Over the next few days, Harry and the others kept an even closer eye on Snape. At the same time, they started showing Quirrell a cautious sort of trust and sympathy.
If they ran into Quirrell in the corridors, Harry would be the first to lift a hand and call out a friendly greeting, offering a genuine smile. When other students mocked Quirrell's stutter behind his back, Harry and Ron would try to shut it down.
Charlie never joined in. He stayed completely out of their little campaign of "goodwill."
Hermione and Ron couldn't understand it. Hermione especially—she knew Charlie wasn't cold or indifferent. So Charlie had to repeat what he'd said in the headmaster's office.
"So you're saying you don't think Professor Snape is the one trying to steal the Stone?" Hermione pressed. "Then why did he say those things to Quirrell?"
Charlie spread his hands. "I don't know. And I'm done talking about it. I've said everything I have to say. You can take it or leave it."
He pushed back from the Ravenclaw table and gave them a casual wave. "See you later, guys."
He left them sitting there, staring after him.
Walking out of the Great Hall with his back to them, Charlie allowed himself a small, silent smile.
He was curious—genuinely curious—to see what would happen if Hermione and Ron managed to shake off the conclusions Harry had pushed on them. Would they come to different answers on their own?
Just curiosity. Nothing more.
He headed straight back to the common room and slipped into the dormitory.
Alice was playing with Anthony's gem turtle. She had climbed onto its shell and curled into a little ball while the turtle carried her around the floor.
Charlie went to his desk first, pulling out his club bag and emptying it of books, assignments, and parchment. He shrugged off his outer robe, stretched, and finally turned his attention to the windowsill.
The plant was standing upright.
It was no longer the limp, half-dead thing it had been. The leaves were a rich, healthy green, full of life. But right in the center, a single stiff stem had risen straight up, completely different from the softer, drooping stalks around it. No leaves grew on it. No branches. At the very top sat a strange little bud still wrapped in green.
Yesterday that stem had still been soft and limp, only slightly thicker than the others. Charlie had assumed it was just another ordinary stalk.
Now it looked like this.
It was definitely a strawberry plant. Charlie was sure of that.
Strawberry plants didn't grow flowers like this. He was even more certain of that.
A bad feeling stirred in his chest.
His instincts told him that whatever came out of that bud wouldn't be ordinary. It wouldn't just be a flower. At best, it might be an oversized strawberry.
He stared at it for a long moment, then made his decision.
He couldn't leave it sitting in the dormitory.
He cleared out his extension bag, lifted the pot carefully, and slid it inside. Then he headed for the door.
---
That evening, Anthony walked into the dormitory in his pajamas, towel-drying his wet hair.
"Charlie, did you finish the Transfiguration homework? Let me see it."
"It's on the desk," Charlie said without looking up. "Left corner."
Anthony came over, glanced at the stack of parchment, then turned toward the windowsill.
"Where's the plant?"
"It started looking… off," Charlie explained. "I moved it to the workshop."
From his bed, Hector rolled over. "You didn't overfeed it with Sun Dew and Moon Dew and break it, did you?"
Anthony shot him a look. "How would that break it? The Dews are what saved it in the first place."
"I meant it might've changed," Hector said. "Turned into some kind of magical strawberry plant or something."
Charlie shook his head. "I don't know yet. I'm keeping it in the workshop for now. If nothing weird happens, I'll bring it back."
"Fair enough," Anthony said.
"If you actually manage to grow a magical plant, that'd be huge," Hector added with a grin.
"Wouldn't that just mean Sun Dew and Moon Dew are insanely powerful?" Anthony asked.
"Wouldn't it mean Charlie's bloodline is the powerful part?" Hector corrected. There was a trace of something like longing in his voice.
Anthony coughed awkwardly.
Hector seemed to realize what he'd said and the look on his face disappeared.
Charlie turned around. "What was that cough for?"
"Nothing," Anthony said quickly.
Charlie studied them both. "Come on. If something's wrong, just say it. You think I'm going to get upset?"
Anthony and Hector exchanged a glance. Hector sighed. "We heard something. Nothing good."
Charlie's expression turned curious. He tapped his chin. "Let me guess. Someone's calling me a half-blood behind my back. Probably a Slytherin."
The way their faces fell told him he was right.
He shrugged. "I figured that would happen eventually. I really don't care. Believe me."
Hector looked relieved. "I knew you weren't the type to worry about what other people think."
"Still," Anthony muttered, "it's a shitty thing to say."
"Let them talk," Charlie said, turning back to his homework.
The easy atmosphere didn't quite recover. After a few minutes, Anthony and Hector drifted off to their own tasks, the word "half-blood" still hanging in the air between them.
Charlie really didn't care. Within a couple of minutes he was absorbed in his work again.
---
For the next stretch of days, Charlie's routine completely changed because of that strawberry plant.
