The spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower fell silent. A crisp wind howled through the narrow stone windows. Anthony and Hector exchanged an awkward, helpless look.
After a moment of hesitation, Anthony waved his hand dismissively. "Alright, forget it. I know I said some pretty awful things earlier. I'm sorry."
Hearing this, the little girl finally lifted her head. She took two deep, shuddering breaths. Then, beneath red and puffy eyes, she managed to pull together a brave smile. "Thank you. My name is Hermione Granger."
Anthony and Hector formally introduced themselves in return.
The name Hermione was hardly a secret to them. In fact, there probably wasn't a single first-year student who hadn't heard of her by now. She was the infamous Miss Know-It-All, the girl whose hand shot into the air before the professors even finished their sentences, and whose answers were invariably flawless.
More than once, they had overheard upperclassmen whispering that Hermione really ought to have been sorted into Ravenclaw. Of course, the actual Ravenclaws quietly disagreed. If pressed for a reason, they would argue that Hermione seemed driven more by a desperate need for a teacher's validation than a genuine, untamed curiosity for the unknown. But naturally, they only dared to keep that theory to themselves.
"Come on," Charlie interrupted gently. "It's almost time for Astronomy."
He turned and led the way up the winding stone steps. Soon, they emerged onto the roof.
The Astronomy Tower's observation deck was capped by a massive hemispherical dome. Above them, the night sky was an absolute masterpiece of brilliant, scattered stars. Interestingly, if you looked at the tower from the grounds outside, the glass roof was entirely invisible. The dome was enchanted with a sophisticated one-way illusion: from the outside, it looked like standard slate roofing. From the inside, it was clearer than crystal and utterly untouched by dust.
The classroom itself was circular. A ring of polished brass telescopes traced the perimeter of the room, pointing out toward the heavens. In the center sat twenty small wooden desks, perfectly paired with the twenty telescopes.
"Are you guys familiar with the Astronomy Classroom Theory?" Charlie asked, turning back to his friends.
Hermione, Anthony, and Hector shook their heads blankly.
"It is very simple," Charlie declared dramatically. "If the first person places their textbook on the left side of their telescope, human nature dictates that every single person who follows will subconsciously place their book on the left side too. If you choose the right side, everyone will choose the right. Therefore, the first person becomes the absolute dictator of classroom rules! And I will be the first person to lay down the law!"
With a theatrical flourish, Charlie raised his heavy textbook and swung it toward the left side of his telescope.
"Students, please place your books on your right-hand side," a cool female voice echoed through the room.
"Yes, Professor Sinistra," Charlie replied instantly. He abandoned his grand rebellion at the speed of light and offered a sharp, cheeky salute toward the voice.
A young woman stepped out from the shadows. She wore a set of magnificent robes. The top half was pitch black, but as the fabric flowed downward, it transitioned into a deep, vivid violet before bleeding into a mesmerizing galactic blue. Tiny, luminescent stars twinkled in and out of existence across the hem. The constellations on her robe were actually moving, slowly charting complex star maps as she walked.
Professor Sinistra was strikingly young and undeniably brilliant. It was no exaggeration to say she was the youngest professor at Hogwarts, looking as though she had only just graduated herself.
"I must admit, Mr. Wonka, I am quite fond of your little sociological theory," she noted, her voice rich with amusement. "Though I dare say it sounds exactly like the sort of ideology a Slytherin would try to peddle."
"Professor, am I to understand that you are harboring prejudices against our dear Slytherin house?" Charlie teased with a grin.
Professor Sinistra raised a hand to elegantly cover a small cough, but the unmistakable sparkle of laughter in her eyes gave her away. "Perhaps it is your own disdain for Slytherin that causes you to twist my perfectly innocent words into such a scandal."
Charlie chuckled softly and let the matter drop.
The center of the room featured a wide, circular blue rug. Professor Sinistra stepped onto it and addressed the mingling students. "Alright, everyone, please gather around. Class is beginning. Over the past few sessions, you have familiarized yourselves with the proper handling of your telescopes and the fundamental concepts of astronomy. Tonight, we dive into the true heart of the subject."
She gestured toward the glass dome. "Today, we begin our observation of the Moon. This specific unit will carry us straight through to the Christmas holidays. The Moon, and the specific celestial bodies caught in its orbit, will be our primary focus."
A hand immediately shot into the air.
"Professor, I have a burning question that has been bothering me for quite some time."
"Go ahead, Mr. Wonka."
"Is there a magical distinction between the standard astronomical 'Moon' and the more mystical Latin concept of 'Luna' within our world?"
"Oh, an excellent question," she beamed. "And it cuts right to the core of our syllabus. In this class, we observe the Moon, but we study Luna."
Another hand snapped up with lightning speed.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Sinistra prompted, gesturing to Hermione.
"Will the charts we plot now be useful for Divination in our third year? I read in The Essential Signs that lunar phases and star alignments are heavily relied upon in mysticism and prophecy."
Professor Sinistra instinctively started to nod, but halfway through the motion, her neck stiffened. She stopped. She clearly wanted to give a definitive answer, but something external seemed to hold her back from validating the subject entirely.
