Albert looked up, squinting past the faint magical light still clinging to his fingertips, and saw the imposing figure of Professor McGonagall striding rapidly toward them. Her face was a mask of rigid fury that struggled to conceal deep, frantic worry.
Just behind her, Lee Jordan was hovering, wide-eyed, and following him was the towering, reassuring presence of Headmaster Dumbledore, his long silver beard slightly askew, a curiously amused twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
"Bud, you found them! Splendid!" Professor McGonagall let out a sharp, audible gasp of relief. Her stern gaze immediately snapped to Fred and George, assessing their condition for injury or lingering dark magic.
"I must clarify, Minerva, it was Mr. Anderson who performed the primary rescue," Professor Brood stated with a wry, knowing smile, carefully supporting the semi-conscious George. "By the time I arrived, Mr. Anderson had already extracted the Weasley boys from a very large, aggressive group of Giant Spiders trapped around a walnut tree."
"I beg your pardon, a group of… what did you just say?" Professor McGonagall's voice climbed several octaves, disbelief warring violently with her pedagogical authority.
"The Giant Eight-Eyed Spiders, Minerva," Brood confirmed, his expression sobering slightly. "There is an infestation—a significant, multiplying colony deep within the Forbidden Forest. They have almost no natural predators and have clearly bred to critical numbers."
"I see." Dumbledore's smile broadened, though his eyes narrowed with a keen, piercing curiosity that focused entirely on Albert. "However, I confess I am more intrigued by how Mr. Anderson located the Weasleys in that vast darkness, and, more importantly, managed to scatter an entire swarm of Acromantulas. As far as I am aware, those creatures are well beyond the capacity of even the most gifted first-year student."
Albert, suddenly feeling intensely exposed, expertly shifted his attention to Lee Jordan, studiously avoiding Dumbledore's unnervingly intelligent gaze. Even without using Legilimency, the Headmaster had a way of seeing straight through any convenient lie.
"Indeed, Headmaster, I share your curiosity," Professor Brood quickly intervened, his tone shifting to a gentle, necessary urgency. "But I believe the most immediate concern is getting them to the Hospital Wing. The Portkey we used was rather disorienting, and they are still somewhat… incapacitated."
"You are quite correct, Bud." Professor McGonagall nodded curtly, then fixed all three boys with a glare that promised retribution. "All three of you, with me. Now!"
"Excuse me, Professor," Albert interjected, careful to sound exhausted and helpful, "Lee, could you assist me in supporting Fred? I'm quite spent myself and barely have the strength to stand."
Lee Jordan rushed forward to help, giving Albert a moment of reprieve from the professorial scrutiny.
"Ah, this loyal fellow is Fang—Hagrid's companion," Professor Brood noted, pointing to the trembling hound huddled near his feet. "Mr. Anderson brought him along, hoping the dog's tracking ability would help locate the boys. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to have reacted well to the Portkey either."
"Worry not, I have already contacted Hagrid. He will be along momentarily," Dumbledore murmured softly. As if summoned by his words, the glow of an oil lamp appeared around the corner.
"Look, Minerva, there he is." Dumbledore smiled gently.
Hagrid rounded the corner, slightly tipsy and smelling faintly of strong ale and pipe smoke. "Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall... Professor Brood?" He squinted at the professors, then focused on the three pale students. "Ah! You three are safe! Good. Good. Always sneaking off into the woods when I'm not looking, those rascals."
Dumbledore calmly explained the situation, and the massive gamekeeper promised to retrieve Fang and look after him, his concern immediately focused on his beloved, timid pet.
After a quick farewell, the small procession finally reached the Hospital Wing.
Madam Pomfrey, roused from a deep sleep, was not in a forgiving mood. She efficiently examined the three students, treating them all with the same brusque, no-nonsense manner.
"There's nothing severe. The Weasley boys are suffering from severe Portkey shock and pure exhaustion. As for Mr. Anderson, he's simply running on fumes. A deep, restorative sleep will fix the lot of you," she declared, her arms crossed. "They need rest. The day after tomorrow, at the latest, they will be perfectly fine."
She moved immediately to dismiss the professors, eager to return to her bed.
"Poppy, we must ascertain the full details of this incident. It will only take a few minutes," Professor McGonagall insisted, her worry competing with her desire for discipline.
"Five minutes. Not a second more. The patients require immediate rest," Madam Pomfrey snapped, but she relented, handing Albert a generous square of dark chocolate—a common remedy for shock and fatigue.
