Charlie tilted his head. Without missing a beat, he flipped his hand, and another piece of chocolate materialized in his palm. He tossed it to the old man.
"I was rather hoping for the one with the special ingredient," the old man remarked.
Charlie eyed the old man and shook his head. "Sir, you are treading on dangerous ground with phrasing like that. I don't dabble in illicit substances."
The old man blinked, then chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I was referring to the sunlight."
"It is already in there," Charlie replied, immediately going on the defensive. "And for the record, this is merely street magic. You are welcome to take it as seriously as you like, but you still have to pay for it. One pound."
The old man did not immediately hand over the money. Instead, he unwrapped the sweet, carefully observing its color and texture before placing it on his tongue. He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the taste like a true connoisseur.
After a moment, the old man opened his eyes. "Truly fascinating. It seems you possess a rather unique gift. This level of elemental manipulation without the use of a specific incantation is exceedingly rare in young wizards."
The old man was clearly worldly and well-traveled, showing little outright shock at Charlie's abilities. After all, when young magical children experienced accidental magic, the results were notoriously unpredictable. Some conversed with animals, others made objects vanish, a few floated uncontrollably, and some even Apparated by mistake.
Charlie hardly registered the old man's muttering. His attention was entirely captivated by the floating text only he could see.
[Wonder Dust from Albus Dumbledore: +0.1]
The name Albus Dumbledore certainly rang a bell in the deep recesses of Charlie's mind. More importantly, this was the very first time he had ever extracted Wonder Dust from an adult, let alone an elderly one. And a tenth of a point was no small amount. Who would have thought a centenarian could still harbor such childlike wonder?
Charlie snapped his attention back just as Dumbledore offered a thoroughly satisfied smile. "Forgive my lack of manners. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Tell me, Mr. Charlie Wonka, would you be interested in coming to our school to learn true magic?"
"I absolutely would. However..."
Half an hour later
Charlie was officially tearing open his very own parchment acceptance letter. He scrutinized every word while firing off questions.
"I am terribly curious. Do you personally collect every single student? You must be swamped."
"Generally, no," Dumbledore explained. "Most students come from magical families and require no introduction. For ordinary students without a magical background, we send an owl and wait for a reply, eventually dispatching a staff member to guide them. And then there is the final, rather rare category, which I usually handle myself. Those who..."
"Orphans," Charlie supplied unhelpfully. "The ones who cannot even receive a letter properly. And since we are usually a paranoid, untrusting lot, it requires a grandfatherly figure like yourself to do the job?"
Dumbledore opened his mouth, then simply added, "And fiercely precocious, it seems." He placed a large, comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Hogwarts is a place full of love, Mr. Wonka. It is very much like a home. You have my word on that."
"I will take your word for it, Professor. But I do have a few practical questions."
Charlie proceeded to interrogate the Headmaster on the finer points of the magical world. He asked about Diagon Alley, Gringotts, tuition fees, room and board, and financial aid for new students.
Once everything was settled, Charlie stood up. "Right then. Shall we head to this Diagon Alley? Do we take the train?"
"Absolutely..." Dumbledore lifted his chin, dragging out the suspense. "...not."
Dumbledore clearly believed the best way to understand magic was to experience it firsthand. He gripped Charlie's shoulder.
"Take a deep breath."
Charlie did as he was told. The very next second, a violent pulling sensation yanked at his navel. He felt as though he were being violently squeezed through a very thick, very tight rubber tube. The sensation vanished as quickly as it came. With a sharp crack echoing in his ears, Charlie found himself standing in a dingy alleyway.
He immediately popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth. The warm, sunlit magic bloomed on his tongue, swiftly quelling the intense nausea brought on by spatial teleportation.
"Brilliant. Just brilliant," Charlie muttered, rubbing his temples. "Magic. Are we in Diagon Alley now?"
"No, we are currently on Charing Cross Road. I shall lead you through the doorway that separates the Muggle world from the magical one. It is called the Leaky Cauldron."
Following Dumbledore, Charlie stepped out of the alley and onto the bustling London street. Charlie was an orphan. The vagrant who had initially taken him in had passed away in a forgotten corner when Charlie was only eight. Since then, he had lived like a true Dickensian street urchin, relying entirely on his silver tongue and rudimentary magical parlor tricks to afford a warm meal. He harbored no romantic illusions about London and certainly had no money to travel here from Chester for a holiday. The last time he had been in the capital was three years ago.
If he had been born into a wealthy family, he might have strolled down Charing Cross Road ages ago, inevitably stumbling upon the Leaky Cauldron and the magical world. But reality rarely dealt such favorable hands.
