The walk back from Hogsmeade had been a shivering blur of slush and Disillusionment Charms, but the moment they breached the warmth of the Gryffindor common room, the group splintered. Albert, fueled by a restless energy that usually signaled a breakthrough, vanished toward the upper floors.
In the boys' dormitory, however, the atmosphere was considerably less academic.
"Stop poking that thing, Lee. You're going to have someone's eye out, and I'm not carrying you to the hospital wing," George grumbled, trying to ignore the rhythmic clack-clack of a golden rod hitting the wooden bedposts.
Lee Jordan was currently obsessed. He was wielding a "Truth Detector"—a spindly, gold-plated rod he'd picked up at Zonko's for two Galleons. It was supposed to be a primitive Dark Arts sensor, designed to vibrate or glow in the presence of concealed charms or cursed objects. In a room shared with Albert Anderson, the thing was having a nervous breakdown.
Every time Lee passed it over Albert's bedside cabinet, the rod hummed like a trapped hornet.
"I'm telling you, there's enough experimental magic in this one drawer to level a wing of the castle," Lee whispered, his eyes wide. He poked the lock again. The rod pulsed a dull red. "I just want to see the treasure map. You said he kept it in here!"
"It's enchanted, you melon," Fred said, not looking up from his hand of Wizarding Cards. "Albert doesn't just lock things; he binds them. You try to pick that, and the cabinet will probably bite your fingers off. Or worse, it'll tell him exactly who was touching it."
"He's not even here! He's probably off talking to a ghost about ancient runes or something," Lee countered. He shifted his aim, poking the antique Silver Arrow broom leaning against Albert's bed. The rod let out a high-pitched whine. "See? Even the broom is screaming. Why did he buy this old piece of driftwood anyway? It looks like it belongs in a museum, not on a pitch."
"Maybe he's planning to build his own," George suggested, finally throwing his cards down in frustration. Fred had cleaned him out again. "He mentioned the aerodynamics of broom-tail twigs once. Said current designs were 'inefficient.' If anyone's going to reinvent flight, it's probably him."
"While he's busy doing that, I'm going to see if this rod works on people," Lee said with a mischievous grin. He turned the golden tip toward George, who was leaning over a box of prototype Wizard Cards.
"Don't you dare—"
Poke.
The golden rod hit George's shoulder. A split second later, a fist hit Lee Jordan's face.
Meanwhile, in the Room of Requirement, Albert was having a much more frustrating afternoon.
He stood in front of a heavy wooden crate, his wand arm aching. For the last twenty minutes, he had been shouting "Capacious Extremis" until his throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.
"Expand and Increase!" he commanded again, focusing every ounce of his will on the interior of the box.
Nothing. The box remained stubbornly, physically finite.
Albert let out a sharp exhale of breath, his face darkening. On his internal skill panel, the Undetectable Extension Charm hadn't even registered as an 'Unlearned' skill yet. It was just a void.
"This doesn't make sense," he muttered, pacing the length of the room. "The incantation is correct. The wand movement is a perfect replica of Smith's. My mana pool is deep enough to power a small village. So why isn't it sticking?"
He felt a flicker of irritation. The system's "quest rewards" were usually more intuitive, but this time, it had left him at the mercy of Professor Smith's teaching. And Smith, for all her talk of 'vigilance,' was proving to be a frustratingly incomplete instructor.
Albert stopped pacing and grabbed the book he had "borrowed" from the Restricted Section—The Geometry of the Infinite. He flipped past the screaming pages and the animated diagrams of tesseracts until he reached the core theory of spatial folding.
He read the passage three times. Then, he closed the book with a heavy thud.
"That manipulative snake," Albert hissed.
Smith had taught him the how, but she had conveniently omitted the what. According to the text, the Extension Charm didn't just require a destination; it required a precise, mathematical visualization of the volume being added. You didn't just 'expand' a box; you had to mentally calculate the cubic footage of the new space and 'anchor' it to the physical dimensions. It was like Apparition, but instead of a place, you had to visualize a void.
Smith hadn't mentioned the anchoring once. She'd watched him fail, probably enjoying the sight of the 'genius' struggling with a basic concept.