The corner of Charlie's mouth twitched upward. He had a very good guess about exactly what that "external factor" was. Or rather, who it was. The eccentric Divination professor down in the North Tower didn't exactly command the respect of her more strictly academic colleagues.
After a bit more lecturing, the young witches and wizards returned to their stations, adjusting their brass dials to focus on the gleaming lunar surface under Sinistra's watchful eye.
"It is amazing," Charlie whispered to himself. "Looking through this ceiling, it is like the cloud cover does not even exist."
"That is the power of magic," Professor Sinistra murmured, happening to stroll past his station.
Charlie looked up with a knowing smile. "But magic doesn't physically banish the moonbeams from the sky, right? What we are seeing is an 'edited' image. Are we even observing the real moon?"
Professor Sinistra stopped and stood behind him, crossing her arms. She tilted her head, feigning deep confusion. "Why do you assume it is merely an edited image? Why not accept that the magic simply asks the light to step around the clouds?"
Step around? Refraction of light?! Charlie raised an eyebrow. He could hear her voice right over his shoulder, but he hadn't even heard her footsteps approach. He pressed his point. "But think of the variables involved! You would have to calculate the altitude of the cloud layer, the density of the mist, the precise angle of refraction against the telescope lens at any given second..."
"But magic does not require parameters, Charlie."
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to an almost secretive whisper. "Whether you are facing an ancient deadbolt or a modern combination safe, the Unlocking Charm works exactly the same. Whether you are changing a matchstick into a needle or performing a complex biological transfiguration, the foundational magic remains identical. You never need to know the exact mathematical parameters."
She looked around the room at the diligently working students. "My dear students, magic has never cared about parameters. If it required such rigorous, rigid data to function... would it really be magic at all?"
Charlie stared through his eyepiece at the craters of the moon. They were breathtakingly beautiful, yet impossibly distant. He was observing hard, physical craters, yet his professor was feeding him concepts of abstract mysticism. The contrast was incredibly bizarre.
Even stranger was the fact that his mind was already wandering back to his own private research notes. If exact data didn't matter in magic, what about logic? His theories on the magical properties of morning dew versus moonlit dew were entirely built on logic. And so far, his deductions hadn't steered him wrong.
"Professor, what about logic?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, logic is still quite necessary. Legend has it that outside the great Academy of Athens, there was a stone carved with the words: Let no one ignorant of logic enter here," Professor Sinistra replied softly.
The Academy of Athens? Charlie thought, amused. What on earth is that in this universe? A hidden magical university masquerading as ancient history?
Before he could ask, the soft rustle of Sinistra's robes faded away as she moved to help Michael Corner recalibrate his lens.
While observing the moon, the students were tasked with sketching its exact phase and the surrounding star map. It was worth noting that Hogwarts telescopes were wonderfully enchanted with automatic tracking. In the Muggle world, the moon would have drifted out of frame within minutes due to the earth's rotation. Here, the lens locked onto its target and followed it effortlessly across the sky.
At half past ten, class was dismissed. They had thirty minutes to make it back to their respective common rooms before curfew.
Trudging down the moving staircases toward Ravenclaw Tower, Anthony stretched his arms wide with a massive yawn. "Astronomy is unbelievably dull. It is just like the rest of magic. At first glance, it is all mystery and wonder. But once you actually dig into it, you realize it is just an endless mountain of textbooks."
"Those textbooks represent knowledge," Hector pointed out sensibly.
Anthony nodded, rubbing his tired eyes. "I know, mate. But it is so dry, isn't it? When I was little, I used to watch my parents cast spells and I thought it was the most brilliant thing in the world. I spent years waiting for my Hogwarts letter. Now that I am actually here, I feel my enthusiasm draining away by the second."
"That is completely normal," Charlie agreed with a sympathetic nod. "There is not a single person who isn't ecstatic the day they get their acceptance letter. But when you are suddenly drowning in foot-long essays and books packed with tiny print, the shiny veneer wears off pretty quickly."
"Except for Hermione Granger," Hector muttered darkly.
The deadpan delivery of the joke caught Charlie and Anthony completely off guard, and they both burst into loud, echoing laughter.
"Fair point," Anthony snickered. "Aside from Hermione, I doubt anyone can maintain a burning passion for a wall of text."
Anthony was far from the only one feeling the academic fatigue. If even the notoriously studious Ravenclaws were feeling bogged down, the other houses were surely faring much worse. Roughly half the student body came from Muggle or half-blood families, arriving with minds full of fantastical expectations. But once the brutal reality of the curriculum set in, that starry-eyed curiosity inevitably faded.
Except, of course, for Flying Class.
***
Thursday afternoon arrived with a crisp breeze.
"Fifty points from Ravenclaw, Mr. Wonka, for disrupting my classroom with your inane chatter," Professor Snape's silky, venomous voice drifted through the Potions dungeon.
Why does he always have to single me out? Charlie thought to himself, running a hand through his hair. Is he trying to make the rest of Ravenclaw turn on me? What a shame for him. I am simply too charming to be hated.
