Albert didn't pause to admire his handiwork. He sprinted through the center of the raging fire channel, Fang howling wildly, dragging the massive hound by his collar. The giant spiders, driven by instinct, recoiled violently from the sudden, intense heat and light, leaving a miraculously clear path leading directly to the Guardian Tree.
He reached the scarred, ancient bark, gasping for breath, the heat of his own spell licking at his robes. Before he even started climbing, he swept his wand down, casting Incendio Duo again.
A final ring of fierce, contained fire immediately sprang up three meters around the tree's base, completing the temporary perimeter. Without continuous fuel, this third ring would only last a minute, but it was a crucial buffer.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Albert cast the Levitation Charm, not on himself, but on the terrified hound. Fang, lifted abruptly from the ground, let out a mournful, muffled shriek, scrambling his four paws desperately in the air as if treading water.
"Quickly, pull me up!" Albert gripped the thick, lower branches, the bark rough and comforting beneath his hands. Fred and George, finally shaking off their paralyzing shock, lunged down, grabbing his arms and hauling him upward with desperate strength.
They pulled him onto the sturdy, makeshift wooden platform Albert had created earlier with a precise Transformation Charm. Fang, his Levitation Charm dissolving as his body hit the stable surface, scrambled tremulously behind Albert's legs, hiding in the relative safety of the branches.
"Albert? Why are you here?!" Fred demanded, his face streaked with sweat and cobwebs, his tone a mix of profound relief and utter disbelief.
"Who else did you expect?" Albert retorted, his chest heaving, his voice laced with biting sarcasm. He glared at the twins, not with fear, but with genuine, exhausted fury. "Professor McGonagall? Albus Dumbledore? By the time they fully realized you were missing, you would have been cleanly stripped from the bone and devoured."
The twins flinched, shame flushing their dirt-caked faces. They knew he was right. It was the Easter holiday; if Albert hadn't acted immediately, their reckless adventure would have been discovered far too late—perhaps only when Hagrid came to collect a few lingering, shredded remnants the following morning.
"What's the plan now?" George asked, moving aside to give Albert full view of the carnage below.
"The plan is to wait for rescue," Albert stated, finally catching his breath. He scanned the edges of the dying fire and the furious, massed spiders beyond. "When I realized you'd run off, I sent Lee Jordan to find Professor McGonagall. The faculty will be here soon. Keep firing the Red Sparks to guide them."
"You… you came into the forest alone? After we disappeared?" George stared at him, the fear momentarily eclipsed by the audacity of the journey.
"How did you even find us deep inside the Forbidden Forest?" Fred pressed, looking at the dense trees and the impossible distance Albert had covered.
"Do you have time for a full debriefing right now?" Albert snapped, ignoring their awe. He gestured sharply towards the ground. The fire ring had shrunk, flickering rapidly before dying out completely. The spider army, temporarily thwarted, was now closing in again, clicking their mandibles in a rising chorus of hunger.
"How did you even manage to provoke this many Giant Spiders? Did you actually steal an egg?" Albert's brow furrowed, his patience thinning. He raised his wand and fired a clean, potent Arania Exumai at a spider testing the height of the branch.
"No, we didn't! We only encountered a few, maybe five or six, on the way in. We ran here to the Guardian Tree for refuge," Fred defended, shame warring with panic.
"And that's how this glorious siege developed," George finished dryly.
"Arania Exumai!"
The air crackled again. Looking down from the relative safety of the branch, the view was truly horrifying: a dense, squirming carpet of black spiders.
"Keep firing the Red Sparks. Do not stop," Albert ordered sharply.
George continued the signal flare, sneaking another bewildered look at Albert. It was almost impossible for the twins to reconcile the studious, calculating Albert they knew with the figure of the determined warrior standing beside them, fighting off an army. Not even a seasoned professor would have navigated the dark woods and found them so efficiently.
"Protego Maxima! Protego Maxima! Protego Maxima!" Albert chanted, layering three powerful defensive spells that seamlessly melded into one thick, invisible dome, completely encasing the Guardian Tree and the platform.
The front rank of the giant spiders hit the magical barrier with a collective, wet thud, the impact momentarily silencing the clicking.
"What in Merlin's name is that spell?!" George cried out, genuinely astonished by the sheer strength of the invisible wall.
"We're safe now, right?" Fred whispered, leaning against the solid, humming shield.
"Don't be an idiot. We're temporarily secured," Albert corrected, shaking his head with a tired sigh. "If the professors don't arrive soon, this barrier will shatter and they'll eat the lot of us. Didn't you notice how much more agitated they are now? Their hunger is overriding their fear of the wards."
The twins exchanged a look of renewed terror. Albert was right. The spiders were no longer hesitant; they were maddened by the proximity of their prey.
