Charlie picked up his bookmark, slotted it between the pages of his current read, and pulled Introduction to Alchemy toward him.
Flipping to the table of contents, he noted that the first volume was divided into three core sections:
Chapter One: Fundamental Concepts of Alchemy
Chapter Two: First Attempts at Etching
Chapter Three: Material Receptacles
He decided to start with the third chapter. Twenty minutes of quiet reading gave him a solid grasp of what "Material Receptacles" actually entailed.
Just as his previous reading had suggested, these receptacles were essentially containers designed to preserve highly volatile or specific magical ingredients. The term was wonderfully broad. A receptacle was not limited to a simple glass vial. Depending on the preservation needs of the ingredient, wooden boxes, metal caskets, and even carved stone could fall under the umbrella of "Material Receptacles."
Charlie's mind immediately drifted to the gloomy shelves of the Potions classroom. He pictured the dust-caked jars filled with murky fluids and suspended, unblinking eyeballs of unknown creatures. If the alchemy text was accurate, those grotesque, ancient-looking specimens were perfectly preserved in their magical properties. If they had actually expired, a perfectionist like Snape would have vanished them ages ago.
The realization sparked a surge of excitement. Still, he remembered Professor Chambers's strict warning. A wizard had to approach this kind of knowledge with deep respect.
Tucking away his curiosity about the jars, he flipped back to page one of the first chapter to tackle the foundational concepts.
Around nine or perhaps ten o'clock that evening, the portrait hole opened, and Anthony and Hector finally tumbled into the dormitory.
"Charlie, have you been in the dorm this whole time?" Anthony asked, tossing his bag onto his bed.
"Sure have," Charlie replied.
"You absolute hermit," Anthony laughed, shaking his head. "I honestly thought you'd gotten yourself locked out of the common room."
"Not a chance." Charlie smiled, keeping his eyes fixed on the alchemy text.
"Right, enough joking around. Did you finish that horrific History of Magic essay?"
Charlie nodded and pointed a finger toward his desk. "Help yourselves."
"You are a lifesaver, mate. History of Magic is the one class where you seem to actually know what's going on," Anthony said, already rummaging for the parchment.
"We spend the entire lecture reading other books, just like you," Hector grumbled playfully. "How is it that you breeze through the homework while we suffer?"
"It's not too bad if you just untangle the timeline," Charlie explained easily. "Once you have the dates, you just map out the character relationships and how the era evolved around them."
"Yeah, we definitely can't do that," Anthony muttered, locating the essay. "But tracing over your brilliant outline? That we can do."
"I think it's just a different way of processing the information," Anthony added thoughtfully.
"Well, right now, my process is purely imitation," Hector joked.
Anthony carefully rolled up Charlie's parchment. "We won't disturb your reading any longer. Look at you, already on a new book. Are you plotting to read the entire library?"
"I couldn't manage that if you gave me a whole lifetime," Charlie chuckled.
The two boys smiled and retreated to their own desks with their newly acquired reference material, leaving Charlie to the quiet comfort of his studies.
Late into the night, long after the others had started snoring, Charlie quietly pulled open his bedside drawer. Inside sat a meager pile of Galleons and a neat stack of Muggle pound notes.
"Time to see how far this will stretch," Charlie thought.
According to his textbook, a beginner's first foray into alchemical etching was best practiced on blocks of solid silver. Silver acted as a highly sensitive conductor for magical energy, much like copper or gold conducted Muggle electricity.
However, just as no one in their right mind used solid gold for house wiring, impoverished alchemy novices were strongly advised against using silver for mere practice.
Thankfully, the book offered a far better, far cheaper alternative: British Oak.
It made perfect sense. British Oak was a premier wood for wand-making. By its very nature, it possessed an incredibly sharp sensitivity to magic, particularly natural magic and the innate energies of magical beasts.
This sensitivity was crucial because not all materials were suited for alchemy. You could carve the most intricate, powerful runes into certain metals or stones, and they would sit there like a Squib, completely unresponsive.
The foundational theory of alchemy touched upon a concept that transcended basic material properties. It proposed that all things possess a soul. The "souls" of certain materials naturally repelled magic, while others embraced it. The compatibility between the material and the spell was everything.
"So, where on earth do I buy a pile of premium oak?" Charlie muttered, counting his meager funds. Four Galleons and a handful of Sickles.
He mentally walked through the shops of Diagon Alley. The Magical Menagerie, Eeylops Owl Emporium, Florean Fortescue's, the Apothecary, Potage's Cauldron Shop.
The Apothecary was the closest match, but not quite right.
"I shouldn't need to buy botanical supplies while living at Hogwarts," Charlie reasoned with himself.
Most of the herbs and plants used by students were either grown in the school greenhouses or bulk-ordered by the Board of Governors. Generally speaking, consumables at Hogwarts were entirely free for the students. Items like cauldrons, brass scales, and winter cloaks were personal purchases, which fueled a massive second-hand market that Charlie himself relied on heavily.
"If I were officially taking an Alchemy class, the school would probably provide the practice wood," Charlie sighed.
Then, his thought process hit a sudden, screeching halt.
