to section C-2.
Yes, magical portraits.
Charlie hadn't suddenly developed a burning passion for the fine arts. His true goal was something he had been plotting since arriving at Hogwarts: starting a small business.
He was only a first-year. He couldn't exactly walk up to a bunch of seventh-years and start peddling mass quantities of magical candy. He would spend half his time just explaining where he got the chocolate and how he made it.
More importantly, he wanted to keep his unique "Elemental Extraction" ability completely under wraps. It wasn't exactly a dark, terrible secret, but it was deeply personal. It was like having a weird birthmark. If someone saw it by accident, fine, but he didn't want to invite everyone to poke and prod at it. If he became the official face of his candy brand, he'd be dodging endless questions about his magic.
A public business would severely interfere with his studies and his actual life.
He had considered enlisting the Weasley twins. They certainly had the entrepreneurial spirit for it. But after careful consideration, he decided against it. Fred and George were brilliant, but they were also incredibly loud and prone to chaos.
His ideal solution was to find an independent sales representative to handle the front end, allowing him to stay comfortably behind the scenes, casually brewing candies without disrupting his education.
But where in Hogwarts could he find a totally trustworthy, tireless employee?
He had been agonizing over this very question a few nights ago, staring blankly around his dormitory, when his eyes landed on a girl.
More specifically, a girl in a painting.
Magical portraits. It was brilliantly simple.
Sure, a painting couldn't leave its frame to physically hand over merchandise or collect Sickles. But what if he built the portrait a "shop"?
He could set up an automated, self-service kiosk. Students could pick out their candies, and the portrait would act as the cashier, verifying the payment and unlocking the goods.
Now, he just needed to figure out if it was actually possible.
***
In section C-2, he easily located Madam Pince's recommendation: Waspink's Guide to the Bizarre and Bewitched Portraits.
The librarian's warning was spot on. On the shelf, the book looked like a standard notebook. The second Charlie pulled it free, it ballooned into a colossal encyclopedia.
It was ridiculously large, requiring Charlie to wrap both arms around it, and easily thicker than his fist.
He hauled the tome to a nearby reading table and cracked it open.
It was less of a textbook and more of an interactive gallery. The left page of each spread featured a large, moving reproduction of a portrait, while the right page detailed the author's encounter with the piece, the backstory, and its unique magical properties.
One entry caught his eye: Iverson's Howl. The painting depicted a man named Iverson, sitting gracefully in an ornate chair, dressed in exquisite robes, looking the picture of aristocratic elegance.
He was also a werewolf.
According to the author, the artist had mixed actual werewolf blood into the pigments.
Under normal circumstances, the painted Iverson was perfectly polite. Logically, a portrait should remain exactly as it was painted, preserving that single moment in time forever.
But magic was rarely logical. When the real-world moon was full, the painted Iverson transformed into a werewolf, succumbing to uncontrollable, bloodthirsty rage.
The portrait had a nasty habit of breaking into neighboring paintings and slaughtering the occupants.
The original owner, tired of paying to restore the shredded canvases of his ancestors, sold it for a pittance. By the time the author found the piece, it had changed hands over a dozen times. If it hadn't been such a rare oddity, it would have been incinerated years ago.
Eventually, an American collector purchased Iverson and commissioned a frame made entirely of pure silver. The silver barrier successfully trapped the werewolf inside his own canvas during the full moon.
Pigments can alter a painting's nature? Charlie thought, utterly fascinated. And a pure silver frame can physically restrict a painted subject?
The relationship between magical portraits and reality was incredibly complex.
This was fantastic news. The more portraits could interact with physical elements, the more viable his automated shop idea became.
He lost himself in the book, slowly turning the massive pages as the hours slipped away.
***
"It is nearly curfew, young man." Madam Pince's stern voice broke his concentration. "Unless you fancy a late-night chat with Mr. Filch?"
Charlie blinked, looking around the library. The reading area was completely deserted save for a couple of older students packing their bags.
"Apologies, Madam Pince," Charlie said, standing up. "I'd like to check this out, please."
"Very well. Remember, only one book at a time. You haven't checked anything else out, have you?"
"No, ma'am. This is my first time borrowing."
"Follow me, then," she instructed, leading the way toward her desk near the exit. "You there, girl. It's time to leave," she called out to another figure hidden behind a stack of books.
Charlie glanced over and smiled. "Good evening, Hermione. What's got you so engrossed?"
Hermione looked up, startled.
"Oh, good evening, Charlie. I haven't seen you in the library before." She hastily gathered her things and looked at the librarian. "Madam Pince, I'd like to check this out."
"Not a problem. Did you return Quidditch Through the Ages?"
"Yes, I brought it back at lunchtime," Hermione nodded earnestly.
"Alright then, step up to the desk."
Hermione obediently followed. Charlie caught a glimpse of the cover of her book: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander.
"Developing an interest in magical creatures?" Charlie asked casually. "Looking up the Golden Snitch?"
"Ah... well... yes, exactly," Hermione stammered, looking slightly flushed. "I wanted to read up on the history of the Snitch. Apparently, they have nature reserves for them now, but poachers are still a terrible problem."
Charlie noticed the heavy, dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted.
"Looks like someone didn't get much sleep last night," he chuckled.
"Yes, well," Hermione said, her voice a bit jittery. "Flying class was just so... stimulating. I couldn't stop thinking about it when I went to bed."
Stimulating? Charlie thought dryly. I'd say a giant three-headed dog is a bit more 'stimulating' than riding a broomstick.
He kept that particular observation to himself, however, and simply gave her a knowing nod.