Albert took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and focused. This time, he didn't just see the box. He saw a room-sized cavern tucked behind the wood. He saw the coordinates of the air.
"Capacious Extremis!"
He felt a massive surge of magic drain from his core—far more than a Shield Charm. The air inside the crate seemed to suck inward with a soft whoosh.
He stepped forward and reached his arm into the crate. His hand went past the bottom. It kept going until his entire shoulder was inside the box, feeling nothing but cold, empty air.
[Skill Learned: Undetectable Extension Charm (Level 1)]
"Finally," he breathed.
Now that the skill was on the panel, he could sink his accumulated experience points into it, but he hesitated. Level 1 was enough for now. He had other problems—namely, how to turn the pile of Swamp Digger fur into something wearable. He wasn't a tailor, and while his magic was top-tier, his needlework was non-existent. He'd have to write to Madam Malkin or perhaps a specialist in London. A "Level 1 Tailoring" skill felt like a recipe for a very expensive mistake.
By the time lunch rolled around, Albert made his way to the Great Hall. The noise was deafening, a chaotic mix of students recounting their Hogsmeade adventures.
He spotted his roommates and sat down, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. He stopped mid-pour when he saw Lee Jordan.
Lee was sitting there with a massive, purplish bruise blooming around his left eye. He looked like he'd gone three rounds with a mountain troll.
"What happened to you?" Albert asked, impressed by the sheer color of the shiner. "Did a Dungbomb backfire?"
"Reflexes happened," Fred snickered, pointing a thumb at George.
"He kept poking me with that golden stick," George said, completely unrepentant as he shoveled bangers and mash into his mouth. "I told him to stop. He didn't. My hand moved on its own."
"I was just testing the sensitivity!" Lee complained, though his voice was muffled since he was holding a cold spoon against his eye. "It's a Truth Detector, Albert. I bought it at Zonko's. Look."
Lee held the rod out. As it got closer to Albert, the tip began to glow a faint, sickly green.
"Two Galleons for that?" Albert asked, taking the rod from him. He tapped it against his protective wooden bracelet. The rod vibrated weakly and then went limp. "The sensitivity is garbage. It's picking up the residual traces of the Extension Charm on my robes, but it's completely ignoring the high-level defensive enchantments on my wrist."
"It's a joke shop prop, not an Auror's kit," Lee grumbled, snatching his rod back. He tried to poke Albert's chest with it, half-expecting a reaction.
Albert's hand moved faster than Lee's eye could follow. He caught the rod inches from his ribs, his eyes flashing with a cold, sharp warning.
"Don't," Albert said softly.
Lee gulped and pulled the rod back immediately. "Right. No poking. Message received."
"You're too jumpy," Fred noted, watching Albert carefully. "You've been different since we got back. More... intense."
"I've just realized that being 'good at magic' isn't enough," Albert said, picking up a piece of ham. "Smith was right about one thing. Most wizards are defenseless. They rely on the Ministry to protect them, but the Ministry is just a collection of people who can't even cast a Shield Charm."
"Which is why we're going to be rich," George said, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment. "We're writing down ideas for 'Defense Jokes.' Things that look like toys but actually work as shields. We learned that from watching you."
"Selling toys won't make you real money," Albert interjected, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you want to survive the next few years—and I mean really survive—you need to stop thinking about jokes and start thinking about gear."
"Gear?" Fred frowned. "You mean like dragon-hide jackets? Those cost a fortune."
"I mean protective charms woven into everyday items," Albert said, tapping his bracelet. "I have news. News that's going to turn the Wizarding World upside down in a few years. When that happens, people won't be looking for Dungbombs. They'll be looking for anything that keeps them alive."
"What news?" Lee asked, leaning in so close he almost fell off the bench.
Albert looked at his three friends. He saw the curiosity, the trust, and the slight fear in their eyes. He thought about the diary in the basement, the ghost of Voldemort, and the looming shadow of the war he knew was coming.
"The kind of news that makes people disappear," Albert said, his grin turning sharp and enigmatic. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But you'll see. For now, just keep writing down those 'good ideas.' We're going to need every one of them."