CHAPTER THREE:

Third Person P.O.V.:

It was dark by the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Even with a heavy downpour of rain, it was still easy to identify the rustling of the trees that surrounded the lake and a far-off hoot of an owl.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione had asked, once Charlie and Neville returned to the compartment.

They slid the door shut behind them; the distant chattering voices of other Hogwarts students faded behind the glass.

"Dunno," shrugged Charlie, as he sat down next to Hermione once again. "We turned around and he was gone."

"He probably just went to get some air," suggested Ron, passing Neville a chocolate frog. "Don't worry," he added hastily to Hermione, who's face had scrunched with evident curiosity.

Charlie leaned his head against the window, gazing mindlessly out at the passing trees. After weeks of awaiting the moment where he'd finally return to Hogwarts, it felt surreal to him that the moment had come. A sense of hopelessness spread through him, however, as he imagined the convoy of thestral-drawn carriages trundling up to the school, for it had dawned on him that no matter how hard he tried, things would never be the same again.

(A/N: ignore the beard)

The train lurched, causing Charlie's eyes to widen. Everyone quickly gathered their things and piled into the corridor. Charlie pulled his cloak over his head as they ran for the carriages, trying not to look at the skeletal thestrals that pulled them.

The cool, crisp night air swept across their faces immediately. The pattering sound of droplets of rain hitting the ground rang loudly in the their ears. Charlie, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Luna trudged up the dark, deserted lane. When they arrived at the gate, a lantern appeared, bobbing at the distant foot of the castle.

"Names?" came the tiny voice of Professor Flitwick, who had been standing in the middle of the path with a clipboard in hand.

But Charlie's attention was quickly caught by the distant protests of Draco Malfoy, who appeared to be in a heated confrontation at the front gates.

"It's not a weapon, you cretin, it's a walking stick!" he yelled, snatching the cane away from a curious Argus Filch, who seemed to be instructed with the job of searching every student's possessions upon arrival.

Charlie ruefully chuckled, muttering under his breath, "Anything's a weapon if you can hit someone over the head with it, you slick git."

With a scolding look from Hermione, Charlie sighed. He gave his name to Professor Flitwick, who crossed his name off the list, and walked over to the mountain of trunks and owl cages, leaving his things amongst the pile. Charlie eyed Mr. Filch curiously for a moment as the caretaker raised a security detector across Ron's torso.

"Hawthorne," called Malfoy, smirking as Charlie and his friends walked past. "Be sure to say hello to Potter for me, will you?"

"Sure thing," Charlie retaliated at once, not thinking much about the comment. "As long as you be sure to tell your dad I said that same... oh, wait," he added with a bitter chuckle.

Draco lunged, rustling a few leaves beneath his feet. He stopped directly in front of Charlie, his jaw clenched tightly while his grey eyes seemed to darken.

"Right, because your father is such a bloody saint," he growled, his tone laced with venom. "Tell me, Hawthorne, how was your summer?"

Charlie clenched his fists to stop himself from throwing his hand back and beating Malfoy's perfectly coiffured face black and blue. Charlie took a deep breath, perfectly aware that he had caught the attention of Hermione, who had now appeared looking tense in his peripheral vision.

"Oh, come on, Hawthorne," taunted Malfoy, catching the immediate attention of nearby students. "Scared to admit it, are you? If only your friends kne—"

Unable to restrain himself, Charlie launched himself at Malfoy at once, tackling him to the floor. The cluster of students exploded into chaos as the two boys tried to pummel each other into the muddied grass. Draco was clearly losing, being far outweighed by the taller boy.

"Charlie! STOP!"

Hermione's voice rang in Charlie's ears, but his mind was too clouded with anger to form a coherent reason to stop his pursuit of punches to Malfoy's head. It was as though every ounce of rage that Charlie had internalized over the summer had been channeled into the force behind his fists.

It was what Malfoy deserved, at least that's what Charlie told himself, for the blonde haired Slytherin had simply sat back and said nothing, while Charlie's screams of pain were deluded as nothing more than the warm, reminiscent sound of superiority amongst the Death Eaters.

"Come on, mate, that's enough," came the anxious voice of Ron, as he and Neville tried desperately to pull Charlie up from the ground.

It was no use, however, as Charlie became relentless. He failed to acknowledge anything other than his fist colliding with Malfoy's pale face of painful reminder. In fact, Charlie was far too occupied to notice the parting of the group that surrounded him, nor did he hear the sound of loud approaching footsteps coming towards him.

Then, suddenly, there was a rather harsh pull at the hood of Charlie's robes, which felt too incredibly forceful to be either Ron or Neville, and the brown eyed boy was forced upright, landing on his feet with a disapproving huff. It was not until Charlie had tried to struggle against his restraints, that he recognized, with a rush of pure loathing, the upturned hooked nose and long, black, greasy hair of Severus Snape.

"Well, well, well," sneered Snape, taking out his wand with his unoccupied hand and tapping the padlock once, so that the chains around the gates creaked open. "Nice of you to return to Hogwarts, Hawthorne, although I can't say that I'm surprised by your seemingly desperate attempt at making an entrance." He looked down his long, crooked nose towards a whimpering Malfoy on the grass, adding, "Get up, Mr. Malfoy, you're embarrassing yourself."