Beside him, Hector had to muffle a snort of laughter into his robes. Charlie was hardly the school heartthrob, but on the bright side, Ravenclaws generally cared far less about the House Cup than the other houses did.
"You two have a terrifying talent for terrible jokes," Anthony whispered from the workbench behind them. He leaned forward slightly. "I wonder how Gryffindor's flying lesson is going right now? Should we ask Harry Potter about it at dinner?"
"I guarantee you their flying lesson is currently a complete disaster," Charlie stated flatly. He didn't say it with malice or sarcasm. He just stated it as a cold, hard fact.
"Huh? Why would you say that?" Hector whispered back, frowning.
Charlie's mind raced, recalling the exact timeline of the original story. The broken wrist. The stolen Remembrall. The chaotic flight.
He pursed his lips, thought for a few seconds, and decisively raised his hand. "Professor Snape? I am experiencing terrible stomach cramps. I urgently need to visit the hospital wing, or at least the lavatory."
"Another point from Ravenclaw," Snape sneered, his black eyes flashing with irritation. "And you had better pray your potion does not melt through the desk in your absence."
"I have complete faith in my partner, sir. There is no room for arrogant heroics at this workbench," Charlie replied smoothly. He shot Hector a quick wink and hurried out of the gloomy dungeon before Snape could find a reason to give him detention.
Naturally, Charlie had no intention of visiting a lavatory.
He quickly scaled the grand staircase, heading for a specific open-air corridor on the second floor. Peering over the stone balustrade, he had a perfect bird's-eye view of the grassy courtyard where the Gryffindors and Slytherins were having their joint flying lesson.
Down below, Madam Hooch was just finishing her instructions on how to summon the school brooms. Charlie leaned against the cool stone, watching quietly.
Harry Potter merely had to open his mouth, and his broom leapt into his hand as if it were an eager dog returning to its master.
Raw talent is a terrifying thing, Charlie mused. He wondered what his own flying aptitude would be like. He was confident that his mental maturity far surpassed any eleven-year-old here, but flying a broom wasn't about maturity. Could sheer willpower and a firm mindset force a magical broom to submit? He wasn't entirely sure.
Once every student finally had a broom in their grasp, Madam Hooch brought her silver whistle to her lips.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you will kick off from the ground, hard..."
Before the whistle even sounded, a lone figure shot into the air like a cork fired from a champagne bottle.
Charlie pressed his lips tightly together, the corners of his mouth twitching in a mixture of exasperation and relief. He was exasperated by Neville's legendary clumsiness, but deeply relieved because he was standing right here, ready to intervene.
As long as I am here, my friend won't get hurt.
If Anthony hadn't casually mentioned the flying class down in the dungeons, Charlie might have completely forgotten this iconic disaster was scheduled for today.
High above the grass, Neville Longbottom was suspended in a state of absolute, white-knuckle panic. His mind had gone completely blank, leaving him to cling desperately to the splintering wood of his broomstick. But a broomstick was not a bicycle. It didn't have gears or brakes. It required calm intent and a steady flow of magic to control. For a terrified boy who was rapidly gaining altitude, finding inner peace was completely impossible.
Neville was flying wildly, zig-zagging through the air like a headless fly.
"Come back down, boy! Right this instant!" Madam Hooch shouted, shielding her eyes against the sun. She looked uncharacteristically panicked, clearly unused to a student losing control this catastrophically on day one.
Her shouting did absolutely nothing to help.
Unable to handle the erratic, high-speed bucking of the broom, Neville's grip finally gave out. He slipped, brushing past a high tower window, and tumbled off the broom. He plummeted toward the earth.
From his hidden vantage point on the balcony, Charlie drew his wand.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" "Spongify!"
Two spells hit their targets in rapid succession. The Hover Charm instantly countered Neville's downward momentum, slowing his terrifying freefall to a manageable speed. Simultaneously, the Softening Charm struck the ground directly below him. The solid earth rippled and wobbled, temporarily transforming into something resembling a giant waterbed.
Under the stunned, horrified gazes of the first-year class, Neville hit the ground. But instead of the sickening crack of breaking bones, there was a loud boing. Neville bounced ten feet back into the air, acting entirely like a startled rubber ball. He bounced two more times before coming to a safe, wobbly halt on the grass.
"Good heavens!" Madam Hooch gasped, clutching her chest. She stared at the uninjured boy in utter shock before her sharp yellow eyes snapped up toward the balcony where the spells had originated.
But there was no one there. The corridor was empty.
Charlie was already sprinting back toward the dungeons, his robes billowing behind him.
Down on the lawn, as the Softening Charm faded and the ground solidified, Neville sat up, his face flushed bright red. He stared fixedly up at the second-floor balcony. He had seen the flash of a wand. He had seen the familiar profile leaning over the railing.
"Charlie," Neville whispered to himself, a small, grateful smile breaking through his panic.
Minutes later, Charlie slipped back into the Potions classroom and happily absorbed a brutal, ten-minute lecture from Professor Snape regarding his unauthorized dawdling.
He didn't care. It was entirely worth it.
His friend had walked away with all his bones intact, and honestly, that was all that mattered.