"Why didn't you wait for the professors?" Fred finally asked the core question. He couldn't fathom Albert taking such a monumental, self-sacrificing risk.
"I tried the official channels first," Albert explained, patting Fang's head absently. "Hagrid was gone, so I had to use Fang to track your distinctive stench. Thanks to the hound's nose, I was warned about the first ambush."
"So you crossed the whole forest by yourself," George repeated, utterly subdued.
The twins finally understood the source of Albert's Gryffindor sorting. The sheer, cold-blooded courage and calculated audacity he displayed far exceeded the reckless impulse that had defined their own entry into the forest.
"Right, now that we've confirmed the basics," Albert said, turning to them with a serious expression. "Hand it over."
"Hand what over?"
"The map. The source of all this idiocy." Albert fixed them with a warning gaze. "The map to Gryffindor's hidden treasure. Did you genuinely believe such utter garbage? I warned you, explicitly, that this forest might be a breeding ground for these creatures. You didn't listen. Now you've nearly become spider food. Do you believe your lesson ends tonight?"
Fred and George squirmed, recalling his specific warnings about the eight-eyed spiders. Albert's warnings always seemed to carry a strange, self-fulfilling prophecy.
Are his words cursed?
"How did you know there was an infestation of Giant Eight-Eyed Spiders here?" Fred asked, changing the subject, genuinely curious about the root of this terror.
"I didn't 'know,' I suspected," Albert clarified, looking down at the swarming black mass. "The Forbidden Forest is an environment without any natural predators for them, and with enough food, they will multiply. Someone—or something—has been releasing them into this forest for decades. It's a disaster waiting to happen."
He knew the truth about Hagrid and Aragog, but he framed it as an environmental observation, deflecting attention from the secret.
Click! Click!
As they spoke, the Protego Maxima dome began to whine under the relentless assault, visible hairline fractures appearing in the shimmering magic. A barrier that wide simply lacked the durability of a focused, one-person shield.
"It's failing! What do we do?" Fred gripped the branch desperately.
"You keep firing those sparks. I'll keep the closest ones back," Albert commanded, readying his wand.
The second the magical dome shattered with a sound like tearing silk, Albert was already casting Incendio Duo in rapid, sweeping arcs, creating a constant, moving curtain of fire just beneath their position. He returned to his siege-breaker spell. He needed targets. He needed XP.
"Arania Exumai!"
The white light became a terrifying metronome of death, slamming into the advancing horde. With so many targets, he didn't even need to aim; every shot found purchase, knocking a massive, hairy body off its perch or sending it tumbling into the shadows.
"What is that spell, Albert? It's completely obliterating them!" George yelled over the roar of the fire and the clicking of the mandibles.
Albert didn't answer. He was lost in the rhythm of the battle, his eyes fixed on the numbers appearing in the corner of his vision: +50 XP. +50 XP. +50 XP.
Professor Brood will be here any second. This is my only window.
He was efficiently farming experience, turning a terrifying situation into a necessary transaction. Every successful spell mastery and the raw experience gained were worth the exhaustion.
After an unknown period of frantic spell-casting, the relentless assault finally waned. The front line of the spider swarm was littered with defeated, convulsing, or unmoving bodies. The remaining spiders—their ancient, primal fear reasserting itself—began to retreat in large, disorderly droves.
"The spiders are retreating!" George shouted, his voice hoarse with adrenaline and relief. "We can go now!"
"No, we're staying here," Albert said, leaning heavily against the trunk, shoving a large chunk of chocolate into his mouth to restore his spent magical energy. "Move away from the Guardian Tree's protection and you're exposed again. Now, stop being useless and think: What is your lie? Rehearse the map story."
"What do you need the map for?" George asked suspiciously, still looking at the retreating swarm.
"The map is the evidence of your monumental lapse in judgment," Albert explained, his tone flat and weary. "I'm confiscating it. I know you'll try to find this 'treasure' again. One near-fatal, stupid mistake is enough for a lifetime. Give it to me. Now."
Fred, defeated and humiliated, reluctantly pulled the folded parchment from his pocket. Before he could utter a word of protest, Albert snatched it, shoving it into his deep robe pocket without a glance.
"Don't you trust us not to come back?" George grumbled, annoyed by the assumption.
"Do you even believe that yourself?" Albert countered, pinning George with a stare. "Focus on the real consequence: when you get back, you're dealing with Professor McGonagall. She will be informing your parents. That is the true punishment."
"Oh, Merlin!" Fred wailed, momentarily forgetting the spiders, his fear of his mother overriding the immediate danger. He threw his hands up in despair and almost lost his footing.
Albert reacted instantaneously, leaning out and grabbing Fred's arm, hauling him back. George, further away and distracted by the existential dread of their mother, wasn't so lucky. He stumbled on the edge of the branch, crying out as he fell with a sickening crash to the earth below.