With a groan of frustration, Draco rose to his feet quickly, dusting himself off at the knees.

"He's a raging lunatic," he accused, pointing a pale white finger in Charlie's direction. "Attacking me for no bloody reason... absolute idiot, you are, Hawthorne! We're in this together, don't you see?"

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy," Charlie silenced, his bruised fists clenching once again. "You have no idea what you're on about."

There were several gasps behind Charlie from his fellow classmates; all of them were surprised at the boy's use of profanity in front of the Potions Professor. Snape, however, didn't seem to acknowledge the swear, for his attention was seemingly drawn towards the newfound fact of underlying similarity between Draco, Charlie, and himself. It had just occurred to Snape that the two boys standing before him, now shared the same suffering reality as he did.

Lost in thought, Snape tugged on Charlie's hood once more. The clothes clung tightly around the boy's neck, and he felt himself growing more and more irritated as the seconds went by.

Turning around, Charlie snapped. He pulled himself free of Snape's grasp and growled lowly, "Get your hands off of me."

"Watch your tone," Snape warned, his face falling accustomed to its signature scowl. "I do not take attitude from anyone, Hawthorne... not even the Headmaster's grandson. Now, calm yourself down before you make a bigger fool out of yourself than you already have."

The fury and hatred bubbling inside Charlie seemed to blaze white-hot and yet, although he thought his chest might explode, the boy kept quiet. He knew that Snape had come to fetch him for this, for the few minutes where he could nitpick and torment Charlie without Dumbledore interfering, and the boy would rather be damned than to give Snape the satisfaction of lashing out.

"I'll be taking fifty points from Gryffindor for fighting on school grounds," Snape continued on; the groans of several Gryffindor students brought a smirk to his lips. "Impressive, I must say. I don't believe any House has ever been in negative figures this early in the term. You might have set a record, Hawthorne. Although, consider yourself lucky that I'm showing you such mercy."

"Mercy?" Charlie spat out in question, unable to control himself. "What the fuck do you know about mercy? You're delusional if you think for one sec—"

"Charlie, please," came the scared, timid voice of Hermione, who had stepped forward to pull the brown eyed boy away from the confrontation. "That's enough... you're making things worse."

Snape did not speak for a moment, but his eyes had widened in disbelief. For the slightest fraction of a second, one might even say that his face fell akin to something resembling sorrow. Charlie, on the other hand, felt as though his body was generating waves of hatred so powerful that it seemed incredible that Snape could not feel them burning within him.

"W-Well then," Snape shook his head quickly, seemingly to rid it of intruding thoughts, before his signature frown fell upon his lips. "That's enough of the theatrics. The start-of-term feast is about to begin. Everyone make their way to the castle. NOW!" he snapped abruptly, startling a few second years as he swept passed them, marching back up the winding path to the castle.

Even with a sharp glare after Snape's disappearing figure, Charlie remained silent. Without allowing anyone to question his behaviour, Charlie led Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna through the gates, pushing passed a grumbling Malfoy, who looked thoroughly displeased amongst his group of pathetic followers.

"Are we going to talk about what just happened?" asked Ron, a short while later, when the Gryffindor's were well out of earshot from everyone else who had fallen behind.

Charlie shrugged, running his fingers over the bruising knuckles of his opposite hand, "There's nothing to talk about."

"It was completely uncalled for, you know," Hermione scoffed, her tone had a hint of underlying disappointment; Neville and Luna shared a look and walked quicker up the path. "Would it kill you to act civilized for once?"

"Oh, please," sighed Charlie, rolling his eyes before settling them upon Hermione. "You're just upset that I've costed Gryffindor fifty poin—"

"If you honestly think that's what I'm upset about," Hermione began coldly, stopping in her tracks, "then clearly you don't know me as well as I'd hoped you did."

Charlie froze, his stomach doing somersaults uncontrollably. He looked the slightest bit apprehensive as he turned to face her completely, and Hermione suddenly realized the impact of her words within a single second.

"I know you better than you know yourself," Charlie countered; his voice was so firm that it caught Hermione off guard slightly, making her feel some type of way.

"And I, you," Hermione retaliated, her lips curling into a righteous smirk. "Which is precisely why I've noticed that there's something different about you lately. So, are you going tell me what's going on? Or do I have to figure it out myself? Because I will... you know I will."

There was a moment of silence. Hermione's eyes swept over Charlie's face. The darkened depths of the swirling brown orbs, that were the boy's eyes, seemed to be bored into his head like hollows with permanent dark circles painting the perimeters, while his mouth was a pale, thin line shaped downward in a constant frown.

Charlie gulped under her gaze. He mumbled something darkly incoherent under his breath, and Hermione snapped out of her trance to stare worriedly at him.

"You're relentless," Charlie replied at last, breaking the tension-filled silence with a light, rueful chuckle.

"And you change moods with the flip of a coin," said Hermione, her cheeks blushing brilliantly. "Yet, every time, without fail, you somehow succeed in playing it off as nothing more than a lapse of judgement."

Charlie challenged unknowingly, "Then why bother with concern?"

"You should know why," Hermione whispered haughtily, her eyes tearing away from him. "You can't blame me for hoping that, one day, all of your questionable behaviour will finally make sense."

