The news of Gryffindor's sudden meteoric rise up the leaderboard traveled through the stone arteries of Hogwarts faster than a Firebolt. One moment, the lions were languishing in the cellar, their hourglass nearly empty; the next, they were sitting on a mountain of points that had effectively neutralized Slytherin's year-long lead.
The silver-and-green house was, to put it mildly, not taking it well. Slytherin had enjoyed a long reign of dominance, often bolstered by Snape's creative interpretation of the rules, and to be unseated by a single student's "Special Contribution" felt like a personal insult. Throughout the corridors, whispers turned into sneers, and sneers turned into open hostility.
It finally came to a head on a Tuesday afternoon. Albert, flanked by the twins and Lee Jordan, was heading toward the library when a group of Slytherin upperclassmen stepped out from behind a suit of armor, blocking their path. The leader was a sixth-year with a permanent scowl and a penchant for using his size to intimidate younger students.
"Look at the little hero," the sixth-year spat, his eyes darting toward the Gryffindors gathering behind Albert. "Tell us, Anderson, how much did you have to pay Dumbledore to buy those points? Or did you just cry until he felt sorry for you?"
Fred and George didn't wait for a signal. Their hands moved toward their pockets, their faces hardening. They'd spent months practicing dueling spells in the Room of Requirement, and they were more than ready to turn this hallway into a war zone. The air grew heavy, that familiar, sharp scent of ozone and "gunpowder" beginning to tickle the noses of those nearby.
Albert, however, didn't reach for his wand. He didn't even look angry. He simply stood there, watching the older student with a gaze so incredibly calm it was almost unsettling. There was a touch of weary helplessness in his eyes, the kind of look a professor gives a particularly slow student.
"You're still so young, aren't you?" Albert said softly, his voice cutting through the rising tension. "You hear a scrap of gossip in the common room and you come charging out here like a headless knight. It's remarkably reckless. Do you actually have a shred of evidence to back up what you just said? Or is a 'rumor' now considered a legal document in your house?"
The Slytherin opened his mouth to bark a retort, but Albert moved before he could speak. It wasn't a fast movement, but it was decisive. He reached out and placed a hand on the older boy's shoulder. It wasn't a shove; it was almost a gesture of comfort, yet the Slytherin froze as if he'd been hit with a Petrificus Totalus.
"I'll be honest with you," Albert sighed, shaking his head. "The constant noise, the whispering... it's becoming quite a nuisance. It's hard to focus on my research when I'm being accosted by people who can't think for themselves."
A heavy, eerie silence fell over the corridor. Even the portraits stopped their bickering to watch.
"I realize your brain might not be firing on all cylinders today," Albert continued, his voice steady and cool. "But next time, try not to believe everything you hear. What you're doing right now isn't 'defending your house.' It's showing everyone that you're either dangerously gullible or just looking for an excuse to be a bully. Neither look is particularly flattering."
A younger Slytherin tried to interject, but Albert gave him a blank, chilling stare that silenced him instantly. Since his confrontation with Rowena Smith—a battle where life and death had been the only stakes—Albert's aura had changed. He wasn't just a talented student anymore; he was someone who had stared down a killer and walked away. There was a weight to his presence that most students couldn't begin to process.
"I really hate it when people cause me trouble," Albert murmured, leaning in slightly. "And I'm going to go out on a limb and guess you don't like it either. Right?"
The silence stretched, agonizingly long.
"Now, apologize for the slip of the tongue," Albert said, his tone dropping to a whisper that felt like ice water down the spine. "Otherwise... well, I generally dislike resorting to physical altercations. But I won't hesitate to hang you from the battlements outside the castle. Try me. I always keep my word."
The Slytherin looked into Albert's eyes and saw something there that terrified him—a complete lack of doubt. After a tense heartbeat, the older boy looked down. "I... I apologize."
"Good. Let's not have a repeat performance," Albert said, patting his shoulder meaningfully one last time. "And do try to remember: jumping to conclusions based on hearsay just makes you look foolish. Don't be that guy."
He turned and walked away, not waiting for a response. The tension broke instantly. Most of the onlookers—Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors alike—burst into laughter, though they quickly stifled it when they realized Albert's comment about "fools believing rumors" probably applied to them, too.
"Exams are right around the corner," Albert muttered as he strode toward the library. "How does anyone have time for this gossip? Is everyone just bored, or is the homework load too light this year?"
Fred, George, and Lee Jordan scurried after him, exchange confused, delighted glances. The Slytherin student they'd left behind was bright red, vibrating with a mix of fury and embarrassment, but he didn't dare follow. He felt as though he'd just been dismantled by someone far older and more dangerous than a third-year student.
"That was... something else," Fred whispered once they were safely tucked away in an empty corridor near the library. He and George were doubled over, clutching their stomachs as the laughter finally exploded. "The look on his face! It was like you were his disappointed father!"
"Did you see his eyes?" George gasped between laughs. "I thought he was going to melt into the floor. I've never seen anyone handle a Slytherin sixth-year like that without even pulling a wand."
"How do you do that, Albert?" Lee asked, wiping tears from his eyes. "I couldn't do that if I had a script and a stage."
"I just made sure he was listening," Albert said calmly, pulling a heavy tome on ancient geometry from his bag.
"And if he hadn't apologized?" George asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Would you really have hung him off the castle walls?"
Albert narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable. "I said I would, didn't I? I'd have left him up there until he found the right words. I don't make threats, George. I make promises."
The three of them fell silent, realizing for the first time that Albert wasn't joking. They'd heard the expression "subduing people with virtue" before, but they were starting to understand that for Albert, "virtue" was backed up by a very real, very lethal capacity for force. It was a terrifyingly effective combination.
As the days bled into weeks, the incident became another Hogwarts legend. No one mocked the Slytherin student openly—partly because everyone felt a little called out by Albert's "fool" comment. People began to pipe down. When you really looked at it, there was no evidence Albert had cheated. There was no proof he'd bribed the Headmaster. He was just... Albert. And the more people thought about it, the more they realized that questioning a guy who could make a sixth-year apologize with a single look was probably a bad career move.
Dumbledore, true to form, said absolutely nothing. Albert continued to claim total ignorance. Eventually, the "conspiracy" died a natural death, buried under the mounting pressure of the upcoming exams.
The shadow of the end-of-term tests had officially descended. The library was packed from dawn until midnight, and the air in the Great Hall was thick with the smell of ink and anxiety. Rumors began to circulate that the Ministry was sending in "Inquisitors" to check for the use of Baruffio's Brain Potion.
In reality, the Ministry hadn't changed a thing. They didn't have the manpower or the magic to monitor hundreds of students simultaneously. Instead, they'd doubled down on their "fear campaign." Posters appeared on every bulletin board showing the "after" photos of Baruffio victims—people with permanent purple skin, loss of motor skills, and in one extreme case, a wizard whose ears had turned into leeks.
The publicized horror stories were effective. Most students were far too terrified of turning into a vegetable to risk the "elixir" from unknown sources