Charlie followed Dumbledore into the grand hall, instantly feeling countless eyes fixate on him.
It was like walking the red carpet, except the onlookers were all oddly dressed witches and wizards.
"This way, Charlie," Dumbledore reminded him softly.
Wizards in the hall quickly gathered around, all wearing polite smiles.
"Professor Dumbledore, is this the young prodigy we've heard so much about?"
"An honor to meet you, Mr. White."
"Such promise at such a young age."
Charlie kept his polite smile steady as he nodded in greeting.
Nod, smile, shake hands. Repeat.
He had become a robotic greeting machine.
[Your Majesty's demeanor toward the courtiers is far too cold. +3 to Tyrant Points]
"What? How am I cold? Do I need to pretend my shoe fell off and cling to people like we're lifelong pals?"
As Charlie grumbled internally, a familiar figure appeared in the crowd.
A head of platinum-blond hair gleamed under the lights, styled into a slicked-back coif atop a pale, pointed face.
Draco Malfoy.
Charlie genuinely worried the boy would go bald young, with how much gel he was using, it wasn't impossible.
Draco trailed behind a tall man with the same platinum-blond hair. He carried a snake-headed cane and radiated an air of aristocratic arrogance.
Judging by the identical posture and coloring, it was obvious the two were father and son.
They were headed straight for Charlie. Draco's steps grew hesitant the closer they came.
As soon as he spotted Charlie, Draco instinctively shrank behind his father, like a small animal encountering its natural predator.
Lucius noticed his son's reaction and frowned slightly.
"Draco. Come here."
His voice carried unquestionable authority.
Draco was dragged forward by his father, his expression strained and unwilling.
"Mr. White," Lucius greeted him with practiced elegance. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"I am Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father."
"Mr. Malfoy," Charlie responded politely.
Lucius nodded, clearly pleased, and gave Draco a little push forward.
"Draco has mentioned you often. He holds you in high regard and hopes to become your friend."
Draco's face turned bright red. His eyes darted around wildly like a child being forced to sing in front of relatives.
How could Charlie resist teasing him?
He placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and gave him a warm, almost saintly smile.
"No need to worry, Mr. Malfoy. Draco and I often enjoy… friendly exchanges."
Draco felt the weight of Charlie's hand and froze up like a block of wood.
He forced out a smile, so stiff it looked painful.
"Y-yes, we get along great."
His voice trembled.
Lucius watched their interaction with satisfaction.
"Good, good. Young people should communicate more."
Draco's complexion turned even paler.
Communicate? With him? Someone save me.
Just then, a bell rang out from the front of the hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the award ceremony is about to begin. Please take your seats."
A Ministry official in deep blue robes called out loudly.
The crowd began moving toward the seating area in orderly fashion.
Dumbledore stepped beside Charlie.
"Time to head up front."
Charlie nodded and gave Draco a little wave.
"See you around, Draco."
Draco waved back, stiff as a board, and only relaxed after Charlie disappeared from sight.
At the front of the hall stood a temporary stage. The members of the Wizengamot were already in position.
As Chief Warlock, Dumbledore stood at the center.
Charlie was led to a designated spot just below the platform, surrounded by rows of spectators.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore's voice echoed through the hall.
"Today we gather here to recognize the extraordinary achievements of a young wizard."
"Mr. Charlie White has developed a revolutionary soul-healing elixir that will go on to save countless lives plagued by damaged souls."
Thunderous applause followed.
"And now, please welcome Mr. Charlie White to the stage to receive his award."
Charlie stepped onto the stage, the applause growing even louder.
Dumbledore held a finely crafted medal engraved with the profile of Merlin and intricate magical runes.
"Charlie White," Dumbledore declared, "for your outstanding contributions to potion-making, the full council of the Wizengamot has unanimously decided to award you the Order of Merlin, Second Class."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Second Class? Merlin's beard, I'd be thrilled just to get Third Class in my lifetime."
"In your dreams."
"Honestly, isn't Second Class a bit too much? Even someone as great as Lockhart only ever got Third Class."
"Oh please, develop something half as important as this potion, then you can talk. He deserves it."
Dumbledore paid no mind to the murmurs.
He pinned the medal on Charlie's chest and whispered,
"Congratulations, Charlie."
Elsewhere in the crowd, Lucius leaned toward Draco and lowered his voice.
"Remember what I told you. Stay close to Charlie. I sent you to Hogwarts so you could learn from talented individuals. Since you're not getting along with Harry Potter, redirect your efforts."
Draco nodded miserably.
Fine. I'll 'get close.' What else can I do? It's Father's assignment after all.
The ceremony concluded, and Charlie promptly slipped away.
There was no way he was going to let himself be mobbed by that overly enthusiastic crowd of wizards.
…
The very next morning, the entire wizarding world exploded.
The Daily Prophet ran the front-page headline:
"The Youngest Order of Merlin (Second Class) Recipient in History!"
The Witch Weekly followed up:
"Young Prodigy Charlie White: A Rising Star in Potioneering!"
Even The Quibbler ran a rare positive article:
"Maybe, Just Maybe, the Wizengamot Didn't Screw It Up This Time."
At the Weasley breakfast table…
Ron sat with his mouth hanging wide open, holding The Daily Prophet.
On the front page, a photo of Charlie was waving at him, the Order of Merlin glittering proudly on his chest in the moving image.
"This is real? I'm not dreaming, right?"
His voice was trembling.
Fred and George exchanged looks, both wearing equally complicated expressions.
They knew Charlie was brilliant, but they hadn't expected him to win the Merlin Medal.
After all, the last recipient of the Second Class Order of Merlin was the legendary Newt Scamander, author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and current Hogwarts Care of Magical Creatures curriculum figurehead.
"I think we need to reintroduce ourselves to Charlie," Fred murmured.
"Second Class. Merlin's beard."
George shook his head, then casually peeled an egg and stuffed it into Ron's still-open mouth.
Percy set down his teacup and cleared his throat.
"As Charlie's friends, you should all take a page from his book."
His tone carried its usual preachy flavor.
"Just look at him, so young, and already so accomplished. And look at you lot, nothing but pranks day in and day out."
Fred rolled his eyes.
"Absolutely, dear Prefect Percy. We should be learning from you."
His voice dripped with sarcasm.
"After all, being a prefect is clearly superior to winning the Order of Merlin."
George shot him a frantic look, urging him to stop.
But Fred was oblivious.
"Who knows? Maybe someday you'll be Minister for Magic. Be sure to remember us lowly little brothers when you get there."
As soon as the words left his mouth, a hand reached out and expertly tugged his ear.
"OW, OW, OW!"
Fred screamed.
Mrs. Weasley stood behind him, her face thunderous.
"And what exactly was wrong with what Percy said?"
Her voice was dangerously calm.
"What's wrong with telling you to learn from a good student?"
Fred froze like a cornered animal.
Bickering was one thing, but no one dared fight back when their mother started scolding.
"Look at you two, no focus in school, no help around the house!"
Her voice grew louder and louder.
"Charlie probably studied hard and did chores without complaint. That's why he's so successful now!"
Ron stared blankly.
Wait… are we even talking about the same Charlie?
"Starting today, all of you are going to review next term's materials!"
"As Charlie's classmates, you're not allowed to fall behind!"
"Nooo, Mum, please!"
And just like that, the Weasleys' peaceful summer was over.
<><>---------------------------------------
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