Every ounce of lightheartedness suddenly faded from the conversation. Charlie's eyes narrowed sternly, trying to desperately resist the urge of giving into the temptation of Hermione's words.

"Hope is for fools."

But to Charlie's surprise, Hermione didn't seemed bothered in the slightest by his harsh words. Instead, she looked pleased, challenged even, for an idea had just became alit in her auburn eyes.

"Funny, because that's precisely what I am," she shrugged effortlessly, brushing passed Charlie, but not before she spoke, next to his ear, in the most softest of tones, "A fool in love." She paused to let out a breathy giggle, before adding, "But as I recall, you were no stranger to the feeling... and as I told you once before, no one likes a hypocrite, Hawthorne."

(A/N: if you got this reference, you've been here a LONG time and ily for it)

Leaving Charlie completely dumbfounded, Hermione continued up the path, meeting up with Neville and Luna along the way. Charlie blinked; his mind in absolute shock, and his heart aching after listening to Hermione's footsteps retreat away from him, splashing in nearby puddles.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

Charlie jumped, his head immediately snapping to his left. Standing there in the rain, to Charlie's utmost surprise, was Ron Weasley. After such a heated conversation with Hermione, it was simply assumed that the ginger haired boy had scurried along after Neville and Luna — but that clearly wasn't the case.

Even with his wet, ginger hair draping over his freckled face, Ron's utterly confused and perplexed features were still peering through. His steely blue eyes were narrowed, and his face was contorted, as though he was trying desperately to work out a series of complex math problems without knowing where to start.

"I thought you two broke up," he pressed on eagerly, and Charlie sighed heavily in annoyance. "I thought tha—"

"Don't get your wand in a knot, Ron," growled Charlie, his eyes alit with the same fury that he had shown Malfoy moments prior. "Rest assured, if Hermione and I ever get back together, you'll be the first to know. I mean, that is unless I fancy a punch in the face like last time... but that's highly unlikely."

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words seemed to leave his lips. Instead, his mouth curled upwards into a cheeky little grin, forcing him to look away to pull himself together.

"Wipe that stupid smile off your face," spat Charlie, and he brushed angrily past Ron, stomping up towards the castle. "I already know you're bloody thrilled."

And with that, the brown eyed boy left his ginger haired friend alone in the rain, walking away to let his words leave a profound impact. Charlie overheard an unrecognizable groan as he turned his back, but it was quickly followed by the rustling of the gravel beneath their feet, indicating that Ron was at heels.

After catching up with the others, they all reached the castle steps, and as the great oaken front doors swung open into the vast flagged Entrance Hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall.

Charlie turned on his feet, and marched straight through the open doors with Hermione, Neville, and Ron; Luna had seemingly disappeared to join her fellow Ravenclaws. The Great Hall, with its four long House tables and its staff table set at the top of the room, was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow.

(A/N: just an FYI, Luna is with them because Tonks is the one who saves Harry in the books)

"Still no sign of Harry?" Hermione asked Ginny, as her, Charlie, Neville, and Ron all found their rightful seats amongst the group of talkative Gryffindors.

Ginny quickly shook her head, "Haven't seen him."

"Relax, would you?" demanded Ron, sending a scolding look across the table towards Hermione. "He'll be here in a minute."

Charlie looked around, admiring the sense of familiarity and comfortability that overcame him at the sight of the decorated Great Hall. He turned towards the staff table at once and grinned at Hagrid, who was waving back at him. Hagrid had never quite managed to compare himself with the dignity of Professor McGonagall, the top of whose head came up to somewhere between Hagrid's elbow and shoulder as they were sitting side by side, and who was looking, uncharacteristically, happy at this enthusiastic greeting.

It surprised Charlie to see that the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney, was sitting on Hagrid's other side. She rarely left her tower room, and he had never seen her at the start-of-term feast before. She looked as odd as ever, glittering with beads and trailing shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size by her spectacles. Having always considered her a bit of a fraud, Charlie had been shocked to discover at the end of the previous term that it had been she who had made the prediction that caused Lord Voldemort to kill Harry's parents and attack Harry himself.

Professor Trelawney's great beaconlike eyes swiveled in Charlie's direction; he hastily looked away toward the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was miming the shattering of a nose to raucous laughter and applause. Although unaware of the reasoning behind this action, Charlie dropped his gaze to his empty plate in front of him, his insides burning again.

A sudden round of applause, however, tore Charlie away from his thoughts, and he was startled to realize he'd missed the Sorting Hat's song. Leaning his head back up, Charlie saw McGonagall stood in front of the line of first years with her long list of names in hand.

"Anderson, Kayla!"

"Hufflepuff," the Sorting Hat shouted, and the Hufflepuff table rang with applause. The tiny first year ran to their table where she shrank down amongst the older students.

Ron groaned, shuffling in his seat, "Why can't they ever serve food during the Sorting?"

"Just be quiet and pay attention!" Hermione hissed in a hushed whisper, and she clapped along with the rest of the Great Hall as another first year moved toward the Ravenclaw table.

Not long after, the Sorting was over, and Ron silently cheered, for he was eagerly awaiting the feast to begin.

"Time to tuck in!"

