What on earth was that about? Talk about being spooked by your own shadow.
Back in the dormitory, Charlie stared at the portrait of Riley propped up on his desk. He felt a mild headache coming on just thinking about it.
"What are you thinking about?" the painted girl asked, tilting her head.
"I was just wondering," Charlie began, leaning back in his chair. "If magical painters decide a piece isn't quite good enough, do they just destroy it?"
"For an artist, an inadequate piece is usually abandoned, or perhaps left to gather dust in a dark corner."
"So, as a being who was literally painted into existence with your own consciousness, how does that make you feel?" Charlie pressed. "For instance, the artist who created you just handed you over to a complete stranger. What are your thoughts on that?"
Charlie's questions came rapid-fire. Riley blinked, clearly taken aback, before slowly shaking her head. She didn't answer a single one.
"I don't know," she murmured softly.
"Fair enough. Do you have anywhere specific you'd like to go? I could hang you up in some obscure corner of Hogwarts if you want."
She shook her head again.
Charlie let out a long breath and slapped his knees. "Alright, never mind. If you don't know what you want to do, you can just hang out here for now."
"Thank you," Riley nodded. Then, she fell completely still, looking exactly like any ordinary, non-magical oil painting.
There was still some time before dinner in the Great Hall. Charlie reached into his stash and popped a chocolate into his mouth. This particular batch was filled with a mixture of Lightning and Moondew.
He hadn't reduced the dosage. Yesterday, he had eaten two pieces and his brain had completely overloaded. Today, his main objective was to test whether the Moondew filling could act as a buffer and reduce the mental strain.
As the chocolate melted on his tongue, he pulled out his parchment and got to work on his History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts assignments.
Time slipped by, both agonizingly slow and surprisingly fast. Before he knew it, both essays were finished.
No nosebleeds. No splitting headaches. No overwhelming fatigue.
Aside from some mild dry eyes from staring at parchment for too long, there were zero side effects from the experimental chocolate. It seemed the Moondew center was a total success at stabilizing the magic.
He jotted down his new findings in his notebook, stretched his arms, and stood up to head down to the Great Hall for dinner.
Click, clack, creak.
The dormitory door swung open, and Anthony poked his head inside.
"Bloody hell, you are here."
Anthony pushed the door fully open and marched in, with Hector trailing right behind him.
"What are you doing?" Hector asked, wandering over and spotting the rolls of parchment on Charlie's desk. "Doing homework? What? You absolute scoundrel! You betrayed us!"
"A total traitor," Anthony agreed, shaking his head with exaggerated sorrow. "And to think, when we didn't see you in the Great Hall, we actually brought you food." He dramatically placed a small box on Charlie's desk.
"You brought me food? Wait, what time is it?" Charlie asked, blinking in surprise.
"Dinner is practically over. If you went down there now, you'd be lucky to scrape two spoonfuls of leftover gravy from the bottom of a platter," Anthony said.
"We finished eating and stayed downstairs to mess around. When you never showed up, we figured we'd smuggle something back for you," Hector explained.
"My bad. I completely lost track of time. I only meant to write a few lines before heading down."
"Don't sweat it," Anthony waved a hand dismissively. Then, both boys locked eyes on the painting sitting on Charlie's desk.
"What in the world is that? Who did you steal it from?" Anthony asked, eyes wide.
"Didn't peg you for an art connoisseur," Hector chuckled.
"Someone gave it to me," Charlie explained, giving them a brief rundown of the afternoon's bizarre encounter.
"But why would she just give it to you? Just because you watched her paint from behind?" Anthony frowned, clearly skeptical. "Magical portraits are ridiculously expensive. My grandmother spent dozens of Galleons just to have a tiny portrait commissioned."
"Who knows. Maybe she just liked my face," Charlie said, casually brushing his hair out of his eyes.
He had zero intention of telling them the truth. The senior student had essentially been terrified of the very soul she had painted into existence. It wasn't exactly a polite story to tell, especially since Miss Riley was sitting right there listening to them. Even though she was completely still and silent, Charlie was absolutely certain she wasn't just spacing out. She was hanging onto every word.
"Right, sure. Maybe," Anthony shrugged. He was never one to get bogged down by the details anyway.
Charlie opened the box. It was packed with fried fish, a boiled egg, and a couple of pumpkin pasties. The portions weren't massive, but the variety was fantastic. He happily devoured the meal and pushed the empty box aside.
Taking advantage of his post-dinner food coma, he ripped off a small piece of scrap paper and scrawled, Could a kind house-elf please help clean this up? He slid the note neatly under the empty box.
Since Charlie had already committed the ultimate betrayal by finishing his homework early, Anthony and Hector sat down grumbling to start theirs. Not wanting to distract them, Charlie slipped out of the dormitory and headed down to the common room.
About an hour later, the two boys finally emerged from the stairs and found Charlie sitting at a small table. He was casually flipping through The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
If the legends were true, this book of wizarding fairy tales hid pieces of actual magical history. The Deathly Hallows, for one, were very real. Charlie was deeply curious if there were other fun, world-shaking secrets buried in these children's stories. Granted, with his current level of magical education, he wasn't going to uncover any ancient mysteries tonight.
"So, what's the plan for the weekend?" Anthony asked, dropping into a nearby armchair.
Fridays were a breeze; they only had one Herbology class. Since Herbology required students to get their hands dirty with planting and caring for the magical flora, they had three sessions a week, but each one was short and relatively relaxing.
"I'm going to sleep in tomorrow morning," Charlie said. "Then in the afternoon, I'll probably find a quiet, empty spot to practice some spells."
"I literally can't think of a single spell we know that's actually fun to practice," Anthony groaned, rubbing his temples. "And just for the record, I am saying that out of purely academic frustration, not laziness."
"Of course," Hector smirked. "Though maybe it would sound more convincing if you didn't feel the need to clarify that."
"I need to write a letter to my parents first thing," Hector continued. "They don't have an owl, so they can't exactly reach out to me first. Life at Hogwarts is brilliant, but I really should have written back to them days ago."
"Speaking of which, I need to write home too," Anthony chimed in.
"Speaking of which, I need to write to..." Charlie started, but his voice trailed off. "Wait. No. If I want to buy raw, unflavored chocolate in bulk, who on earth do I write to?"
He looked directly at Anthony, figuring the pureblood would know the ins and outs of wizarding commerce.
"You could try owl-ordering from a shop in Diagon Alley, but I honestly doubt they'd have it," Anthony said thoughtfully. "You have to understand, in our world, if you don't pump a product full of magic, it doesn't sell."
Charlie thought back to his trip to the sweet shops in Diagon Alley. He couldn't recall seeing a single bar of plain, non-magical chocolate. Of course, he had been entirely distracted by the exploding bonbons and levitating sherbets, so he might have missed a dusty shelf in the corner. Either way, it was worth sending an owl to check.
"By the way," Hector asked, leaning forward. "Where exactly are you planning to practice these spells?"
Charlie paused, his mind instantly flashing to the legendary Room of Requirement. He pictured the towering, labyrinthine mountains of junk where Voldemort had hidden Ravenclaw's Diadem.
The image of that massive hoard was a stark reminder: if you stumble upon something incredibly valuable, hoarding it away as a massive, dark secret usually doesn't end well for anyone.