The heavy silence of the Room of Requirement felt worlds away the moment Albert stepped back into the frantic, noisy atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room. It was like switching from a calm, controlled environment into a high-speed engine room. He slumped into his favorite armchair, letting the familiar, chaotic warmth of the fire wash over him. He dropped a thick leather-bound tome onto his lap, let out a long, weary yawn that he made no effort to hide, and allowed his eyes to drift toward the far corner of the room.
A small, buzzing cluster of students was huddled around the main notice board. They were vibrating with that particular brand of nervous, high-octane energy that only preceded a significant school milestone.
"What's the commotion?" Albert asked, tilting his head slightly as Lee Jordan navigated through the crowd and stumbled past him. Lee looked like he had just won the lottery, clutching a handful of parchment scraps.
"You haven't seen it yet?" Lee pointed a thumb back at the board, his grin practically splitting his face. "The Hogsmeade permission slips just went up. The first weekend is mid-October. Finally, a chance to escape this stone prison."
"About time," Fred added, appearing out of nowhere and plopping onto the armrest of Albert's chair. His eyes were already gleaming with potential profits. "We're running dangerously low on those odor-eliminating pellets. If we don't get a restock of Zonko's finest, our dorm is going to be officially declared a biohazard by next week."
Shanna, who had been hunched over a terrifyingly complex translation of ancient runic scripts, looked up and sighed, rubbing her temples. "Is it physically impossible for you two to go a single day without actively antagonizing Filch? The man is a bitter, miserable creature, I grant you that, but he hasn't done anything to you lately."
"That's where you're wrong," George chimed in, leaning over from behind the sofa. "The man is a catalyst for chaos. We're merely reacting to his hostility."
Fred waved a hand dismissively. "Actually, we've been trying to figure out if we can profit off the faculty. We tried offloading those garlic-infused crosses onto Quirrell last week. Poor bloke looked like he was going to faint, the way he stammered at us. I'm telling you, the way he keeps that turban wrapped tight, he's definitely hiding a vampire-hunting stash in there."
Albert couldn't help but roll his eyes, leaning back into his chair. "You honestly think he's hiding a tactical garlic supply under that fabric? Use your heads for once."
"Then explain the smell, Albert!" Fred insisted, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's not just normal, everyday BO. It's pungent. It's earthy. It's like a garden of rot. If he isn't hiding a secret weapon, he's hiding a corpse."
"Maybe it's not a secret weapon," Albert murmured, his gaze drifting to the firelight dancing in the hearth. "Maybe it's something entirely more... complicated."
"What kind of complicated?" George asked, his curiosity instantly piqued.
Albert offered a noncommittal shrug, refusing to take the bait. "Your guess is as good as mine. I just find it interesting that a man so terrified of his own shadow chooses to teach in a school built on a mountain of secrets."
"How about we test the theory?" George suggested, his eyes flashing with a familiar, dangerous glint. "If we could just nudge Peeves into doing a bit of investigative work—specifically regarding the integrity of that turban—we'd have our answer by dinner."
"Peeves doesn't work for free, and you know it," Albert reminded them.
"Angelina, for the love of Merlin, help me," a voice cut across their planning.
Angelina Johnson had marched over, looking absolutely defeated. She shoved a piece of parchment into Albert's hands. "Tell me I'm not losing my mind. This translation... it feels like it's written in a different language than the dictionary."
Albert glanced down at the parchment for a fraction of a second. "You've completely misread the syntax here. It's not 'The path of the ancestors,' it's 'The warning of the dead.' You missed the inflection on the primary rune."
Angelina groaned, letting her head drop back. "I hate this class. I truly, deeply hate it. Why did I ever think picking Ancient Runes was a good idea?"
"What about mine, Albert?" Shanna asked, sliding her own work over. Her brow was furrowed with genuine effort. "I've been cross-referencing with the dictionary for an hour, and I still feel like I'm guessing at the meaning."
Albert scanned her work, pointing out a few subtle errors with his wand. Shanna leaned in, her eyes tracing his corrections, her frustration melting into a look of focused realization. To anyone else, the course was a nightmare of indecipherable geometry, but to Albert, it was as simple as reading a child's primer. He had long since moved past the point where Babbling's lectures held any intellectual weight. In fact, he spent most of his time in that class quietly correcting the textbook, finding errors in the author's logic and scrawling angry, scholarly notes in the margins. It was a petty hobby, but it kept his mind sharp.
"By the way," Albert said, shifting the topic back to the boys, "how is that secondary project going? The one we discussed for the acne relief?"
George shook his head, his face turning serious. "Still hitting a wall. We have the base formula, but we're struggling to procure enough Bubotuber pus without raising alarms. We've been trying to sneak into the Third Greenhouse, but Sprout is becoming paranoid."
Albert nodded. The beauty industry in the wizarding world was a massive, untapped market, especially within the school. Every student worried about appearances, and a quick-fix potion would be worth its weight in gold. Albert had the technical knowledge to refine the extraction process; he just needed his friends to do the field work.
"Keep at it," Albert encouraged. "If you can get me a reliable supply, I'll handle the stabilization. It'll be a profitable venture for all of us."
Just then, Lee Jordan returned from the edge of the circle, looking frazzled. "Have you heard the rumors? Someone else had a near-death encounter in the fourth-floor corridor. Apparently, a Hufflepuff kid wandered in and was nearly chewed to pieces by that massive dog. Quirrell supposedly had to step in and hex the thing just to get the kid out."
"A Hufflepuff in the restricted corridor?" Albert raised an eyebrow, picking up Tom, his cat, and settling him into his lap. "That doesn't sound like a 'spur of the moment' mistake. That sounds like someone was being steered."
"What do you mean?" Lee asked.
"Nothing," Albert said dismissively, stroking Tom's ears. He had a strong suspicion that Quirrell wasn't just saving students; he was performing controlled experiments. Pushing boundaries. Seeing how the beast reacted to different magical signatures.
The conversation drifted back to the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.
"I have a goal," Albert announced, picking his book back up. "I intend to reach one hundred books read by the end of the term."
"One hundred?" Shanna whistled. "I thought you were already there."
"Not even halfway," he admitted. "Second-year curriculum is far more demanding than the first."
Shanna smiled, leaning back against the sofa. "I've been reading about Hogsmeade in a historical text. It's fascinating. Apparently, it was the actual headquarters for the Goblin Rebellion of 1612. It's got such a violent, layered history."
"It's also a filthy, cramped, and noisy place if you end up in the wrong tavern," Albert countered. "And if you're planning on drinking anything at the Hog's Head, bring your own cup."
"I heard it's the only place in Britain where you're completely free of Muggles," Shanna said, clearly excited.
Albert just shrugged. He'd already seen it all, and frankly, he wasn't interested in a guided tour. He felt a sudden weight in his pocket—the communication bookmark he'd given Isabelle. He tapped his wand against his robes, his concentration narrowing as he sent a silent pulse of intent into the artifact.
Hogsmeade. Would you like to make an appointment?
Within seconds, the bookmark grew warm against his leg. He slipped it out and turned it over.
Mm.
The single, elegant word appeared in black ink on the silver surface. A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You don't seem very enthusiastic, Albert," Shanna noted, watching him intently. "We were all thinking of heading out together as a group. You know the layout better than anyone—you could show us the best spots."
Albert looked up, his expression polite but firm. "I'm afraid I already have my own itinerary planned for the day. Lee can walk you through the highlights; he's more than capable."
The girls exchanged a disappointed look, but they knew better than to push him when he was in one of his 'reserved' moods.
"Fine," Shanna said, a little deflated. "We'll find our own way, then."