With the clap of hands, the food appeared magically in-front of the students, and Charlie reached for some steak and kidney pie while Ron dug into the roast potatoes. Hermione ate much more primly and eyed Ron distastefully when he shovelled so much potato in his mouth that it was dribbling down his chin.

"Will. You. Stop. Eating?!" Hermione barked at Ron, her face crunched in disgust. "For heavens sake, your best friend is missing!"

"Oi!" defended Ron, peering over Hermione's shoulder. "Turn around, you lunatic!"

Sure enough, the Great Hall doors opened with a loud creek and standing there, with the entirety of the school's attention now focused upon him, was Harry Potter, clutching a bloodied white rag to his nose; Malfoy's previous comments and actions had suddenly made perfect sense.

"He's covered in blood again," whispered Ginny, pointing out the obvious. "Why is it that he's always covered in blood?"

Charlie sniggered, raising a hand to beckon Harry over, "Adds to his charm, I reckon."

Everything was a shimmering blur to Harry, as he walked so fast that he was passing the Hufflepuff table before people really started to stand up to get a good look at him. With a sigh of relief, Harry spotted Charlie, and sped along the benches towards him, forcing his way in between the brown eyed boy and Hermione.

"Where've you been?" questioned Hermione at once, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.

"What've you done to your face?" asked Ron, being as blunt as ever.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" gulped Harry, grabbing a nearby spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.

"You're covered in blood!" uttered Hermione matter-of-factly, "Come here —"

She raised her wand, said the incantation, 'Tergeo!', and siphoned off the dried blood.

"Thanks," smiled Harry appreciatively, feeling his now clean face. "How's my nose looking?"

"Normal," said Hermoine anxiously. "Why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!"

"Let me guess," Charlie began, glaring over at the Slytherin table, who were all laughing hysterically, "that stupid blonde haired git's done something again, hasn't he?"

"I'll tell you later," dismissed Harry curtly. He was very conscious that Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop.

"But —"

"Not now, 'Mione," said Harry, in a darkly significant voice. He reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and a handful of crisps, but before he could take them they vanished, to be replaced with puddings. "What've I missed?"

"The Sorting," said Ron, as he dived for a large chocolate gateau.

"Hat say anything interesting?" asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.

"More of the same, really... advising us all to unite in the face of enemies, you know," shrugged Ron, through a mouthful of cake. "Easy for it to say though. It's a hat, innit?"

"Charlie got into a fight," added Hermione, eyeing her ex-boyfriend with a stern look. "With Malfoy, of all people."

"What?" blinked Harry, confused, but overjoyed at the same time. "What for?"

"Dunno what came over me, I guess something about his smug face must've pissed me off today," joked Charlie, much to Hermione's scoff of disapproval. "Not to worry though, I'm assuming we're all even now. Eye for an eye type of thing, you know? Or nose for a nose, in this case..." he added, smirking contently to himself.

Harry gave his friend a ecstatic, toothless grin, but didn't respond. He had hoped that they would all assume he had been involved in something heroic, preferably involving a couple of Death Eaters and a dementor, but it appeared that Charlie had caught on faster than expected.

Instead of pressing further on the topic, however, Harry decided to ask, "Dumbledore mention Voldemort at all?"

"Not yet," Charlie replied, watching Ron devour the gateau in front of him in a frenzy, "but he always saves his proper speech for after the the feast doesn't he? It can't be long now."

"What about Professor Slughorn?" inquired Hermione, speaking lowly. "What did he want? You never did say."

Harry shrugged, tensing slightly, "To know what really happened at the Ministry."

"Him and everyone else here," sniffed Hermione, rolling her eyes. "People were interrogating us about it on the train when you guys left, weren't they, Ron?"

"Yeah," nodded Ron, nudging Harry across the table. "All wanting to know if you really are 'the Chosen One' —"

"There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts," interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head towards Harry so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.'"

"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed, chuckling lightly to himself.

"Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," said Nearly Headless Nick in affronted tones, and he rose into the air and glided back towards the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.

"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

"What happened to his hand?" gasped Hermione, looking to Charlie for answers.

She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Charlie from Hawthorne Manor. Whispers swept the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily, putting the whispers to rest. "Now... to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you..."

"His hand was like that when he came to get me over the summer," Charlie whispered to Hermione. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though... or Madame Pomfrey would've done."

"Strange," said Hermione softly, with a nauseated expression. "I suppose there are some injuries you can't cure... old curses... and poisons without antidotes."

"...and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a permanent ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," Dumbledore continued, beaming at the sight of his grandson amongst the crowd. "Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise."

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn," Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table into shadow, "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."

"Potions?"

"Potions?"

"Did he just say Potions?"

Those words echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right. Charlie blinked, as confusion washed over his face. Surely, Dumbledore was mistaken —

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"You've got to be bloody joking," groaned Charlie, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. He did not care; he was staring up at the staff table, incensed.

"But Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione, her eyebrows knotted in confusion.

"I thought he was!" whispered Harry, racking his brains to remember when Dumbledore had told him this, but now that he came to think of it, he was unable to recall Dumbledore ever telling him what Slughorn would be teaching.

Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up at the mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet Charlie was sure he could detect a look of triumph on the features he loathed so much.

