The moment Albert stepped back through the massive oak doors of the Entrance Hall, he knew he wasn't going to get a quiet walk to the common room. The air was still humming with the residual static of his Explosion Charm, but the three shadows lurking behind a suit of armor were far more persistent than any forest predator.
Fred, George, and Lee Jordan practically teleported into his path, their faces a mix of frantic curiosity and mock indignation.
"Care to explain the mud on your boots, oh fearless leader?" Fred asked, crossing his arms and blocking the corridor.
"George saw you and the big man dragging yourselves out of the tree-line," Lee added, leaning in close enough that Albert could smell the stolen treacle tart on his breath. "Don't tell us you went hunting that 'screaming beast' and didn't think to send up a flare for the rest of the squad."
"Actually, I specifically asked if you lot wanted to tag along this morning," Albert said, not missing a beat as he sidestepped George's attempt to grab his shoulder. "You three were the ones who decided that bacon and complaining about Charlie's training schedule were higher priorities. Don't try to rewrite history now that the mystery sounds exciting."
George coughed, a classic tell that he was searching for a pivot. "Ahem. Well, the logistics of breakfast are complex, Albert. We assumed you were just going for a casual stroll, not a deep-woods reconnaissance mission!"
"Is that right?" Albert raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose the logistics of your Transfiguration homework are equally complex? Because if I recall, Professor McGonagall wasn't exactly beaming with joy during your last practical."
The three of them winced in unison. The threat of another round of detention was a very effective silencer.
"Fine, fine," Fred muttered, his bravado deflating. "But seriously, did you see it? The monster?"
"We walked in circles for a few hours, got scratched by some thorns, and realized the Forbidden Forest is exactly as damp and miserable as it looks from the window," Albert lied smoothly. "My legs are currently screaming for mercy. Unless one of you is offering a professional-grade massage, I'm heading up to the fire."
He pushed past them, leaving the trio looking utterly deflated. It was a necessary deception; the less they knew about Hagrid's illegal Cerberus and the rogue Acromantula attacks, the less likely they were to end up as spider feed. Fiction is always more polished than reality, and Albert preferred to keep the "exciting snippets" of his life for his own private records.
"By the way," Albert called over his shoulder, "how are the Ton-Tongue Toffees coming along? You can't call yourselves entrepreneurs if your only product is 'potential.' Get to the library and find a stabilizing agent for the charm, or you'll be the only ones eating them."
That sent the twins scurrying off toward the library like they'd been hit with a Stinging Hex. Lee Jordan tried to slip away toward the Great Hall, but Albert caught his eye.
"And the Wizard Card brackets, Lee? This tournament is your stage. If the organization is a mess, the commentary won't save it. Think it through."
With the halls finally cleared of his meddling friends, Albert popped a chocolate-filled hard candy into his mouth. The sweetness cut through the lingering adrenaline of the forest encounter. Still too green, he thought with a smirk.
He spent the next hour in an armchair by the Gryffindor fire, letting the heat soak into his bones. When the clock struck eleven, he finally gathered his things and moved to the library. Since the twins had already done the grunt work of finding the primary research materials for their shared assignments, Albert flew through his essays. Second-year curriculum was becoming less of a challenge and more of a maintenance routine, but he still treated every parchment with the same meticulous precision.
"Could you... would you mind taking a look at this?"
Katrina sat down in the chair next to him, sliding a thick roll of parchment across the table. It was her submission for the Transfiguration Club.
Albert took it, his eyes scanning the lines with practiced efficiency. It was a solid effort—passionate, even—but it lacked the structural backbone of a true academic paper. Katrina was brilliant for her age, but she was still trying to explain advanced concepts using a foundational vocabulary.
"It's a good essay, Katrina," Albert said, setting the parchment down gently. "But if you're aiming for Transfiguration Today, you need to stop quoting the textbooks and start showing them your own perspective. They don't want a summary of Gamp's Law; they want to know how you feel the magic shift when you're halfway through a transformation. An academic paper is a conversation, not a recital."
