There were no classes that afternoon, so Charles made his way to the library.
He picked out two volumes of botanical encyclopedias from the shelves, then grabbed another book on fire-based spells from a nearby section.
As he turned around, he spotted Hermione watching him from the side.
"Want a look?" Charles waved the spellbook in his hand.
Hermione nodded.
Charles handed it over and said, "You can go first. I'll read it after I finish marking the map."
He had nearly finished labeling all the herbs around the greenhouses—just one plant had him stumped. It looked like a common weed, and even after secretly feeding some to Hagrid's chickens (which didn't react at all), he wasn't willing to give a definitive answer without checking.
Thankfully, these plant guides were organized by shape, so it didn't take long to confirm: it really was just a weed.
When he glanced back, Hermione was still completely absorbed in the fire spell book. Charles left her be and returned to the shelves, now searching for books on the Patronus Charm.
He recalled that Professor McGonagall and Harry's dad had both shared the same animal for their Patronus and Animagus forms. There had to be some connection—it might be worth looking into.
If his own Patronus turned out to be something powerful—or at least something cute enough to charm the zookeepers into handing over snacks—maybe he'd consider Animagus training.
But if it turned out to be, say, a fly, a stinkbug, or an earthworm (or worse, something aquatic), he'd drop the idea on the spot.
Still, Charles was a bit of a special case. If his Patronus ended up being a tank tread or a Gundam, he wasn't entirely opposed.
Soon enough, he returned with a thick tome and started reading intently.
Hermione, having found the spell she was after, saw how focused he was and quietly placed the book back beside him without interrupting.
The Patronus Charm was a powerful and advanced piece of magic. It wasn't a secret—the books explained it clearly—but just because you knew how it worked didn't mean you could cast it.
It was a bit like schoolwork: same textbooks, same teachers, and yet Hermione and Ron's grades were night and day.
Charles had picked up an automatic quill in Diagon Alley—it could dip ink and write down notes straight from his thoughts. He used it to rapidly copy down the method for casting the charm onto his parchment.
Finding the spell didn't mean he could learn it right away. The instructions alone looked daunting. He figured he'd write to the old man over the weekend to ask if there were any tricks or pitfalls to be aware of.
At dinner, Harry turned to Charles and asked, "Are you free tomorrow afternoon? Hagrid invited me over to his hut for tea—thought you might want to come too."
Before Charles could reply, Fred—sitting on his other side—cut in, "Terribly sorry, Mr. Smith is already scheduled to do research with us tomorrow afternoon."
As he spoke, Fred nudged Charles with his knee.
George leaned over from the other side and added, "That's right—we arranged it ages ago."
Charles immediately knew they were up to something. Still, he played along and shook his left hand in Harry's direction. "Apologies. We really did plan to do some testing on this bag of mine."
Harry looked a little disappointed. "Alright. I just wanted to introduce you to Hagrid."
Charles replied casually, "There'll be time later."
And by then, he already had a pretty good idea of what the twins were planning.
Hagrid was still the gamekeeper and Forbidden Forest warden, one of his main duties being to keep students out of the forest.
So if he was having tea with Harry tomorrow afternoon… that meant he wouldn't be anywhere near the forest during that time. And that meant it was the perfect window to sneak in unnoticed.
That night, on the way to a "midnight snack" in the kitchens, the twins somehow managed to get "lost."
Sure enough, in a deserted corridor, Fred turned to Charles and said in a low voice, "We're going into the Forbidden Forest tomorrow afternoon. There's loads of good stuff in there. We did some research—making a bag like yours needs some pretty expensive materials. Turns out the forest's got plenty."
George chimed in, "It's a little dangerous, yeah, but we're not going into the deep woods or anything. As long as you stick with us, you'll be fine."
Charles agreed without a second thought.
He'd seen the Forbidden Forest before—through the old man's memories. There were tons of valuable herbs and magical ingredients in there, many of which could fetch a good price in the wizarding world.
As for the Muggle side of things, after viewing Charles's memories, the old man had pulled off a bit of "rob-from-the-robbers" action and snagged some British pounds. He forged a new identity and settled on Privet Drive. Charles himself had made a decent chunk during the two World Cups. Plus, the old man's job as a county councillor brought in a fair sum.
But to him, only those weighty, gleaming Galleons counted as "real" money. Paper-light, fluttery pound notes? Worthless. He spent cash like it was on fire—"Living in the moment" didn't even begin to cover it. Compared to him, Song Jiang from Water Margin looked like a frugal miser.
So yeah, Charles needed to figure out a side hustle if he wanted to survive until the 1994 World Cup.
The twins were in the same boat. Big family, not a lot of gold to go around, and all their inventions required expensive components. Their parents couldn't afford it, so they had to fund themselves.
"Stop!"
Fred, holding the Marauder's Map, suddenly whispered the command and froze.
"It's Professor Quirrell!" he whispered urgently. "Quick—get out of here!"
He bolted in the opposite direction, dragging George and Charles with him until they ducked into an empty, abandoned classroom.
George frowned. "What's going on?"
Fred, his wand tip glowing faintly, stared hard at the Marauder's Map. "He just walked into that passageway up ahead. What's he doing?"
"That one?" George blinked. "But it's collapsed. No way through. Unless… does it lead somewhere else?"
Charles frowned as well. No way Quirrell was crawling around in old tunnels for fun—Voldemort must have sent him.
But wait—weren't all of Hogwarts' tunnels supposed to lead out of the castle? The only one he could remember that didn't was the one leading to the Chamber of Secrets. Unless… there were others. Hidden places, rooms like the Chamber, that no one knew about.
Hogwarts was ancient. Who knew what the founders and generations of headmasters and professors had stashed away in its walls? For all they knew, even a random broom closet could contain a secret passage to a treasure vault.
The more Charles thought about it, the more it seemed likely. After all, his "memories" definitely didn't match "reality"—like how they never mentioned Hermione attending primary school, even though he and she had supposedly been classmates for six years.
And then there was Voldemort. Just a scrap of skin clinging to the back of Quirrell's head, like some cursed two-prong socket embedded in drywall. He desperately needed a body—fast.
That meant whatever he was looking for down there had to be something with magical power equal to, or greater than, the Philosopher's Stone.
Which was a huge problem.
Charles was certain that Dumbledore wasn't just blocking Voldemort from getting the Stone—he was also helping Harry rack up "experience points." But whether the old man was watching out for other body-rebuilding plans… that was unclear.
If Voldemort actually managed to find an alternative method and succeeded in getting a new body?
Yeah, that'd be a mess.
Still… Charles figured he'd keep an eye on things before making any moves. Maybe Dumbledore did know and had a counterplan in place.
Anyway, it wasn't like Voldemort was invincible. Worst case? Charles could just "divine" the locations of the Horcruxes, track down the basilisk, extract some venom, and give everything a good soak.
Harry's head-embedded soul fragment was going to be the real headache, though.
(End of Chapter)