"Well, there's one good thing," Harry said savagely, putting his half-eaten treacle tart back down on his plate. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, his mouth full of various puddings.

"That job's jinxed. No ones lasted more than a year... Quirrell actually died doing it. Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death... "

"Harry!" gasped Hermione, shocked and reproachful.

"He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year," shrugged Ron reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn't."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not the only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, however, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing.

"Now, as you know, each and every one of you was searched upon your arrival tonight... and you have the right to know why."

The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Charlie immediately glanced over to Malfoy. The Slytherin boy was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the Headmaster's words unworthy of his attention.

"Once there was a man who, like you, sat in this very Hall. Walked this castle's corridors. Slept beneath its roof. He seemed, to all the world, a student like any other. His name? Tom Riddle."

The entirety of the Great Hall became hauntingly silent, and Charlie felt his left forearm sting vigorously under his robes.

"Today, of course, he is known around the world by another name. Which is why, as I stand looking out upon you tonight, I am reminded of a sobering fact. Each day, every hour, this very minute perhaps, dark forces attempt to penetrate this castle's walls. But in the end, their greatest weapon remains... you."

"The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."

Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories. Charlie, who was in no hurry at all to leave with the gawping crowd, lagged behind, pretending to retie the lace on his left trainer, allowing most of Gryffindors to draw ahead of him. Hermione and Ron had darted ahead to fulfill their Prefect's duty of shepherding the first years, but Harry remained with Charlie.

"So what, may I ask, enticed Malfoy to break your nose?" asked Charlie, once they were at the very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of anyone else.

Harry told him, every excruciating and painful detail. It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Charlie did not laugh.

"I figured that prat must've done something," he muttered darkly, his jaw clenched in familiar fury. "He was acting more unbearable than usual."

"Yeah, well, never mind that," shrugged Harry bitterly. "Listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there... "

Harry had expected Charlie to be stunned by Malfoy's boasts. The boy with glasses divulged the entire conversation he had overheard on the train, including the part in which Draco hinted at being chosen for one of the Dark Lord's tasks, and almost immediately, Charlie tensed.

"I'm sure it didn't mean anything," dismissed Charlie, his breathing uneven. "I mean, what kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?"

"How d'you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts? It wouldn't be the first —"

"I wish yeh'd stop sayin' tha' name, Harry," grunted a reproachful voice behind them. Charlie looked over his shoulder to see Hagrid shaking his head.

"Dumbledore uses that name," murmured Harry stubbornly.

"Yeah, well, tha's Dumbledore, innit?" said Hagrid mysteriously. "Anyways, jus' wanted to let yeh know tha' Grawpy found a new home. He's up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it — nice big cave. He's much happier than he was in the forest."

"That's great, Hagrid," muttered Charlie, forcing a smile, slightly relieved due to the change of topic.

"Oh yeah, he's really come on," beamed Hagrid proudly. "Yeh'll be amazed. I'm thinkin' o' trainin' him up as me assistant."

Harry snorted loudly, but managed to pass it off as a violent sneeze. They were now standing beside the oak front doors.

"Anyway, I'll see yeh tomorrow, firs' lesson's straight after lunch. Come early an' yeh can say hello ter Buck— I mean, Witherwings!"

Raising an arm in cheery farewell, Hagrid headed out of the doors into the darkness. Harry and Charlie shared a look, both experiencing the same sinking feeling of harsh reality as they watched the half-giant retreat down the castle's winding path.

———————————————————

Harry and Charlie met the two Gryffindor Prefects, Ron and Hermione, in the common room before breakfast next morning. Hoping for some support in his theory, Harry lost no time in telling Hermione and Ron what he had overheard Malfoy saying on the Hogwarts Express.

"But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" interjected Ron quickly, before Hermione could say anything.

"Well," she said uncertainly, "I don't know. It would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is... but that's a big lie to tell... "

"Exactly," agreed Harry, but he could not press the point because so many people were trying to listen in to the core four's conversation, not to mention staring at him and whispering behind their hands.

"It's rude to point," Charlie snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm.

"I love being a sixth year," sniggered Ron, watching the first-year boy scurry away. "We're going to be getting so much free time this year... whole periods where we can just sit up here and relax."

"We're going to need that time for studying, Ron!" scolded Hermione, as they set off down the corridor.

"Yeah, but not today," frowned Ron, shaking his head. "Not on the first day, I reckon."

"Hold it!" called Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. "Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over," she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under her arm, and took off after his friends. Charlie waited for him to vanish, then tugged the Frisbee from Hermione's grip.

"Excellent, I've always wanted one of these."

Hermione's protest was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Charlie's remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Charlie over her shoulder.

(A/N: new faceclaim for Lavender... Annasophia Robb. Hope you like it, this makes finding gifs easier for me)

"That girl, I swear to Merlin..." muttered Hermione under her breath, her fists clenched. Before Charlie could say anything in sarcastic rebuttal, however, Hermione pulled on his arm and dragged him forward; Ron and Harry at their heels.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. Hermione made sure to find a spot along the table that was as far away from Lavender Brown and Romilda Vane as possible, much to their disappointment, and Charlie did nothing but chuckle lightly as Hermione sat down with an exasperated huff.