"Wait. The school does have it."
He shoved the drawer shut, completely ignoring his pitiful pile of Galleons.
Just beyond the castle grounds sat the Forbidden Forest, absolutely teeming with ancient, magical timber. All he needed was a few good pieces of dropped oak.
"Hagrid, my good man," Charlie grinned to himself. "I think it is high time we became close friends."
As for the necessary tools, things like carving knives, calipers, and measuring beakers, he knew exactly where to look. Every year, graduating students and careless first-years discarded or lost mountains of perfectly good equipment. Where did all that lost junk eventually end up?
The Room of Requirement, of course.
Charlie shook his head, thoroughly pleased with his logic. His agenda for the next day was set. Now, the most logical step was to get some sleep and recharge.
***
The Next Day
"Today concludes our unit on the Unlocking Charm and its counter-spell," Professor Flitwick squeaked cheerfully from atop his stack of books. "For your homework, I would like a free-form essay detailing your thoughts, struggles, and successes with these two spells. Additionally, you are to read ahead to our next topic, the Mending Charm, Reparo."
Flitwick beamed at the class. "Please include any questions or theories you develop during your pre-reading in your essay. And since we are wrapping up a major unit, there is absolutely no maximum length limit on this assignment! Class dismissed!"
"Thank you, Professor Flitwick!" Anthony declared loudly as he packed his bag.
He leaned over to Charlie and Hector, dropping his voice to a theatrical whisper. "I swear, I want to blow that tiny man a kiss right now."
"Emphasis on blow the kiss, from a very safe distance," Charlie smirked.
"Oh, I heard that, Mr. Goldstein!" Professor Flitwick called out, pointing a tiny finger in their direction. "And keeping it at a safe distance is the correct choice. I assure you, I would not permit it otherwise!"
The surrounding Ravenclaws snickered. Anthony, possessing the thickest skin in the castle, wasn't bothered in the slightest.
"See you next class, Professor!" Anthony called back happily.
"Goodbye, Professor," Charlie added respectfully.
"Have a wonderful afternoon, boys," Flitwick nodded, watching the students file out.
Once they were in the corridor, Anthony clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Standard protocol, what are we doing this afternoon?"
"I have a chess match," Hector announced smoothly. "Apparently, a rather skilled Gryffindor caught wind of my winning streak and wants a go. More accurately, someone sent me a formal challenge."
"What? You didn't mention this!" Anthony looked thrilled.
Hector reached into his robes and produced a slightly crumpled piece of parchment. "It flew right at my face in the corridor yesterday, folded up like a paper airplane."
Charlie and Anthony leaned in to read the dramatic scrawl:
A Formal Challenge
Word has reached my ears of a rising Wizard's Chess champion residing in Ravenclaw Tower. Consider me thoroughly intrigued.
Since the tender age of three, I have studied the noble game under the tutelage of my devastatingly handsome, impossibly suave, and terrifyingly brilliant older brothers. I have rarely met my match. It has been years since I tasted the bitter ash of defeat.
Hearing of your sudden rise brings joy to my heart.
Today, I formally challenge you.
Time: Monday, Midday.
Location: The Great Hall.
"Well, he certainly thinks highly of himself," Hector noted drily.
Anthony nodded solemnly. "We don't know who this arrogant mystery player is yet, but we will find out soon enough." He clapped Hector on the back. "Crush him, mate. Absolute annihilation."
Hector didn't reply, but his eyes sharpened with a deeply competitive glint.
Charlie, meanwhile, was staring at the letter, his mouth twitching as he suppressed a laugh. He was fairly certain he knew exactly who wrote the letter, and more importantly, he knew the author and the actual opponent were definitely not the same person.
This meant he was almost guaranteed to run into Harry Potter in the Great Hall. If he could rope Harry into his plan to visit Hagrid later, the whole endeavor would be infinitely smoother. Harry was practically family to the gamekeeper, after all.
"I think I'll come watch," Charlie said, handing the parchment back.
"Yes! Let us go witness the destruction," Anthony cheered.
The trio made their way down to the Great Hall. Sure enough, as they approached the Gryffindor table, they spotted Harry Potter's distinct messy black hair.
Beside him sat a very confused Ron Weasley. Ron was rubbing his eyes, his ginger hair sticking up in odd directions. He looked as though he hadn't fully woken up yet.
Standing directly behind Ron, acting like a pair of regal bodyguards, were two older boys with identical red hair and matching mischievous grins.
"So, what exactly are you two plotting?" Ron asked suspiciously, glaring up at his brothers.
"We are simply taking an active interest in the hobbies of our dearest younger brother," Fred Weasley declared, placing a hand over his heart.
"Ah, the challenger approaches," George Weasley announced, spotting Hector. He raised his voice so it echoed across the surrounding tables. "Over here, gentlemen! The boy whose name was signed on the challenge awaits! The battlefield is prepared!"
Hector raised an eyebrow, looking from the towering twins down to the seated, bewildered first-year.
"Wait, it was him?" Anthony whispered, clearly surprised. "Why didn't he just sign his name? We see him in class."
