By the time mid-December rolled around, Scotland had decided to fully commit to the winter aesthetic. The gentle flurries of November had been replaced by a relentless, heavy snowfall that seemed determined to bury Hogwarts Castle beneath a thick, white shroud.
The Forbidden Forest looked like something out of a fairy tale—beautiful, silent, and treacherous. The Black Lake was no longer a body of water but a sprawling sheet of translucent glass. For many students, this was the highlight of the season. Ice skating became the unofficial sport of the school, with dozens of brave (or foolish) souls sliding across the ice every afternoon.
Albert had ventured out to the lake once, mostly out of curiosity, only to be met with the sight of the "Ice Skating Killer," Katrina MacDougall. Despite her brilliant academic mind and her sharp wit, Katrina seemed to have a physical blind spot when it came to balance. She moved across the ice with the grace of a newborn giraffe on a tilted floor.
"You're going to break a limb, Katrina," Albert had remarked as he watched her wobble past him, her arms windmilling desperately.
"Mind your own business, Anderson!" she had snapped back, just seconds before her skates slid out from under her, sending her crashing into a snowbank.
Albert didn't go back after that. Not because of the cold, but because he had more profitable things to do. While the rest of the school was busy bruising their tailbones on the lake, Albert and his roommates were busy hunting for a different kind of winter treasure: Snow Mushrooms.
Also known as Pine Mushrooms in certain circles, these fungi were the ultimate prize for a winter scavenger. They only grew in the deepest cold, nestled under the roots of ancient trees where the magic of the forest concentrated. They were white, delicate, and smelled faintly of pine and ozone. More importantly, they were worth their weight in silver—if you knew how to handle them.
"Found another one!" Lee Jordan called out, dropping to his knees near a frost-covered oak. He brushed away a layer of snow to reveal a small, pearlescent cap poking out of the earth.
"Careful with the roots, Lee," Albert cautioned, walking over with a specialized wooden box. "If you bruise the stem, the magic starts to leak out. It'll rot before we even get it back to the castle."
Snow Mushrooms were notoriously temperamental. Once plucked from their cold cradle, they began to degrade almost immediately. Last year, Albert had horrified his roommates by simply slicing them up and roasting them over a fire. To them, it was like burning money for warmth. To Albert, it was a culinary experience that no amount of Galleons could buy.
"You really won't consider selling them raw?" Fred asked, watching Albert carefully place the fifth mushroom of the morning into the snow-filled box. "I bet we could get ten Galleons for these five right now from an apothecary."
"Ten Galleons for the lot?" Albert looked up, a faint, amused smile on his face. "Fred, an apothecary would take those ten Galleons, process the mushrooms into powder, and sell that powder for fifty. Then, a Potions Master would take that powder, brew an Energy Replenishment Potion, and sell a single vial for twenty Galleons. We are at the bottom of the food chain here. I don't like being at the bottom."
George sighed, leaning against his shovel. "I get the logic, Albert. I really do. But fifty percent of something is better than a hundred percent of nothing. We're students. We don't have a shop, and we don't have the licenses to sell high-grade ingredients."
"Which is why we wait," Albert said firmly. "Directly selling raw materials is a sucker's game. It's the most unprofitable way to do business. If you're desperate for cash, I can talk to Mundungus Fletcher. He'll buy anything. But he'll also lie to your face, tell you the market is crashed, and offer you two Galleons for the whole box. Do you want to be Fletcher's easy mark?"
The twins shared a look. The thought of being cheated by a low-level smuggler like Mundungus was enough to sour their mood.
"Mundungus is a leech," Lee Jordan added, siding with Albert. "He'd sell his own grandmother for a handful of Sickles. Albert's right. If we can't sell them for what they're actually worth, we might as well eat them or store the powder until we can use it ourselves."
Albert nodded. He was already working on a map of the forest's outskirts, marking the specific thermal pockets where the mushrooms grew. By next year, they wouldn't be scavenging; they'd be harvesting.
"The processing is the tricky part," Albert continued, leading them back toward the castle as the wind began to pick up. "If the temperature isn't perfect, the powder turns gray and loses its potency. I've been practicing, but I'd still call my current results 'average' at best. I'm not going to risk my reputation—or my friendship with someone like Dagworth—by selling him sub-par materials. In business, your name is the only thing that actually has value."
"So... we're roasting these five then?" Fred asked, a hopeful yet pained expression on his face.
"Exactly," Albert said. "Think of it as an investment in our morale. Besides, you haven't lived until you've tasted a Snow Mushroom roasted with a bit of garlic butter and a warming charm."
"You're breaking my heart, Albert," Lee Jordan groaned, though his stomach gave a loud, traitorous rumble. "Eating our profits... literally."
"Galleons will come, Lee," Albert said, his voice calm and certain. "The Wizard Card Club is already generating a steady stream of income. Once we start selling the premium decks and the holographic 'Founder' cards, we won't be worried about a few mushrooms. To make real money, you have to use your brain, not just your back. A bottle of Babbling Beverage already goes for ten Galleons, and I can brew that in my sleep. If I use this Snow Mushroom powder to refine an Energy Replenishment Potion..."
"How much?" George asked, his ears perking up.
"It's the wizarding equivalent of a high-end energy drink," Albert explained. "Except it doesn't just wake you up; it restores physical stamina and magical reserves. It's almost as expensive as Felix Felicis because the ingredients are so rare. And," he added with a slight smirk, "it has certain... medicinal benefits for older wizards. It nourishes the kidneys, so to speak."
"Wait, so you're saying we're sitting on a potion that helps old men feel young again?" Fred asked, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "Albert, that's a gold mine! We don't even need the school! We just need a stall at the Ministry!"
"And a trip to Azkaban for selling unlicensed potions," Albert reminded him. "Patience, Fred. We build the skills first. The wealth follows the skill."
They were halfway across the sloping lawn when a sound drifted over the wind—a deep, resonant bark that echoed through the trees. It wasn't the sound of a small pet; it was the bark of something massive.
The group stopped dead in their tracks. They turned back toward the dark treeline of the Forbidden Forest. A moment later, the sound of heavy footsteps crunching through the frozen undergrowth reached their ears. Something was coming, and it was moving fast.
"What was that?" George whispered, his hand going to his wand.
"A dog?" Lee guessed, his voice pitching higher. "That sounded like a wolf, but... bigger."
Albert's eyes sharpened. He knew exactly what lived in that forest, and more importantly, he knew who lived on the edge of it. He checked his internal clock. It was about the right time for a certain giant to be out for a stroll.
"It doesn't matter what it is," Albert said, his tone shifting from casual to commanding. "It's big, it's loud, and it's coming this way. Whatever is in that forest usually isn't looking for a chat. Let's move. Fast."