(A/N: new faceclaim for Romilda Vane... Madison Pettis)

Looking distressed, Hermione snapped, "It's not funny!"

"I didn't say anything," defended Charlie, grinning coyly to himself as he turned his attention to Ron, who was attempting to swallow an entire fried egg whole.

After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione and Charlie, both of whom passed all of their O.W.L.s, were immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado.

It seemed to be a never-ending hour long lesson with Professor Bathsheda Babbling, and Charlie's eyes seemed to water precariously as the minutes ticked by. It was an immediate relief when the bell rang, signalling the end of the class. Hermione and Charlie, although awkwardly conversing as ex-lovers tend to do, walked through the sunlit corridors towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below.

"We got so much homework for Runes," Hermione breathed anxiously when Harry and Ron joined them in the hall. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and we've got to read these by Wednesday!"

"Shame," yawned Ron, and Charlie playfully punched him on the shoulder to shut him up.

"You wait," he muttered resentfully. "I bet Snape gives us loads."

The classroom door opened as he spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

"Inside."

Charlie reluctantly took a step forward, looking around as he entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," sneered Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Charlie's than anyone else's.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe."

You believe... as if you haven't watched them all come and go, hoping you'd be next, thought Charlie scathingly.

"Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. That being said, I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced."

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view.

"The Dark Arts," said Snape, excruciatingly slow, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Charlie stared, perplexed, in Snape's direction. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice.

"Your defences," bellowed Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures," he indicated a few of them as he swept past, "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse," (he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony) "feel the Dementor's Kiss," (a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall) "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius," (a bloody mass upon ground).

"So, an Inferius has been seen, then?" asked Parvati Patil in a high pitched voice. "Is it definite? Is You-Know-Who using them? I've heard rumours..."

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," nodded Snape, slightly annoyed by the interruption, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now..."

The Professor set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, Charlie watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him.

"...you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of non-verbal spells. What is the advantage of a non-verbal spell?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no other choice, before saying curtly, "Very well — Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," answered Hermione, slightly intimidated under Snape's intense gaze, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," snarled Snape dismissively; over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered, and Charlie's fist clenched tightly around his quill, "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some," his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry, "lack."

It was assumed that Snape was thinking of the outcome of the disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year. Charlie shook his head disapprovingly, and glowered at the Professor until he looked away from his friend at last.

"You will now divide," Snape went on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. However, none of them had ever casted the charm without speaking. Therefore, a reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Ron's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word, a skill that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, thought Charlie bitterly, but which Snape ignored.

Harry, who was supposed to be jinxing Charlie, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Charlie had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

"Pathetic, Potter," sighed Snape, after a while. "Here — let me show you —"

He turned his wand on Charlie so fast that the brown eyed boy reacted instinctively; all thought of non-verbal spells forgotten, he yelled, "Protego!"

His Shield Charm was so strong that the long-haired Professor was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling in his attacker's direction... Merlin, if looks could kill...

"Do you remember me telling you we were practicing non-verbal spells, Hawthorne?"

"Yes."

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me, 'sir,' Professor," Charlie laughed cheekily, and several people behind him gasped, including Hermione and Elaina. Behind Snape, however, Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," growled Snape, unamused. "My patience for your shenanigans, Mr. Hawthorne, is at a critical low... and on the first day, no doubt. I must applaud you, however, your ignorance is certainly unmatched." He turned to the rest of the class with a sharp glare, "Now... let us continue."

"That was brilliant, Charlie!" chortled Harry, once they were safely on their way to their next class a short while later.

"You really shouldn't have said it," whispered Hermione, looking incredibly anxious. "Honestly, what has gotten into you lately?"

"He tried to jinx me, in case you didn't notice," growled Charlie, and his rage seemed to invigorate the Dark Mark carved into his skin. "He's a pathetic excuse for a teacher! What's my grandfather playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defence? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible bullshi—"

"How Snape is acting now," Hermione cut him off hastily, her tone strong and stern, "is no different from how he was last year."

"Right... and that just makes it all okay, does it?"

"No, bu—"

"Is this how things are going to be now?" questioned Charlie, his eyes narrowing as he took a step forward towards Hermione, their eyes locked intensely. "What? You're just going to reprimand me for every little thing, are you?"

Hermione laughed bitterly, before her lips pursed, partnering a challenging stare, "Well, maybe if you didn't act like a prat every five seconds —"

"Will you two stop?" sighed Harry, and Charlie turned to his left to find his two best friends watching the encounter, awkwardly hovering nearby. "Bloody hell, I can never tell whether you two are gonna fight or shag each other senseless. Just figure this out already, would you? I mean, for goodness sakes, you two fighting is as strange as Ron being a Prefect."

"Oi!" grunted Ron, slapping Harry on the back of the head. "Watch it."

Silence had only just overcame them when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions and, without further discussion, they walked the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's.

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only fifteen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but five Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy and Elaina. Five Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Charlie liked despite his rather pompous manner.

"Hey Char," Ernie greeted portentously, holding out his hand as Charlie approached, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defence Against the Dark Arts earlier. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old news, of course, for us D.A. lads, ain't that right, Harry? How are you, Ron? And you, Hermione?"