Hector's intense expression softened into mild amusement. "Alright, so it isn't an arrogant upperclassman trying to bully me. This looks like a setup."
"Do not mistake this for a jest, Ravenclaw!" Fred proclaimed loudly. "He promised to wipe the floor with you!"
"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Ron scowled, looking mortified.
With a flourish, George reached over and slammed a heavy wooden chessboard down right in front of Ron's plate, followed by a clattering box of enchanted pieces.
"Where did you even get that?" Harry asked, looking just as bewildered as Ron.
"Details, Harry, mere details," Fred waved him off.
Charlie, Anthony, and Hector stepped up to the table. Hector smoothly swung his leg over the bench and sat directly across from Ron.
A crowd was already beginning to form. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables were adjacent, and thanks to Anthony's relentless hype, half of Ravenclaw knew about Hector's undefeated status.
"A new challenger steps into the arena!" Anthony announced, easily falling into his role as Hector's personal hype man and commentator.
"Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the battle of the century," Fred and George chorused together.
Ron looked entirely utterly lost. Fred and George each clamped a heavy hand onto his shoulders. "Are you ready, brother?"
"Ready for what? I don't even know what's happening!" Ron protested.
"Your reading comprehension is truly abysmal, Ronald," Fred sighed dramatically.
"Allow us to clarify," George added helpful. "We drafted a highly intimidating challenge in your name and invited Ravenclaw's most vicious chess prodigy here to duel you."
"Oh, brilliant. Thanks a lot," Ron groaned, his face burning bright red. "You could have warned me!"
"But then we would have ruined the element of surprise," Fred countered logically.
Harry started chuckling. "Just give it a go, Ron. Don't stress about it."
Ron looked incredibly awkward. He sat on his hands, hunching his shoulders as the crowd of onlookers grew thicker. Truthfully, Ron occasionally harbored a tiny, secret sliver of jealousy regarding the constant attention Harry received. But now, suddenly thrust into the spotlight himself, he found he didn't like it one bit.
"Shall we begin, Ron?" Hector asked politely. "Listen, if you don't actually want to play, we don't have to. I assumed the letter was from you, but clearly, your brothers..."
"Yeah, they're a nightmare," Ron sighed heavily. He looked down at the board, then up at Hector. A sudden spark of Gryffindor defiance flared in his eyes. He gave a firm nod. "Right then. Let's play."
The highly anticipated match commenced. As the player with the white pieces, Ron made the first move. He ordered a pawn forward, and the little stone soldier marched aggressively to its new square, drawing its sword.
Hector's demeanor shifted instantly, dropping the polite amusement for cold, calculating focus. He ordered his own piece forward.
It quickly became apparent that Ron's reputation was not entirely fabricated by his brothers. The boy was genuinely brilliant at the game. Charlie watched the board carefully, admitting to himself that if he were sitting in Hector's seat, he wouldn't stand a chance against Ron's aggressive strategy.
The game dragged on. It was a slow, grueling war of attrition. As the tension on the board thickened, the surrounding crowd fell into a hushed, respectful silence. It was a masterclass in tactical warfare.
Roughly twenty minutes later, the once-crowded board was sparse. With a final, decisive maneuver, Hector's remaining knight viciously cornered Ron's king, dragging the screaming piece off the edge of the board. The game was over.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I never should have sacrificed that bishop."
"An absolutely brilliant match!" Anthony cheered, starting a round of applause.
"Quite right, Mr. Goldstein. An exceptional display of strategy," a crisp, stern voice cut through the noise. "However, the lunch service is about to begin. I suggest you clear the battlefield before a platter of roast beef crushes your remaining infantry."
Ron jumped in his seat. Professor McGonagall was standing right behind him, with Professor Flitwick hovering cheerfully at her elbow.
"The professors have been watching for quite a while," Charlie supplied helpfully.
Ron's ears turned completely purple. He had unwittingly been playing for the honor of his House right in front of his Head of House.
"You played marvelously, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, offering him a rare, genuine smile.
"Indeed! If this were an officially sanctioned school tournament, I would certainly award House points for such a display," Flitwick chimed in. "A pity it is strictly informal."
"To be fair, Professor, if Professor Snape were judging, he'd probably find a way to give points to Slytherin anyway," Charlie quipped smoothly.
Both professors froze, their expressions caught in a hilarious war between professional reprimand and absolute agreement.
Opting for the safest route, they pretended they hadn't heard the joke at all and bustled away toward the staff table. The surrounding students, however, did not hold back, erupting into loud laughter.
As the crowd dispersed to find their seats for lunch, Charlie slid onto the Gryffindor bench across from Harry.
"Harry, do you have any pressing plans after classes this afternoon?" Charlie asked, getting straight to the point. "I need to go visit Hagrid."
"Hagrid? Is everything okay?" Harry asked, looking curious.
"Everything is fine. I just need to ask him a favor regarding some materials," Charlie explained. "And since you're good friends with him, I was hoping you'd come along and introduce me properly. It would make things much easier."
Harry smiled. "Sure, I'd be happy to. Do you want to meet outside the Charms corridor after the last bell?"
"Perfect," Charlie nodded. "See you then."