After the troll incident, Charlie felt as if he'd turned into one of Hogwarts' rare magical creatures.
Wherever he went, he drew stares.
In the corridors, whispering students would instantly shut their mouths the moment he passed, sneaking glances at him filled with awe and curiosity.
The source of this chaos?
Naturally, Gryffindor's two walking megaphones: Harry and Ron.
Thanks to their enthusiastic storytelling, Charlie's "epic battle against the troll" had already spread through all four Houses… and spawned countless absurd variations.
During Charms class that afternoon, the moment Charlie stepped inside, the previously buzzing classroom fell silent.
Every single student turned at the same time to look at him.
Charlie kept a straight face, walked to his seat, and ignored all the stares.
Today, instead of collapsing on the desk to sleep as usual, he actually sat upright and opened his textbook.
Professor Flitwick, standing atop his usual stack of books so he could see over the podium, spotted Charlie's alert, bright-eyed expression, and almost fell off.
Was this really Charlie?
And he wasn't asleep?!
Had the sun risen from the wrong side today?
Flitwick was so moved he nearly shed tears.
"Students! Today we will be learning the Lumos Charm!"
His voice was uncharacteristically booming, overflowing with enthusiasm.
This class, today, he had to do his absolute best. Charlie White was actually paying attention; how could he let him down?
And Charlie was focused.
Focused on forcing himself not to sleep.
After all, he needed a favor, falling asleep now would be a bit too disrespectful.
When the bell rang, students packed up and left.
But Charlie stayed.
He stood and walked to the podium.
Flitwick, sorting his lesson plans, brightened immediately.
"Mr. White! You were wonderfully attentive today, I'm very pleased! What can I help you with?"
"Professor, I'd like to ask something."
"Go on, child."
"Do you… know any goblins?"
The smile froze on Flitwick's face.
The warmth in his large eyes faded, replaced by something complicated, wariness, tension.
The air grew heavy.
Though he was a respected Charms professor, that faint trace of goblin blood in him, less than a thousandth, had once caused him endless trouble.
Decades ago, pure‑blood supremacy was far more intense.
That bloodline had brought him no shortage of discrimination.
His worst fear was that a student he admired would suddenly look at him differently.
"And what would you be asking that for, Mr. White?" His voice had gone dry.
Charlie immediately sensed the shift and hurried to explain:
"Professor, you know I plan to make armor from the troll hide Dumbledore gave me."
"I heard goblins are the best craftsmen, so I thought…"
Flitwick's shoulders relaxed.
He exhaled slowly.
The tension evaporated, warmth returning to his face.
"Oh, that is all."
"Yes, goblins are exceptional smiths. As it happens, I know one particularly skilled craftsman, though he can be a bit… temperamental."
"That's perfect!" Charlie's eyes lit up.
"If you're in a hurry, I can take you tonight."
Charlie looked a bit embarrassed.
"Uh… Professor… tonight won't work."
"Oh? Something important?"
"I have detention with Professor McGonagall."
Flitwick blinked. Then sighed.
"Well, serves you right for your usual mischief. Then perhaps tomorrow night?"
Charlie winced harder.
"Tomorrow night, I… also have detention. With Professor Snape."
Flitwick: "..."
Standing atop his pile of books, his small body radiated big confusion.
"Mr. White," he asked with the tone of someone confronting a tragic truth,
"Could you please tell me, what day do you not have detention?"
In the end, they agreed on Saturday.
Saturday afternoon, Charlie knocked on Flitwick's office door right on time.
The office was warm and cozy, walls lined with medals and certificates, bookshelves packed to the brim with thick magic books.
Flitwick was standing on a high stool watering a pot of dancing daffodils.
Seeing Charlie, he hopped down with delight and handed him a delicious‑looking honey cake.
"Here, eat something first, the trip's a bit long."
Charlie accepted it gratefully.
Then they stood before the fireplace.
Flitwick grabbed a handful of glittering powder.
"Used Floo Powder before?"
Charlie shook his head.
"Hold tight, don't let go, and clearly speak the name of our destination."
He demonstrated.
"Into the fireplace."
Charlie stepped in, grabbed some Floo Powder, and shouted:
"Leaky Cauldron!"
Green flames swallowed him.
A dizzy whirl later, he stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron's hearth.
Flitwick followed, stepping out gracefully without a speck of ash on him.
He didn't bring Charlie through the pub's main room.
Instead, he guided him into the small courtyard out back.
"Hold onto my arm, Mr. White," Flitwick said sternly.
"The next sensation may feel… peculiar. Like being shoved into a very tight tube."
Charlie grabbed on.
The world compressed violently, air squeezed from his lungs, his organs twisting, his body folding into nothing,
And then it ended.
He gasped for breath, crouching slightly.
They were now in a dense forest.
Tall trees blocked out most of the light.
The air smelled of damp soil and rotting leaves.
It was so quiet he could hear his heartbeat.
"We've arrived."
Flitwick handed him a cup of honey water.
"This will help. First time Apparition is always dreadful. You'll get used to it."
Charlie sipped the honey water, still pale.
"That spell… it's called Apparition, Professor?"
"Oh, yes indeed."
Charlie immediately called in his mind:
System, blacklist this spell. Do NOT let me draw it.
[...]
Flitwick pointed down a narrow, overgrown path.
"The smith lives that way. He dislikes being disturbed."
They walked deeper into the forest.
The trees grew older and twisted, the air heavier.
After ten minutes, the path opened into a small clearing.
At its center stood a wooden cabin with a smoking chimney.
In front of the cabin, a short but incredibly sturdy figure was hammering away at an anvil, sparks bursting with each strike.
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