Before they could say more than "fine," the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door, ushering them forward. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Charlie, Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Charlie, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons, and Elaina joined them in their pursuit. The four other Slytherins took a table together, as did the five Ravenclaws. This left the Slytherins to share a table with Ernie, as Elaina surprisingly chose to sit next to Harry instead of her boyfriend.

The core four and Elaina chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Charlie had ever inhaled; somehow it reminded him simultaneously of freshly brewed coffee, burning firewood embers, and the hints of finishing broomstick polish.

Almost immediately, the scents reminded him of memories in which he looked back on fondly; the Quidditch match that won the House Cup for Gryffindor, his night of normalcy in that little café in Muggle London, and nights where Hermione cuddled up against him as they lay in front of the fire. He smiled shyly, his cheeks flushing, but he wouldn't dare look towards the bushy haired girl that occupied his thoughts.

Charlie found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply, and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. In fact, a great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Harry, who was grinning at Elaina's flowing brunette locks, as she wrote the date on the top of her parchment.

"Now then, now then, now then," beamed Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."

"Sir?" interrupted Harry, raising his hand, seemingly snapping out of his daze.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything — nor's Ron — we didn't realize we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see —"

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention... not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts..."

Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

"Now then," smiled Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Can anyone tell me what this one is?"

He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Charlie raised himself slighty in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it. Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed at her.

"It's Veritaserum," answered Hermione, smiling fondly, "a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."

Almost immediately, Charlie was reminded of a foul, toad-like woman in a blazing pink cardigan, who had once slipped that very potion into his drink without his knowledge.

"Very good! Very good," said Slughorn happily, "Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known... featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too... who can — ?"

Hermione's hand was fastest once more.

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir."

Again, Charlie had recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question. She, after all, was the one who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here," continued Slughorn, but suddenly looked slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand punched the air again. "Yes, Miss...?"

"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger," replied Hermione bashfully, tucking a single curl behind her ear. "That one there is Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world."

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," awed Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but did you recognize it by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," nodded Hermione enthusiastically. "It's supposed to smell differently to each person, according to what attracts them. For example, I smell old leather-bound books, strong pine wood cologne, and pouring r-rain..."

She trailed off. The realization of whom she was describing made her cheeks flush an intense shade of pink, and she tilted her head down to avoid Charlie's soft gaze that fell upon her almost instantly; she couldn't see it, obviously, but a small smile was curled upon his lips.

"Fascinating," said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment. "Granger, you said? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

Charlie saw Malfoy lean close to Theodore Nott, Elaina's newfound boyfriend, and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay. One the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Charlie, who was sitting next to her.

(A/N: faceclaim for Theodore Nott... Ross Lynch)

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Charles?"

"Yes, sir," grinned Charlie, feeling incredibly proud for some unknown reason.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," congratulated Slughorn genially.

Malfoy looked as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face.

Hermione turned to Charlie with a radiant expression and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in our year? Aw, bab— Charlie," she corrected herself, chewing anxiously on her bottom lip at the slip up, but Charlie gave her a reassuring nod that eased her worries.

"Well, what's so impressive about that?" whispered Ron, who looked beyond annoyed. "You are the best in the year — I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!"

Hermione smiled but made a shushing gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

"Amortentia doesn't create actual love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes," Slughorn said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love... and now, it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," interrupted Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

"Oho," said Slughorn again. Charlie was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned, smiling, to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck," exclaimed Hermione matter-of-factly.

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Charlie could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blonde head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," beamed Slughorn, stirring the potion. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time then, sir?" asked Ron eagerly, looking content in Potions for the first time ever.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," explained Slughorn, nodding to himself. "Too much of a good thing, you know... becomes highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally..."

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" inquired Charlie, with great interest.

"Twice in my life," answered Slughorn, and the students let out audible gasps. "Once when I was twenty-four, and once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two absolutely perfect days."

He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was acting or not, Charlie thought, the effect was good... very enticing.

"And that," smiled Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours of luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. In the hour that remains, whoever manages to brew an acceptable Draught of Living Death, will receive such a gracious gift. The recipe can be found on page ten of your textbook. Off you go!"

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Charlie saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day.

"You should know," Slughorn called out over the noise, "that in all my years at Hogwarts, not once has a student brewed a potion of sufficient quality to claim this prize. In any event, however — good luck!"

Charlie quickly opened his textbook to page ten, running his finger down the ingredients list. He hurried off toward the storage cupboard to find what he needed. As he dashed back to his cauldron, he saw Malfoy cutting up Valerian roots as fast as he could.

At the same time, Harry let out an audible groan of frustration, for the tattered book that Slughorn had given him was covered in annotations scribbled over the pages by the previous owner.

Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both the advantage and disadvantage of Potions... it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the 'smooth, black currant-colored liquid' mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

Having finished chopping his roots, Charlie bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating having to try and squeeze the juice from the sopophorous bean, as it jumped around eagerly, avoiding the blade of his silver knife. Harry wasn't helping the situation either, as his potion had turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook and he glided through the instructions with an odd sense of ease.

Even Hermione was getting frustrated, not taking her eyes off her potion, which was still deep purple, though according to the book ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now.

At last, Charlie crushed his bean with the flat side of the dagger. Hastily scooping it into the cauldron, he saw, to his confusion, that Harry'a potion had turned a beautiful pale pink after a counter-clockwise stir.