Five minutes later, an ancient, shabby pub that looked entirely out of place materialized before them. Tom, the innkeeper, hurried over to greet them. He was hunchbacked, painfully thin, and looked overly eager. As Dumbledore walked in, several patrons stood up to offer greetings, while a few others actively shrank back into the shadows. Dumbledore remained perfectly pleasant, exchanging polite pleasantries at a leisurely pace before finally leading Charlie out to the walled courtyard in the back.
He drew his wand and tapped a specific brick in the wall. Under Charlie's expectant gaze, the bricks shifted and folded back, throwing the doors of the magical world wide open.
The hooting of owls, the excited chatter of children, and the haggling of adults washed over Charlie like a wave. The blurry, fragmented memories of films from a past life briefly flickered in his mind, only to be entirely eclipsed by the vibrant, living reality of Diagon Alley before him.
A Chocolate Frog took a flying leap right past Charlie's face. A young boy came barreling after it, shouting, "Hey! Get back here, you little menace!"
"Ernie, stop fussing over a piece of chocolate that has been hopping around on the filthy ground!" his mother scolded from a few paces behind.
"Shall we?" Dumbledore smiled gently, gesturing down the cobbled street.
"Chocolate frogs?" Charlie chuckled. "It seems this place caters exactly to my interests."
"There are far more surprises in store. I imagine you will enjoy them all," Dumbledore said. He patted his robes, dug into a pocket, and produced a large gold coin. "I do not carry British pounds. So, for your sunlight chocolate earlier... one Galleon."
Charlie took the heavy gold coin. Memories from his past life supplied the necessary context. One Galleon. Harry Potter had bought an armful of sweets on the Hogwarts Express and had not even spent this much. This single coin was likely enough to buy a sample of every interesting magical candy in existence. What a wonderfully generous customer. Or perhaps the Headmaster was simply funding a young boy's candy fund.
Charlie pocketed the Galleon with a bright smile. "Thank you, my incredibly generous Headmaster."
"Professor will do just fine."
Their first stop was Gringotts. Dumbledore knew Charlie had a few pounds to his name, but he ensured the boy received his full Hogwarts financial aid stipend: exactly thirty Galleons. Thirty Galleons was just enough to scrape by and purchase all the necessary school supplies. It left absolutely no room for luxuries like a pet, a broomstick, or anything remotely fun.
Leaving Gringotts, Dumbledore led him to Flourish and Blotts. Charlie browsed the second-hand section, picking out textbooks that were still in decent condition. The used section could not solve all his problems, however. Books like A History of Magic and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi were used across multiple school years, meaning any second-hand copies were practically falling apart. He had to buy those brand new.
Conversely, bulky items like a cauldron, a brass telescope, and brass scales were perfectly fine to buy used. The biggest drain on his limited funds turned out to be the mandatory clothing: plain work robes, protective gloves, a pointed hat, and a winter cloak.
Once the mundane shopping was complete, their final stop was Ollivanders wand shop. It was not a particularly dramatic affair. Well, perhaps a little. Mr. Ollivander's eye for matching was remarkably sharp today. The very first wand he handed over was a perfect fit.
"Rowan wood," Ollivander murmured. "A wood that famously despises deceit and trickery. It demands a pure-hearted owner. The core is unicorn hair, representing unyielding loyalty."
When Ollivander handed it over, Charlie gave it a firm wave. A shower of brilliant silver fireworks erupted from the tip. With a second flick, the sparks vanished without a trace. The wand felt incredibly natural in his grip.
Stepping out of Ollivanders, they navigated back through the Leaky Cauldron and out onto Charing Cross Road. Dumbledore handed Charlie a train ticket and carefully explained exactly how to find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He also delivered a swift but thorough lecture on the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and the Trace placed on underage magic.
"Now then, do you require an escort back to Chester, Mr. Wonka?"
"Absolutely," Charlie nodded, pausing for a theatrical beat. "Not."
Dumbledore smiled, shaking his head in mild resignation.
"I was planning to wander around London for a bit. There is a direct train from King's Cross to Cheshire. It takes about three and a half hours, and I know the route like the back of my hand."
"Very well. Please ensure you stay safe. Remember: avoid unfamiliar streets, do not wander into dark alleyways, and always stick to the crowds." Dumbledore gave a jaunty wink. With a soft pop, he vanished into thin air.
The street was packed with ordinary pedestrians, yet not a single soul spared a glance at the spot where an eccentric old man had just evaporated.
Charlie chewed on Dumbledore's parting words, a slow grin spreading across his face. He turned right back around and pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore secretly wanted him to explore Diagon Alley on his own.
Besides, was the Headmaster truly that comfortable leaving a child alone in London? Charlie reconsidered. Albus Dumbledore had grown up during the Victorian era, a lovely time when children were routinely sent into coal mines and factories for grueling shifts. To a wizard of his vintage, an eleven-year-old taking a train by himself was probably considered the height of luxury.