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Charlie turned the scroll over in his hands again and again, thinking hard. Lucky or unlucky—he still wasn't sure. So far, Moonlight had shown zero negative side effects.
The upside was that Moonlight stayed safe. He could keep using it as a key ingredient in his chocolates without worrying about what it might do to the people eating them.
The downside was that he couldn't quietly cook up a secret poison package for Quirrell with it.
He sighed, rolled the parchment back up, and set it on the desk. After a quick wash-up, he returned to the dormitory, scooped Alice off the desktop where she'd been sprawled, and dropped onto his bed.
On the windowsill beside the bed, the strawberry plant had sent several fruits dangling over the edge of the pot.
"The first batch probably still needs half a month to ripen," Fiona said, flying up to perch on the rim. "The temperature's still too low. Even with fertilizer, they're growing slower than I'd like."
"Slow," Charlie murmured. When she'd first spoken, his brain had actually supplied the opposite thought: They're growing that fast?
"Thanks for looking after them, Fiona." He nodded. "It's getting late. You should rest."
Fiona giggled and zipped over to flop onto Alice's soft, warm back. Alice gave her a long-suffering glance, then lazily settled down beside Charlie's pillow.
The next morning after breakfast, Anthony and Hector headed straight for the eighth floor. They wanted to put in some serious spell practice at the club. Hector had been wound tight preparing for the competition, and Anthony had stuck with him the whole time, so their charm work had slipped. Right before the tournament, Anthony had talked him into easing off the pressure by doing something else for a change—like practicing spells.
Charlie walked with them as far as the third floor, then stopped.
"Tch."
He was thinking about Halloween night. The troll had crashed through the castle and caused absolute chaos. Yet the very next day, half the students had strolled back into the Great Hall like nothing had happened. No one seemed worried at all.
At the time Charlie had figured the reason came down to one thing: absolute trust in Headmaster Dumbledore.
With Dumbledore here, what could possibly go wrong?
He hadn't bought that line back then. Standing here now, though, he realized he'd started assuming the same thing without even noticing.
So he had to ask himself—really?
"Charlie, what's wrong? Come on." Anthony stood on the stairs between the third and fourth floors, looking back at him, puzzled.
Charlie smiled and shook his head. "You two go on up. I just remembered something I forgot to take care of."
"Alright." Anthony and Hector both nodded.
After they left, Charlie turned left and headed for the entrance to the Headmaster's office. He reached the stone gargoyle quickly.
Still didn't know the password. Still showing up uninvited. Still had to work for it. But he finally made it up the spiral staircase.
Spinning. Spinning stairs. He reached the top floor and stepped behind the curtain outside the Headmaster's office. First he checked his pouch.
Thanks to helping Professor Chambers with experiments lately, he'd been carrying bottles of Moonlight, Dream, and Sun Dew on him.
He pulled out the Sun Dew, stepped through the curtain, and entered the office.
Dumbledore wasn't behind his desk. Charlie looked right and spotted him leaning against the windowsill in his nightshirt, holding a cup of tea.
Seeing Charlie, Dumbledore turned. "Oh, Charlie. Unexpected visit. Something on your mind?"
"Just a small thing," Charlie said. "Quirrell's been buying a lot of Moonlight chocolate from me lately. More like clearing me out, actually.
Professor, you know Moonlight has some benefits for the brain."
"I'm not sure what he wants with it, but I figured I should mention it. Just in case you didn't know."
Dumbledore cradled his teacup and walked slowly behind his desk. "Care for a cup of hot tea?"
"No thanks." Charlie didn't sit. He walked over to Fawkes's gilded perch instead.
He glanced around, found the small bowl beside the huge nest underneath, then unscrewed the cap on the Sun Dew bottle.
Bright yellow mist drifted out the moment it opened. Fawkes lifted his little head, eyes sparkling.
Charlie smiled and filled the bowl for him.
When he was done, he capped the bottle and looked at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore smiled back. "Why come report something like this to me?"
Charlie thought for a second. "I heard Quirrell used to be pretty normal when he taught Muggle Studies. But ever since that trip to the forest in Albania, he's been… like this. Maybe something damaged his mind? Maybe my Moonlight chocolate could help him.
Of course, these are all maybes. I'm only telling you because if he eats himself to death, remember not to come after me for it."
Charlie pressed his lips together and gave Dumbledore a sincere smile. "If he drops dead and you decide to shut me down and make me pay damages, I can't afford that. So if you think he shouldn't be eating Moonlight anymore, I won't sell it to him. And if you can get him to stop buying it himself, even better."
Dumbledore listened, his face caught between expressions for a moment. Then he wiped at a nonexistent tear in the corner of his eye and said quietly, "Charlie, I'm disappointed. You don't seem to care whether Professor Quirrell lives or dies. You're only worried about keeping your little shop open."
"Who says I'm not an evil little capitalist kid? When you're running a business, the most important thing isn't money—what, is it a conscience?"
Dumbledore nodded helplessly. "Alright. Either way, I'm still grateful you told me."
"Oh, and Professor—one more small personal question."
Dumbledore nodded. His left fingers tapped the desktop lightly. A teacup floated over in front of Charlie, and the teapot followed, pouring him a cup. "How many sugars?"
"None, thanks. Morning tea's better without sugar. It's not afternoon tea with sweets and everything."
"If you want something sweet—" Dumbledore began, sounding like a kid eager to share a hidden stash.
Charlie quickly raised a hand. "Professor, I just had breakfast."
"Alright. What a shame. I was about to offer you some Cockroach Cluster."
The words hit Charlie's brain like a warning label: I just made the right call—refusing.
"Professor," Charlie said, "I want money."