Every day after lunch he had to rush up to the eighth floor, carry the pot out to the windowsill in the workshop, and make sure it got proper sunlight.
Every morning he stopped by to give it a little Sun Dew.
And every evening he went again.
He hated admitting it, but part of his mind was constantly on that plant. Sometimes during class his thoughts would drift to it—what it would look like when it finally flowered and fruited.
At least he wasn't falling behind. The current material was already second nature to him.
Snape, of course, noticed every time Charlie's attention wandered and used it as an excuse to call on him and deduct points.
---
Saturday.
Professor Flitwick's office.
"Charlie, Dumbledore mentioned you have a rather unusual ability. Would you mind showing it to me?"
He held up a hand before Charlie could answer. "No ill intent, I promise. I simply thought that if I understood where this gift comes from, I might be able to help you. And I'll admit I'm curious. But if you'd rather not, you can refuse. No pressure at all."
Charlie gave the professor a strange look. Flitwick was being oddly careful—almost like he was handling something fragile.
Still, he nodded. "Of course, Professor."
He explained how his natural harvesting worked.
"I can sense natural energy—like sunlight and moonlight—and draw it in."
He stepped past Flitwick's desk to the window, raised his hand toward the sky, and let the golden threads of sunlight gather in his palm until two bright drops of Sun Dew formed.
Flitwick's eyes went wide. "So that's where the ingredients for your chocolates come from?"
Charlie nodded.
Flitwick began pacing, arms folded. "Sensing natural energy… let me think…"
After a moment he shook his head, looking genuinely regretful. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I don't know of any race that possesses this kind of power. And I've never heard of any wizarding family with this ability either."
"It's fine, Professor," Charlie said. "I don't actually care. I've got enough identities already—orphan, Hogwarts student, your student. That's plenty. I'm not going to waste time chasing after parents I've never met."
Flitwick nodded. "You're a strong young man. Aside from this, do you have any other unusual abilities?"
Charlie thought for a second, then nodded again.
"Yeah. A few. Some spells… I can feel there's a second way to cast them. A different form. Like the Softening Charm."
Flitwick's expression sharpened. "A second form?"
Charlie nodded. Instead of explaining, he simply demonstrated.
He raised his right hand and cast.
His entire hand immediately went limp and rubbery, sagging like warm taffy.
Flitwick's eyebrows shot up. He grabbed Charlie's wrist and examined the hand closely, pinching and stretching it.
"You've softened your own flesh… This isn't the standard Softening Charm at all. The normal version can't be used on living things. And why have you never shown this before? If I hadn't asked, would you have kept it hidden forever?"
Charlie shook his head quickly. "I can't cast it on other people, Professor. Only on myself. And I wasn't sure if I should show it. It's… different. I've never used it where anyone could see."
Flitwick's eyes narrowed slightly. "I see. Don't worry, Charlie. I understand that feeling better than you might think."
A small, mysterious smile appeared on his face. "Do you know about Apparition?"
"Of course," Charlie said. "It lets you disappear from one place and reappear somewhere else instantly. We're supposed to learn it in later years. I'd love to try it now, though."
"Oh, far too dangerous at your age," Flitwick said with a chuckle. "But that's not what I wanted to tell you. Did you know that Hogwarts has anti-Apparition wards built into the castle?"
Charlie nodded, still confused about where this was going.
The next second, right in front of him, Professor Flitwick's body seemed to fold inward toward a single point with a sharp crack of displaced air. An instant later there was another loud pop—this time right behind Charlie, on top of the desk.
Flitwick reappeared, perfectly balanced on the wooden surface.
Charlie's eyes went wide. "But—you just said the castle has anti-Apparition wards!"
Flitwick grinned. "It does. But it doesn't have anti-goblin Apparition wards."
He hopped down and came around the desk again.
"A long time ago, when I was in my sixth year, I learned standard Apparition like everyone else. But unlike the others, it never felt quite right to me. I could sense something in my magic calling for a different way—something adjusted, something that fit me better.
So I found it. Goblin-style Apparition."
Flitwick stopped in front of Charlie. His voice grew quieter, more serious.
"Charlie, you don't have to hide what you can do. That specialized Softening Charm—don't be afraid to show it. It's part of your gift. You should let it shine instead of burying it."
Charlie met his gaze. Flitwick looked like he was remembering something painful.
"I know people will talk," Flitwick continued. "They might call you strange. Dangerous. A freak. But don't let their words make you hate what makes you different. That kind of resentment… it can do terrible damage."
Charlie wanted to say he'd never hated it. He just hadn't been sure whether these altered spells were safe to reveal.
Now that Flitwick had said it so plainly, the doubt was gone.
"I understand, Professor," he said.
Flitwick gave a small nod, the weight in his expression easing just a little.