"Is that so? I always figured Ravenclaws would at least respect the classroom," Charlie remarked.
Hearing this, the two seventh-year students burst into awkward laughter. The older boy's shoulders shook with mirth, and it took him a good moment to finally compose himself.
"Mate, you might not know this, but Ravenclaw has the highest class-skipping rate in all of Hogwarts. You probably understand the house point system by now. Logically speaking, even if Snape were not such a biased git, Ravenclaw should consistently sit comfortably in second place. But the truth is, our point deduction rate rivals Gryffindor, and they actively go out of their way to look for trouble."
"Because of skipping classes?" Charlie asked, entirely bewildered.
"Exactly. If I feel History of Magic is utterly useless to me, I will not waste a single brain cell studying it. I pour absolutely all of my energy into Charms and Transfiguration instead."
The girl sitting across from him chimed in smoothly. "And since I have absolutely no talent for Herbology or Potions, I focus my time entirely on the subjects I actually care about."
Charlie listened to them in stunned silence. He took a seat at their table. "I expected Ravenclaw to be full of academic obsessives, but I never imagined it would be this extreme."
"It is perfectly normal," the older boy shrugged. "Last year, while practicing a complex charm, I entered this brilliant flow state and just kept practicing straight through until sunrise. My first class that morning was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which I detest. Was I supposed to abandon that precious burst of magical inspiration just to attend a class I hate? Absolutely not."
"Plus, it is still better than what some other people do," the girl added with a roll of her eyes. "There is always someone who tries to master every single subject, even going so far as to use a Time-Turner. And the result? Human energy is finite. Spreading yourself that thin across so many subjects just turns you into a complete nervous wreck."
"Well, some people still manage to pull off straight 'Outstanding' grades on their O.W.L.s," her friend pointed out.
"Useless," the girl scoffed. "Their spellwork lacks any practical application. They can only wave their wands properly in a controlled, predictable classroom setting." She shook her head. "Anyway, I should not speak ill of others behind their backs."
"But what about your overall grades?" Charlie asked. "Do you only care about the one or two subjects you actually excel at?"
"Why should anyone care about a grade in a subject they despise? Time is limited. If we do not channel our energy into what we love and excel at, we are just wasting our lives. This is not just my personal philosophy; it is the consensus of over half the House."
"Looks like I need to update my view of Ravenclaw," Charlie chuckled.
"What subjects are you interested in so far?" the older boy asked.
"Herbology, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and maybe Alchemy. I am not entirely sure yet," Charlie listed thoughtfully.
Both seventh-years immediately started laughing again.
"Classic first-year. You just got here, so everything sounds fascinating. But eventually, you will realize you have to let some things go."
"Especially after the O.W.L. exams," the girl warned. "If you want to reach the absolute pinnacle of a specific magical discipline, you cannot afford to have your stamina drained by trivial classes. The material you are learning right now is just a tiny anthill compared to the massive mountains you will have to climb later."
Charlie took a deep breath. "I suppose that makes a lot of sense. In that case, I really should not waste any more time."
He bid the two upperclassmen goodbye, headed to the washroom to freshen up, and then returned to the common room.
It was time to practice Transfiguration.
As the incantation Vera Verto echoed softly but repeatedly through the room, a few older students buried in their textbooks looked up. Their tired eyes, heavily framed by dark circles, fixed on Charlie with mild surprise.
A first-year getting up at the crack of dawn to practice spellwork? That was a rare sight indeed.
By seven-thirty, Charlie finally lowered his wand and rubbed his dry, aching eyes. He briefly considered doing some Muggle eye exercises to relieve the strain.
After resting for a moment, he surveyed the common room again.
Some students had completely passed out, snoring softly with their heads resting on open books. Others were still staring intensely at their parchment, muttering rapidly to themselves. A few were engaged in highly energetic debates. Others had just woken up and were pacing by the windows, loudly reading out loud to banish their morning grogginess.
As for the two seventh-years Charlie had spoken to earlier, they had already left the common room. However, they had not gone to the Great Hall or to a scheduled class. Instead, they had sneaked off to an empty classroom on the seventh floor to check on a complex potion they had left simmering. As for their actual morning classes, who cared? Their personal research was obviously far more important.
A short while later, Anthony and Hector finally woke up. Once they were ready, the trio headed down to the Great Hall for a hearty breakfast.
***
Today's Charms lesson focused on the Unlocking Charm, a highly practical and harmless everyday spell.
Professor Flitwick introduced the incantation, Alohomora, and handed each student a palm-sized iron padlock to practice with.
Just five minutes into the practical segment, Charlie's padlock clicked open smoothly. He was the first to succeed, earning Ravenclaw a well-deserved house point.
During the Q&A portion toward the end of the lesson, Charlie raised his hand. He asked a rather complex question regarding the relationship between spellcasting and intent-driven necessity.
Professor Flitwick beamed at him. "Yes, Mr. Wonka! Charms are fundamentally born from human necessity, so allowing that raw need to drive your magic is naturally the most direct and powerful method. For your deep thinking and sharp insight, take another two points for Ravenclaw!"
Charlie had not expected to earn extra points just for asking a thoughtful question.
Overall, the new week felt significantly easier in terms of coursework.
In Herbology, his Leaping Toadstools were growing beautifully. In fact, they were already actively bouncing around inside their pots. Professor Sprout strictly required all students to wear masks during the lesson, warning them that inhaling the fungal spores would trigger severe hallucinations.
Beyond just teaching them how to grow magical flora, Professor Sprout also focused on harvesting and processing. The students had to pluck the Toadstools, carefully slice them in half with a silver trowel, treat them with specific compounds, and lay them out to dry. The entire curing process would take the full week to complete.
As for Potions? Snape still despised Charlie. To be fair, Snape despised everyone, but he definitely kept a much closer, intensely critical eye on Charlie's cauldron.
It was completely useless, though. Charlie's skin was thicker than dragon hide. Just as he had told his friends before, he simply did not care about arbitrary authority figures. He was no longer a timid child who trembled at the sight of a grumpy teacher.
Time flowed wonderfully at Hogwarts. Between classes, Charlie continued his secret experiments, meticulously blending his Lunar, Solar, and Lightning extracts into various test batches.
Finally, on the Wednesday of his third week, he succeeded.
He had created a truly flawless piece of chocolate. It triggered a simultaneous mental and physical overload, drastically boosting his speed and perception, while simultaneously releasing restorative properties to heal the body and completely nullify the brutal side effects.
This was no longer just a commercial product. This was his ultimate trump card.
Of course, no one else could possibly eat it. Even with its perfected formula, the raw magical energy was too violent. If Charlie did not preemptively cast the Softening Charm on himself before taking a bite, his only destination would be a permanent bed in the hospital wing.