Katrina's face fell slightly, though she nodded in understanding. "I suppose you're right. It just feels like there's so much I don't know yet."
"You're a second-year student writing for the most prestigious journal in Britain," Albert reminded her, pulling a few brightly wrapped candies from his pocket and sliding them toward her. "The fact that you're even in the conversation is a win. Eat these; sugar is the best antidote for academic frustration. Consider it a reward for having the guts to try."
"You're a strange one, Albert," she murmured, unwrapping a lemon drop. "I heard McGonagall saying the journal is considering you for the 'Most Promising Newcomer' award. Does that even register for you? Or are you just thinking about the prize money?"
"Wait, there's prize money?" Albert asked, his interest suddenly piquing.
Katrina laughed, a genuine, light sound that drew a few glares from Madam Pince. "I should have known. You're obsessed."
Albert didn't deny it. To him, awards were just shiny bits of metal, but gold was the fuel for his future. He spent the rest of lunch thinking about his "wool-gathering"—his ongoing correspondence with various experts across Europe. Every letter he wrote was a micro-essay, a constant exercise that pumped his skill experience higher with every owl sent. It was a slow burn, but the results were undeniable.
After lunch, Albert retreated to his dormitory. He reached into the hidden compartment of his trunk and pulled out a small, unassuming vial. Felix Felicis.
He didn't need a full dose. He just needed a nudge. He took a tiny, carefully measured sip, feeling the familiar warmth spread from his chest to his fingertips. The world didn't change, but his perception of it did. Every variable felt manageable. Every path felt clear.
"This is the feeling," he whispered, tucking the vial safely into his pocket. "Today, we solve the Hagrid problem."
He strode out of the common room, his steps light and purposeful. As he navigated the shifting staircases, he spotted a familiar head of hair a few levels up. Professor Smith.
In any other circumstance, Albert might have avoided him, but under the influence of the Liquid Luck, his intuition screamed that this was the shortcut he needed. He changed his route, catching up to the professor near the corridor of moving portraits.
"Professor Smith! A moment of your time?"
The professor turned, a pleasant, slightly puzzled smile on his face. "Ah, Albert. You look like a young man with a very specific destination. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Actually, sir, it's about Hagrid," Albert said, lowering his voice and adopting a look of profound, staged conflict. "He's managed to get himself into a bit of a situation, and I think he's too proud—or too terrified—to ask for help. I was hoping I could rely on your discretion?"
Smith's interest sharpened instantly. "Hagrid? I'll admit we don't move in the same circles, but I've always found him to be a well-meaning fellow. What's happened? Is he ill?"
"Not ill, sir. He... well, he had a bit of an 'unauthorized pet' situation in the forest. A Cerberus," Albert whispered, glancing around to ensure no students were eavesdropping. "The creature's escaped, and Hagrid's been trying to track it alone for days. I'm worried he's going to get himself killed, or worse, that the dog will find its way onto the school grounds."
"A Cerberus?" Smith let out a low whistle, his eyes wide. "That's... bold, even for Hagrid. No wonder there have been rumors of roars in the night. Do you want me to help you track it down?"
"I think we're past the point of amateur tracking, sir," Albert said, shaking his head. "I want to take this to Headmaster Dumbledore. He's the only one who can resolve this without a tragedy, but I don't have the password to the office, and I don't think Hagrid has the nerve to walk up those stairs himself."
Smith looked at Albert for a long beat, his expression unreadable. Then, he smiled—a warm, paternal gesture. "You're a good friend, Albert. And a very wise young man. You're in luck; the Headmaster is actually in his office catching up on Ministry correspondence. Follow me. I'll get you through the door."
Albert followed, a quiet sense of triumph bubbling in his chest. The Felix Felicis was working perfectly. He wasn't just finding the dog; he was securing the political safety of his friend and placing himself exactly where he needed to be—at the center of the web. 🏰🦁