Visiting the Goblin Blacksmith

After the Troll Incident, Charlie felt like he'd become a rare creature at Hogwarts.

Wherever he went, he always drew a sea of stares.

In the corridors, whispering students would fall silent the moment he passed, sneaking glances at him with worshipful, curious eyes.

The source of this craze was naturally that big-mouthed pair from Gryffindor, Harry and Ron.

Thanks to their promotion, the tale of Charlie bravely fighting the troll had spread across all four houses, spawning countless absurd versions.

That afternoon in Charms Class, the moment Charlie stepped into the room, the noisy space went dead quiet.

Everyone turned their heads in unison to stare at him.

Charlie walked to his seat with a blank expression, ignoring the gazes around him.

He sat down and, breaking his usual habit, didn't slump over to sleep. Instead, he straightened his back and opened his textbook.

Professor Flitwick stood on a stack of books to see over the lectern.

When he spotted Charlie sitting upright with clear eyes, he nearly toppled off the pile.

Was this still Charlie? He wasn't sleeping!

Had the sun risen from the west?

Professor Flitwick was moved to tears.

"Class, today we'll learn the Lumos Spell!"

His voice was unusually loud, brimming with passion.

He felt a surge of energy—he had to teach exceptionally well today to match Charlie's earnestness.

And Charlie was indeed earnest, earnestly trying not to fall asleep. After all, he needed a favor; sleeping would be too rude.

The bell rang, and students packed up to leave.

But Charlie stayed behind, walking up to the lectern.

"Professor."

Professor Flitwick was organizing his lesson plans. Hearing Charlie's voice, a bright smile immediately lit up his face.

"Mr. White! You were very attentive in class today—I'm delighted! Is there something you'd like to ask?"

"Professor, I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Do you know any Goblins?"

The moment the words left his mouth, the smile on Professor Flitwick's face froze.

The warmth in his large eyes faded quickly, replaced by wariness and complexity.

The air in the office grew heavy.

Though he was a respected Charms professor at Hogwarts, that one-thousandth Goblin bloodline had always been a thorn in his heart.

Decades ago, pure-blood supremacy was still in vogue among Wizards.

It was easy to imagine how much trouble his Goblin heritage had caused.

What he feared most was that a student he admired might see him differently because of it.

"Why do you ask, Mr. White?" His voice turned a bit dry.

Charlie keenly sensed the shift in atmosphere and quickly explained:

"Professor, as you know, I want to make a suit of armor from the Troll hide."

"I heard Goblins are the best craftsmen, so I thought..."

Professor Flitwick's tense body relaxed.

He let out a sigh, the stiff atmosphere dissolving, and the smile returned to his face.

"I see."

"Yes, armor and weapons forged by Goblins are indeed the finest. I happen to know a highly skilled blacksmith, though his temper is a bit odd."

"Great!" Charlie's eyes lit up.

"If you're in a hurry, I can take you tonight."

Charlie looked a bit awkward.

"Well, Professor, I'm afraid I can't make it tonight."

"Oh? Something important?"

"I have detention with Professor McGonagall."

Professor Flitwick paused, then shook his head helplessly.

"Alright, that's what you get for fooling around. How about tomorrow night?"

Charlie's expression grew even more awkward.

"Tomorrow evening I have detention with Professor Snape."

Professor Flitwick: "..."

He stood on that stack of books, his tiny frame filled with immense bewilderment.

"Mr. White," Professor Flitwick asked in his high-pitched voice, laden with deep sorrow.

"Can you tell me which day you don't have detention?"

In the end, the two could only settle on Saturday.

Saturday afternoon, Charlie knocked on Professor Flitwick's office door right on time.

The office was warm and cozy, walls hung with medals and certificates, bookshelves crammed with thick tomes of magic.

Professor Flitwick stood on a high stool, watering a pot of dancing daffodils.

Seeing Charlie enter, he hopped down cheerfully, pulled a honey cake that looked delicious from a drawer, and handed it to Charlie.

"Here, have a bite to tide you over. It's a bit of a trip."

Charlie took the cake and thanked him.

The two stepped up to the office fireplace. Professor Flitwick grabbed a handful of glittering powder.

"Ever used Floo Powder?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Hold tight, don't let go, and clearly call out where we're going." Professor Flitwick demonstrated.

"Into the fireplace."

Charlie stepped into the hearth, grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder, and shouted just like the professor had.

"The Leaky Cauldron."

The world spun, green flames engulfed him.

The next second, he stumbled out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron.

Professor Flitwick followed right after, stepping out gracefully, not a speck of soot on him.

He didn't lead Charlie through the pub's main hall, but took him to the small courtyard out back.

"Grip my arm tightly, Mr. White," Professor Flitwick said gravely.

"What comes next might feel a bit... peculiar, like being squeezed through a very tight tube."

The moment Charlie grabbed his arm, the whole world around him seemed to lurch violently. Air was crushed from his lungs, his insides twisted out of place.

It lasted only an instant.

When he could breathe again, he stood in a dense forest.

The light was dim here, towering trees blotting out the sky. The air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves. It was so quiet he could only hear his own heartbeat.

"We're here."

Charlie crouched low, the sensation just now making him nauseous.

Professor Flitwick handed him a cup of honey water.

"Drink this, it'll help. First time Apparition is always like this. You'll get used to it."

Charlie downed the honey water and said with difficulty.

"Is this spell called Apparition, Professor?"

"Oh, yes, that's right."

Charlie called out to the system in his mind.

"Little System, blacklist this spell for me! Never let me draw it!"

[...]

Professor Flitwick pointed to a path deep in the forest.

"The blacksmith lives here. He doesn't like being disturbed."

The two walked along the weed-choked trail. The trees grew older and older, the atmosphere deeper and more secluded.

After about ten minutes, a small clearing appeared ahead.

In the center of the clearing stood a log-built Wooden House, smoke curling from its chimney.

In front of the Wooden House, a short but exceptionally sturdy figure was hammering metal on an anvil.