By the time Charles returned to Hogwarts Castle, it was already Sunday evening. The moment he arrived, he went straight to report to Professor McGonagall.
She didn't say much—just gave him a look and promptly led him to Professor Dumbledore's office.
Snape was already there. At the moment, Dumbledore was speaking to him.
"If nothing's happened by now, I daresay nothing will," the Headmaster said mildly. "Smith himself admitted his Divination isn't always accurate—rarely is, in fact."
Charles couldn't help pulling a face. He'd been far too busy teaching centaurs how to barbecue spider legs to complain about anything yet.
"Oh, speak of the devi , here's Smith," Dumbledore said cheerfully as they entered. "It seems your prophecy's off again, Professor Snape's house is still very much intact."
Charles scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Not accurate again, eh? I'll try harder next time."
There was a pause. Everyone looked at him as if he'd just announced he intended to hex the sun. A rather stern-looking lady in a portrait raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are you saying you intend to blow up the professor's house?"
At once, all eyes turned to Charles. Snape's hand drifted instinctively to his wand.
Thankfully, Professor McGonagall chose that exact moment to change the subject. She handed a letter to Dumbledore.
"You ought to read this" she said. "It's from the centaur elder."
Dumbledore took it, his brows lifting slightly in surprise as he read. "You actually went to the centaur tribe?"
"I did," said Charles simply. "I've only just returned. They found me, said the stars led them to me. We became friends, and I helped them out a bit."
The room fell quiet as Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and several past Headmasters and Headmistresses on the wall stared at him in surprise.
"Sit down," Dumbledore said, conjuring chairs and tea with a flick of his wand, along with a generous plate of Cockroach Clusters and other dubious sweets.
Snape didn't sit—he clearly wanted no part of centaur tales—and slipped out of the office with a disdainful swish of his robes.
Charles sat down and recounted the events in detail. He didn't lie, but he did carefully omit the bit about Dumbledore's secret box, the number of acromantulas he'd helped dispatch the next morning, and slightly softened the story of how he'd rescued Twilight. According to his version, that had happened "on the way" to the centaur camp.
Somewhere along the way, he nearly ate all of Dumbledore's sweets.
Professor McGonagall, watching curiously, asked, "You know how to perform the Levitation Charm?"
Charles nodded and pulled out his wand, levitating the remaining half-plate of Cockroach Clusters with a practiced flick.
"I saw it and thought it looked fun," he said a little shyly.
McGonagall, assuming he'd learned it from reading ahead in his textbooks, turned serious at once.
"Charles," she said firmly, "spellwork requires absolute focus. Even a charm as basic as this one can be dangerous if miscast."
Charles nodded solemnly. If Grandfather didn't think butchering cows was too much trouble, we'd never have to pay for beef at home, he thought quietly.
Then, to his mild astonishment, McGonagall leaned in and said in a rather conspiratorial tone, "But don't tell anyone you've learned it yet. Don't show off. When Professor Flitwick teaches the spell in class, just perform it right away. If he's in a good mood, he'll award extra points to Gryffindor."
Charles blinked at her, baffled. He couldn't help wondering whether she might have a secret tattoo of a centipede somewhere, hidden beneath all that tartan and strictness.
At that moment, McGonagall gave him her most proper, dignified smile.
He turned to look at Dumbledore—who gave a faint, approving nod of his own.
Gryffindors, Charles thought with a sigh. They're all in on it.
And with that, he decided he'd best get used to this place.
By now, Dumbledore had clearly made up his mind about the centaur trade. He turned to Charles with a warm smile and said, "I dare say it was your courage, your sense of justice… and your bottomless sack that made the stars choose you."
Then, with one brow arched in that familiar mischievous way of his, he added, "Charles, have you ever considered working for the Ministry of Magic?"
Charles looked utterly bewildered. Where on earth was this going?
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and explained, "There's a Centaur Liaison Office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It's been there for years, though the centaurs have never once used it. Being sent there is usually a sign that you're one step away from being booted out."
"But I still have a bit of pull at the Ministry," he added lightly. "I could have your name listed on the roster—it would make corresponding with the centaurs much easier in the future."
Then he chuckled. "Perhaps I could even name you the Head of the Office. You'd earn a small salary. And if you happen to know anyone in need of a job, they could be listed too. No one would bat an eye."
Charles put on a face of surprise, though inwardly his thoughts were spinning at top speed.
He didn't doubt for a second that Dumbledore had the clout to pull this off. It was such an obscure department that Cornelius Fudge would probably approve the whole thing just to be agreeable.
Still, Charles had a hunch there was more to it. When Dumbledore mentioned "friends," it rang a bell—one he recognized from his previous life. A certain kind of bell.
So he asked, as casually as he could, "Headmaster, would this happen to involve a friend of yours?"
After all, magic or not, the wizarding world still ran on good old-fashioned favours. And everyone had someone they wanted to help.
Charles didn't need to think long before someone sprang to mind—Remus Lupin. A terribly unlucky fellow, but one of the bravest and kindest people he'd ever heard of. And someone in need of a break.
Of course, if it turned out to be Gellert Grindelwald, Charles figured he'd just keep his mouth shut.
Dumbledore blinked in faint surprise. This boy, it seemed, had a rather sharp grasp of things.
But he didn't press the matter. That particular idea wasn't ready to hatch just yet.
Instead, he let it slide and changed the subject. "So, Charles… how do you plan to procure the supplies the centaurs requested?"
Charles reached into his trusty sack and pulled out several fizzy drink bottles filled with thick, venomous liquid, along with a small bundle of silvery hairs. He laid them gently on the desk.
"These were given to me by the centaurs," he said. "I'd like you to sell them, Headmaster. Pass the Galleons to my grandfather, and he'll convert the money, purchase the supplies, and work out how to get them delivered."
Each bottle of Acromantula venom fetched around 88 Galleons. Unicorn tail hairs were worth about 10 Galleons apiece. Altogether, the lot came to roughly 2,000 Galleons—barely £10,000 at the usual exchange rate.
Charles had long been eyeing the wizarding world's financial… peculiarities. Goblin-made coins were magically protected, sure—you couldn't exactly melt them down and pawn them—but no one said anything about using them to buy other gold goods.
For the past few days, he'd been running the numbers. If he could make this work, a few good trades before year's end, reinvest everything into Dell stocks, then cash out in 1999… that'd be a hundredfold return, easy.
Dumbledore, of course, had no idea Charles was dreaming of stock portfolios and tech booms. He assumed the boy simply wanted his grandfather to swap Galleons for pounds and do the shopping. Seemed reasonable enough.
"Charles," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, glancing at the items on the table, "these are quite valuable magical materials. If we want to sell them quickly, the British market alone won't do. There simply aren't enough buyers."
Charles responded at once, "Then I'd like to entrust the sale to Hogwarts. I assume there are other magical schools in the world—they'll have their own connections. I'm happy to offer a ten percent commission."
"And if you handle the sales yourself, Headmaster, then the commission is all yours."
"Oh—and if possible, I'd prefer payment in plain, non-magical gold."
(End of Chapter)
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