"What? I would never do that! And what do you mean, wandering the streets?" The girl frowned and took half a step back.
Charlie's words had clearly thrown her off—she hadn't even done anything yet and she was already being painted as the villain who'd leave someone homeless.
The corner of Charlie's mouth curved up. "Oh, it's entirely possible, my dear friend."
"Fine, I won't report you. I mean… I wasn't going to anyway." Hermione pressed her lips together, looking like she'd just confessed to a crime she hadn't committed.
Charlie grinned and dropped the teasing. He turned to look out the window just as the whistle blew. The train was pulling out.
The girl quickly forgot the awkward moment and stuck out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger. What about you two? First-years too? I read all the books over the summer. I hope I can keep up."
Neville shyly shook her hand. "Neville Longbottom. Keep up with what?"
"Magic, obviously," Hermione said. "You two must already know loads of spells. Did you go to wizarding primary school? I didn't, so I have to study extra hard."
"What's wizarding primary school?" Neville looked confused.
"There isn't one," Charlie said. Outside, the station scenery was sliding backward as they left London behind. "Don't worry about keeping up. None of that matters."
"Really? That's a relief." Hermione nodded, then turned her curious gaze to Alice. "You said she's a transfiguring rabbit? What kind of powers does she have?"
"Basically, she turns into everyday objects—at least that's what the girl at the Magical Menagerie told me. Hats, wallets, bracelets, scarves… though I wouldn't keep money in the wallet version."
"Can she turn into anything?" Hermione leaned closer. Alice twitched her nose, sniffing the girl's fingers.
"Each rabbit's different," Neville said quietly. "I heard grown-ups say every transfiguring rabbit is locked to one specific thing. Like Charlie's—she only turns into hats, never wallets or scarves. But the more time you spend together, the more the hat starts to look like what you like. Still just a hat, though."
"Ah, got it." Charlie glanced at Alice.
"What about toads?" he asked, turning back to Neville. "I've been wondering—do toads have some special status in the wizarding world?"
Hermione's eyes lit up with the same question.
"Um… sort of?" Neville scratched his cheek. "My gran really likes them. Something about potions, I think. Sorry, I'm not big on potions. I hate the smell."
"You hate the smell?" Hermione looked puzzled.
"Yeah… just… don't like it." Neville nodded a little too quickly, clearly dodging.
The three of them kept chatting about the wizarding world. Hermione kept asking detailed, textbook-style questions that left Neville flustered, so Charlie eventually steered the conversation toward lighter topics—goblins, magical garden plants, weird sweets. He was quietly gathering ideas for his own candy line the whole time.
After a while the compartment door slid open with a soft knock.
"Anything off the trolley, dears?" A cheerful, plump witch stood in the doorway.
Neville thought for a second, then stood up. "I'll get lunch for everyone. What would you like?"
"Very generous, Neville," Charlie said with a grin, "but just a quiet reminder—we all have Galleons. We exchanged them at the bank."
"Yeah," Hermione nodded quickly. "You don't have to treat us, Neville."
"Ah… oh. Right." Neville's face turned bright red. The rare moment of courage had been politely shot down and he looked completely lost.
"However," Charlie added smoothly, "I am more than happy to let my friend buy me lunch. Neville, consider me your guest."
"Of course! No problem." Neville brightened again and stepped into the corridor. "What do you want?"
"Pumpkin pasty and a drink for me," Charlie said, picking something simple.
Hermione chose a few light snacks too. Neville, worried it wasn't enough, added some sweets. Total: five Sickles and eight Knuts.
After they'd eaten, Charlie pulled two chocolates from his pocket.
"Neville, as a professional, I need your honest opinion. Try this."
Neville took one curiously and popped it in his mouth.
Warm sunlight flowed from his tongue through every limb. The sleepy fullness after lunch turned into the most perfect lazy afternoon feeling—like lying in a hammock in the garden back home.
His eyes snapped open in surprise. "Charlie, what is this chocolate? Where did you get it?"
"I made it. What do you think?"
"You made it?! I've never tasted anything like this. It's… brilliant."
Hermione gave Charlie an odd look, then tried hers. A second later her eyes widened too.
"It's… so warm. Like sitting in the sun." She stared at him. "Charlie, you really made this yourself?"
"Yep. And please, just call me Charlie." He shrugged. Being called by his last name always felt too stiff for a street kid.
"How does it compare to Chocolate Frogs?" he asked.
"Way better," Neville said firmly. "But…"
"But?" Charlie leaned in.
"But… maybe not as fun." Neville rushed to explain.
Not as fun…
Charlie mulled it over and instantly understood.
Of course. Kinder Eggs didn't sell millions because of the chocolate. It was the surprise toy inside!
Wait… surprise toy?
He pulled out his little notebook and jotted the idea down.