"How are you doing that?" demanded Hermione, who was redfaced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.

"Add a clockwise stir —"

"The textbook says counter-clockwise," muttered Elaina, beyond confused with her eyebrows furrowed. "Do you think you could help me?"

Harry grinned like a kid in a candy store, and immediately moved to the French girl's side, wrapping his arms around her, helping her stir.

Seven stirs counterclockwise, one clockwise, pause... seven stirs counterclockwise, one stir clockwise...

Charlie raised his eyebrows at the interaction, laughing lightly as Harry winked at him, before he continued what he was doing.

Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Charlie glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as Harry's.

"And time's... up!" called Slughorn, consulting his pocket watch. "Stop stirring, please!"

Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff.

At last he reached the table where Charlie, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Elaina were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Elaina's navy concoction. Slughorn stopped to pat Charlie on the back after taking a look at his failed attempt. He gave Hermione's potion an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are — one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Charlie and Ron, on the other hand, simply shared a confused shrug.

"How did you do that?" Ron whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.

"Got lucky, I suppose," grinned Harry, because Malfoy was within earshot.

Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them, tell them about the instructions the previous owner had left in the margins. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.

"I s'pose you think I cheated?" he finished, aggravated by her expression.

Hermione's lips immediately pursed, "Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?"

"He only followed different instructions to ours," shrugged Ron, unbothered, but heaving a heavy sigh. "Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written on."

"Could you imagine Snape's face if you did that in his class?" sniggered Charlie, making light of the conversation. "Bloody hell, now that would've been a sight to see."

"How are you so nonchalant about this?" Hermione demanded of Charlie, narrowing her eyes towards him. "I cannot believe you're encouraging him!"

"You're just upset that your not top of the class," retaliated Charlie, and Hermione was struck dumb with silence. "Besides, it could've been a lot worse. Harry took a risk and it paid off. Not to mention, his newfound skill seemed to catch Elaina's attention... so, really, what harm was there?" He wiggled his eyebrows, earning him a slap on the arm from Harry.

Hermione shook her head, unsatisfied, "Can we just talk about something else?"

"Of course, what would you like to talk about?" Charlie teased in a low whisper, leaning over the table. "Amortentia, perhaps?" Hermione's face immediately blushed feverishly, enticing Charlie to press on, "Pouring rain, you said, is that right? Hmm, I wonder what attracts you to the rain..."

"Shut up," whispered Hermione, tearing her eyes away from Charlie's as the memory of their first time flashed in her mind, her cheeks burning at the thought.

"Right," Charlie smirked to himself, feeling victorious. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, my Amortentia smelled of burning firewood and freshly brewed coffee... now, who do you reckon I fancy?"

Caught off guard, Hermione looked back up into Charlie's eyes across the table. For a moment, she could've sworn her heart had skipped a beat and began to race all at the same time, for the all-too-familiar golden sparkle in his eyes became apparent as he gazed lovingly in her direction.

The moment was short lived, however, as a loud, audible groan from Ron made the two ex-lovers tear their eyes away from one another.

"I'm trying to eat here," grumbled Ron, looking disgusted with a piece of chicken in his hand.

"U-Uh, yeah, sorry," stuttered Hermione, seemingly coming back to reality after falling victim to Charlie's charms for the umpteenth time. She turned to Harry, eager to change the subject, "Do you have idea who the book might've belonged to? Did you recognize the handwriti—"

"Hang on," said a voice close by Charlie's left ear, and he was startled to see flaming red hair so close in his peripheral vision. He looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"

She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once.

"It's nothing," he said reassuringly, lowering his voice. "It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary. It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled on."

"But you're doing what it says?"

"I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there's nothing funny —"

"Ginny's got a point," agreed Hermione, perking up at once. "We ought to check that there's nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?"

"Hey!" said Harry indignantly, as Hermione pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raised her wand.

"Specialis Revelio!" Hermione muttered, rapping it smartly on the front cover. Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty.

"Finished?" groaned Harry irritably. "Or d'you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?"

"It seems all right," shrugged Hermione, still staring at the book suspiciously. "I mean, it really does seem to be... just a textbook."

"Good. Then I'll have it back," mumbled Harry, snatching it off the table, but it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor.

Nobody else was looking. Harry bent low to retrieve the book, and as he did so, he saw something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, now safely hidden inside a pair of socks in his trunk upstairs.

This book is the property of the Half Blood Prince.

———————————————————

Author's Note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

we're back baby! how have you guys been?

I truly apologize for my lack of updates.

the truth is, I went through a really rough period with this story where I couldn't write a single thing. my anxiety reached an all time high and I considered stopping the story for good. idk what happened, but someone had said something negative to me regarding the story and I started to second guess every little thing.

I eventually forced myself to write because I know I owe all of you the full story of Charlie Hawthorne. Without your support, I wouldn't have gotten to this point. I cannot thank you enough for supporting me and being patient with me as I took my little break.

I'm off now until the new year, so expect new chapters coming more frequently! I love you all so much, please don't forget that.

I really hoped you enjoyed. If you did, be sure to like, comment, and share! I'm super excited to see your guys' reactions <3

much love, always.

xo, selena