Chester. Rabbit Street.
That night, Charlie strode quickly into the apartment building on the street.
Fourth floor, attic. With a soft click he unlocked the door and stepped into the tiny ten-square-meter room.
The ceiling was so low that even at eleven years old, one good jump would split his head open.
The only window was a small pane slanted against the roof. The single light came from a tungsten bulb on an extension cord.
Inside: one wardrobe, a mattress on the floor, an old table and chair. On the table sat a handmade candy press, a small electric stove, and two little iron pots.
Stepping across the creaky wooden boards, Charlie shoved all his new purchases into the wardrobe, pulled off his hat, and tossed it onto the table.
Pop—
The hat twisted mid-air and became a rabbit again, ears up, eyes wide with curiosity.
Just as Charlie reached to lift the little guy down, faint footsteps reached his ears.
He stepped out. At the far end of the hallway stairs, an elderly figure slowly appeared.
The old woman climbed up unsteadily. Charlie hurried to meet her.
"Granny Martha, what brings you all the way up here?"
"Came to see what all that racket was," Granny Martha said.
She was the owner of the attic.
Three years earlier, after the tramp who'd found him—the man Charlie called "brother"—died in some forgotten corner, Charlie was back on the streets. Then this kind old lady took him in and gave him the attic.
"I only just got back. What could I possibly be doing?" Charlie smiled, then remembered Hogwarts. "Oh, right, Granny. I'm planning to leave."
"Where are you off to?" Granny Martha's wrinkled hand caught his arm. "Why wouldn't you live here anymore? Is it not good enough for you?"
"No, no, it's perfect. I'm just going somewhere else. I can't stay here forever—I'm going to school."
At first she didn't think much of it.
But when the last words left his mouth, Granny Martha nodded. "Church school?" she asked.
"Something like that. They've already sent the letter, and there's even a special grant for orphans."
"Oh, that's good. Then why say you're leaving? Won't you come back on holidays to visit your old granny?"
"Of course I will!" Charlie laughed.
A little later, after some rummaging, he dragged an old suitcase almost as tall as he was back up the stairs.
The case was ancient, iron latches spotted with rust, but the size was perfect.
When he left Diagon Alley, every shop—bookstore, robe shop, cauldron store—had packed his things in bags with Undetectable Extension Charms.
That's why he'd been able to carry everything home so easily.
But those charms didn't last forever. Granny Martha's old suitcase solved that little problem nicely.
He fed the transfiguring rabbit some pellets, then sat on the bed, idly turning his new wand between his fingers.
He opened his system and checked the specialization list.
Current targets: None.
'Great… even my wand can't be specialized? Or is my Wish Dust still not enough?' Charlie sighed.
Now that he'd actually touched real magic, maybe the system would finally pull its weight.
By then the moon had risen. A thin sliver of moonlight slipped through the little window.
He walked over, pushed the pane open, and stared up at the sky.
His eyes drifted to his only specialization skill: Natural Harvest.
Before, it had been bare-handed… now he had a wand.
Charlie raised the wand toward the moonlight and began twirling it like he was spinning cotton candy on a stick.
A faint resistance tugged at the tip. Then, strand by strand, the moonlight was drawn in. After a few moments of gentle stirring, a fluffy tuft of silvery light rested in his palm.
"It actually worked," he whispered, grinning. But it wasn't finished yet.
He cupped the glow carefully with his other hand, carried it back inside, and set a small empty bottle on the table.
Guided by the wand, the silver radiance slowly condensed into two perfect drops of dew-like liquid.
He stared at the tiny amount of moon dew in the bottle, curiosity stirring.
If sunlight brought warmth, sped healing, and chased away cold…
What would moonlight do?
Guessing was pointless. Time to find out.
He switched on the electric stove and set water to boil.
Soon a small bowl of Cadbury dark chocolate was melting gently over the double boiler.
This was Charlie's secret to survival—store-bought chocolate, melted carefully, plus a touch of magic.
He couldn't make it from scratch yet. Maybe one day. Who knew?
Once the chocolate was smooth, he tipped one drop of moon dew into the bowl.
As he stirred, the chocolate and moonlight blended. Delicate silver threads rose and faded through the dark liquid.
Five minutes later he poured the mixture into the waiting molds and left them to set.
While he waited he didn't just stare at them. He opened the Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and started reading.
Staring wouldn't make it harden any faster.
Preface, basic spell theory, casting notes, fundamental rules—he read steadily until he reached the first page.
Lumos
Exactly the spell made for kids.
Incantation: "Lumos." Wand movement: a simple downward flick and lift. Child's play.
"Lu—mos."
Charlie waved the wand. A cool silvery-blue light bloomed at the tip—then immediately sputtered out.
"Lu—mos." He tried again, not discouraged. He hadn't expected to nail it first try.
After a few more attempts the spell clicked.
The light was only candle-sized—not the room-filling glow from the movies—but it was still a win.
At the same time he pulled up his system.
[Specialization Target: Lumos Charm]
"Just as I thought—spells can be specialized."
No hesitation. He chose to upgrade it.
Wish Dust plummeted: 15… 14… down to 10 before it stopped.
"Five points for one Lumos…" Charlie whistled. His stash suddenly felt tiny.
The glowing spell in front of him twisted, then reshaped into something new.
[Lumos Sparkle Charm]
Incantation still "Lumos," but now he had two ways to cast it.
He gave it a try.
"Lu—mos."
Dozens of thumb-sized silver creatures burst from the wand tip and danced through the air.
What the hell?
Before he could make sense of them, a sharp pain exploded behind his eyes.
He cut the spell instantly.
Rubbing his temples, he stared at the little floating figures.
Was he basically casting a dozen Lumos spells at once?!
After a short rest he raised his hand. One of the creatures landed on his palm.
It had arms and legs but no real face, two pairs of pointed wings. Its light was gentle—staring straight at it didn't hurt.
Something about them felt… strange.
No other way to put it—they looked exactly like tiny pixies.
Once released, they didn't strain him anymore. Nice bonus.
Even though Charlie wanted to experiment more, the headache left him drained.
"Nox…" A lazy wave of the wand and the counter-spell scattered the little pixies into nothing. The attic fell back to the dim glow of the tungsten bulb.
He glanced at the table. The chocolate in the molds had set perfectly.
"Whew… Moonlight chocolate. Let's see what you can do."
He broke off a piece and slipped it into his mouth.
It melted instantly.
Unlike sunlight chocolate, whose warmth spread from the stomach out to every limb and filled him with energy…
Moonlight was cool and clear. Not the sharp chill of mint—more like a soft summer night breeze.
The energy went straight to his head. In a single heartbeat, every trace of fatigue and pain from casting vanished, replaced by a deep, satisfying fullness.