Every kid dreamed of getting a Kinder Egg. The Wish Dust potential was off the charts.
"Spot-on answer, Neville. I asked the right person. Can't use it yet, but I've written it down." Charlie tucked the notebook away, satisfied.
"Anyway," he said, changing the subject, "does your toad need lunch?" He pulled some rabbit pellets from another pocket.
"Yeah, Leif does."
Neville called for him, then stood and looked around.
His face slowly fell. Two minutes later they were sure.
Leif was gone.
"Did he slip out when we were at the trolley?" Charlie frowned.
The little guy was way too clever. One second of distraction and he vanished.
"Gran's going to kill me if I lose him on the first day," Neville said, looking like he might cry.
"Relax, Neville. We'll help you look," Hermione said, already standing.
Charlie raised his hand. Alice hopped onto his palm, then sprang to his shoulder and—pop—became a hat that settled neatly on his head.
"Let's go for a stroll." He patted Neville's shoulder. "No rush."
The three of them stepped into the corridor.
Charlie's mind drifted back to the original story.
Harry Potter…
That kid could probably hand him a mountain of Wish Dust and Galleons.
But he had zero interest in getting dragged into little-kid hair-pulling fights.
Let things happen naturally.
They split up—Neville and Charlie went left, Hermione headed right toward the rear carriages.
Neville grew more anxious with every step, eyes red like he was about to cry.
Charlie, meanwhile, was busy planning how to market his moonlight chocolate.
Ravenclaw?
Those kids would kill for something that cleared mental fatigue.
Imagine finishing an all-nighter on a book or experiment, exhausted, then popping a moonlight chocolate and feeling completely refreshed.
Perfect. Maybe he could market it like an energy drink.
Twenty minutes later they reached the front of the train. Still no Leif.
Charlie led them to the trolley witch and politely asked her to tell the driver: if the toad was still on board when they cleaned at the next stop, please keep an eye out.
The witch smiled kindly and explained that after the train stopped, dozens of house-elves would board to take luggage and pets to the dorms and tidy up. If Leif was still on the train, he wouldn't get far.
Neville finally relaxed.
On the way back they ran into Hermione.
"Found him?"
"In the future," Charlie said with a grin. Neville couldn't help smiling at the joke.
"I don't get it," Hermione sighed. "You talk weird sometimes. Hard to keep up."
She was clearly the logical type.
Neville quickly explained. Hermione nodded. "All right, future it is. Let's head back."
They turned toward their compartment.
Halfway down the next carriage they saw three boys coming the other way.
The leader was pale, clearly fuming. The two bigger boys behind him looked equally sour—like they'd just lost a fight.
"Useless, the pair of you," the pale boy snapped.
His friends stayed quiet.
The corridor was narrow. Both groups turned sideways to pass.
"Potter, that blind idiot, hanging around with Weasley," the leader muttered as he passed. "He'll figure out soon enough he made a huge mistake."
Charlie glanced at their backs and almost laughed. Being rejected by the famous Boy Who Lived had clearly stung the little lord.
Up ahead, Hermione had already reached a compartment and pushed the door open.
"What happened in here?"
Only two boys were inside. One was small and skinny with messy black hair that fell over his forehead. The other had bright red hair, freckles everywhere, and was staring at a rat in his hands.
"Wow, looks like a battlefield in here," Charlie said, leaning against the doorframe. "And you guys clearly won."
"Not really. We didn't fight—Scabbers did," the redhead said.
Both boys looked at Charlie. "Need something?"
Charlie eyed the sweets scattered across the floor and spread his hands. "I should be asking you that, but I'm feeling lazy and don't want to help clean, so let's skip it."
With a flick of his wrist he produced two chocolates.
"Eat these. You'll feel better."
"Thanks. What's your name?" They took the chocolates, unwrapped them, and bit in.
"Charlie Wonka. The toad-losing Neville and the door-knocking-averse Miss Granger you probably already know."
"We just met. I'm Ron Weasley—blimey, this chocolate is amazing. Where'd you buy it?"
"I made it. Next time you'll have to pay," Charlie said with a wink.
"Thanks for the chocolate," the black-haired boy said. "I'm Harry Potter." He gave a small nod.
After eating it, Harry looked ten times better. All the little aches from the scuffle with Draco had vanished.
"No problem."
Feeling the faint spark of Wish Dust he'd just collected, Charlie smiled and turned to leave.
"See you around, mates. Hopefully we end up in the same House—if we're lucky."
Behind him, Hermione and Neville waved goodbye too.
"Hopefully we're not that lucky…" Charlie muttered with a quiet laugh.
"By the way," Hermione asked, "do I really not knock?"
"Granger, you know the answer to that. What you're really asking is whether it's rude. The answer is—yes."
Hermione ducked her head, embarrassed. "Right… sorry about that."
"Forgiven." Charlie gave her a small, easy smile.