"George!" Fred screamed.
"Are you hurt?" Albert leaned over the side, looking down at the groaning figure.
"Something's definitely broken! I hate everything!" George moaned, clutching his leg.
"Fantastic. Now we have a casualty," Albert muttered, pulling Fred back fully. "You two have managed to prove my point perfectly. Stay put. I'm coming down."
Just as Albert prepared to climb down and retrieve George, a deep purple shimmer of light erupted on the far side of the clearing.
The clicking stopped. Silence descended, heavy and absolute.
A figure emerged, walking with a calm, unhurried pace. To Albert's surprise, it was not the expected Deputy Headmistress, but Professor Brood, the Ancient Runes professor. He was clad in a dark, slightly torn robe, a smudge of soot near his cheek.
"Well now, you three seem to have had a rather productive evening," Professor Brood said, his expression completely neutral, though his eyes gleamed with an unnerving, strange intensity as he surveyed the massive area of defeated spiders. "Mr. Anderson, your recklessness is only matched by your sheer efficacy. It's quite impressive."
"Good evening, Professor Brood," Albert greeted him, his demeanor instantly shifting to that of a polite, relieved student. "I didn't expect it would be you. I sent Lee to find Professor McGonagall."
"A fortuitous encounter. I ran into Mr. Jordan just as I was heading out," Brood explained, slowly approaching the Guardian Tree, his eyes never leaving the carnage. "He relayed the urgency, so I came directly. I must say, I am relieved to see you've managed to subdue the local residents."
"I brought Hagrid's hound along, sir," Albert replied, falling back on the prepared excuse, patting Fang's head. "Hagrid mentioned that no creature in the forest would harm me while he was near."
"Indeed?" Professor Brood raised an eyebrow, a slight, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Do you truly believe that, Mr. Anderson? Or was that just a convenient theory?"
Albert felt a sudden wave of discomfort. Brood's focus wasn't on the lost boys, but on him.
"By the way, that spell you were using—the one that launched them so decisively," Brood continued, his voice deceptively casual. "Arania Exumai, if I'm not mistaken? That's typically not taught until the fifth year, and rarely produces such overwhelming force even then. Could you share how you managed such formidable power with it?"
The Professor was tracking his unique magical prowess. Brood had seen the result of dozens, perhaps a hundred, rapid-fire spell casts that had cleanly defeated creatures normally immune to first-year magic.
"Look out!" George yelled from the ground.
Albert, without a moment of conscious thought, snapped his wand up and instinctively fired a final, exhausted Arania Exumai at a struggling spider that had managed to right itself near Brood's heel.
The spell struck the spider with a flash of white light, turning it to ash and sending a faint puff of smoke into the air.
"Ah, thank you, Mr. Anderson," Professor Brood said calmly, turning from the dissipating smoke cloud. "If one of those large fellows had decided to nip at me, I'd have had to retire early." He walked directly to George, examining his leg. "We must depart immediately. Let's find a temporary Portkey."
"Use this, Professor," Albert suggested, tossing Fred's magically-charged, sweaty hat down.
"Why are you carrying my hat?" Fred asked, bewildered, recognizing the soggy piece of fabric.
"I brought it for the hound, so he could pick up your scent faster," Albert replied, tired of the endless, idiotic questions.
Professor Brood tapped the hat with his wand. It glowed a soft, pulsing blue.
"Alright, gentlemen. We'll be using this Portkey to return. It won't be pleasant, but hold tight," Brood instructed gently. "You will all reach out and grasp the hat. I will count to three. George, you can lean on me."
"One…" Professor Brood began quietly. "Two… three…"
Albert, Fred, and Brood—supporting the groaning George—reached out and touched the old wizard's hat. Immediately, an invisible, overwhelming force seized them, yanking them violently upwards and sideways. Everything dissolved into a blur of color and violent nausea.
A few seconds later, they crashed down hard onto solid, familiar stone. Albert hit the ground, followed by the others. The wizard's hat fluttered gently from the sky, landing squarely on Fred's head.
They were in the entrance hall of Hogwarts.
Fred and George immediately scrambled away, collapsing onto their hands and knees and retching violently, their faces sickly green in the torchlight.
Albert was only marginally better, leaning against a pillar, his body aching from the violent spatial dislocation.
"Don't worry, gentlemen, that was the 'sleeping' Portkey," Professor Brood said, completely unruffled as he used a quick spell to stabilize George's leg. "Miss Pomfrey will fix them. We should get them to the hospital wing immediately. I'll take George."
As Albert reached out to help the still-heaving Fred, the sound of rapid, furious footsteps echoed down the stone corridor toward them.
The immediate danger was over, but the consequences had just begun.
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Actually, it's Professor Brood. Sometimes i had written Professor Brod previously, pls bear with this only.