"Very well, Mr. Anderson. Tell us, precisely, what occurred?" Professor McGonagall's tone softened as she looked at the clearly drained Albert, allowing him the deference of recounting the events.
Albert, now propped up in a clean, white hospital bed and chewing slowly on the restorative chocolate, recounted his meticulously crafted narrative. He explained the initial unease when he realized the twins hadn't returned, the confirmation of their presence in the forest via his quick owl to Lee Jordan, and his ultimate decision to act after finding Hagrid's hut empty.
"...I took Fang and the twins' old, distinctively scented hat, hoping the dog would track them. A place like the Forbidden Forest, Professor, is easy to get lost in, even if you're tracking red sparks. I quickly realized I needed a guide."
He paused for dramatic effect. "Along the way, I encountered a group of Centaurs. They weren't precisely welcoming," he admitted with a self-deprecating, tired laugh.
"But they adhere to their ancient laws—they claim never to harm colts. I reasoned that meant students. I was able to barter with them, claiming to be an associate of Hagrid's, and they reluctantly agreed to point me in the direction of the repeating Red Sparks. That's when I ran straight into the Giant Spider colony."
Fred, who was now conscious but pale, pulled out a slightly crushed handkerchief from his robe. On it, Albert's precise, neat handwriting was visible: "Throw Red Sparks high. If in dire need, seek the Centaurs. They will guide you out of the forest."
"The centaurs weren't exactly friendly, but they honoured the request written here," Fred confirmed weakly, supporting Albert's elaborate ruse.
"But how, Mr. Anderson, did you manage to defeat creatures that a half-giant would struggle against, and escape certain death?" Professor McGonagall pressed, her eyebrows practically meeting her hairline. "And that ring of fire, Brood mentioned?"
"Initially, I struggled," Albert confessed, choosing his words carefully. "Fang's constant alarm saved me from many ambushes, but the Shield Charm and Stunning Spells were useless against the spiders' hides." He bit off another piece of chocolate. "I then tried to apply the Dancing Charm—Tarantallegra—to their legs, hoping to simply immobilize them. It was surprisingly successful; a giant spider on roller skates, so to speak, is far less effective."
Professor Brood's face lit up. "A superb piece of lateral thinking! Your knowledge of Defensive Charms is truly exemplary, Mr. Anderson. I commend your ingenuity."
"Once I had a moment to catch my breath, Professor, I suddenly remembered a spell I'd seen referenced in a library book on specialty curses—the Spider Repelling Spell," Albert continued, maintaining his narrative of sudden, opportune recollection. "I never expected it to be so devastatingly effective against the creatures."
He then detailed how the spiders' increased aggression forced him to use the high-level Fire Charm—an Incendio Duo—to create a temporary channel, allowing him to reach the twins at the Guardian Tree. Finally, he described the constant, exhausting volley of the Repelling Spell needed to drive the swarm back until Professor Brood's arrival.
"Remarkable," Professor McGonagall said, shaking her head slowly. "Mr. Anderson, your resourcefulness and calculated courage are undeniable. But we must address the breaches of rule."
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley," she began, fixing the twins with a look of disappointment that cut deeper than any curse. "You deliberately defied two faculty members, entered the Forbidden Forest, and placed your lives in catastrophic danger based on a foolish, unfounded rumor. For these severe breaches of the school rules, and the necessary response they forced, you will each lose one hundred points from Gryffindor—a total of two hundred points."
Fred and George exchanged a devastating whistle. The few points Gryffindor had managed to accrue were now completely gone.
"Furthermore," McGonagall continued, her voice severe, "you will each serve one week of detention. No exceptions."
The twins slumped dramatically, the immediate relief of survival replaced by the crushing reality of discipline.
"As for Mr. Anderson," Professor McGonagall hesitated, wrestling with the dilemma of punishing a rule-breaker who was also a life-saver.
It was Dumbledore who broke the silence. "Mr. Anderson displayed extraordinary courage and wisdom, Minerva, in not only correctly deducing his friends' peril but also in navigating and neutralizing an unprecedented dark threat single-handedly. He saved two lives, and potentially averted a larger crisis regarding the spider population."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Albert. "I think such actions merit a special contribution to the school. I shall award two hundred points to Gryffindor."
Fred and George immediately revived, the lost points instantly restored, but the detention still loomed.
Professor Brood then added, with a gentle smile, "And since Mr. Anderson's timely intervention with the Spider Repelling Charm prevented me from suffering serious injury from a lingering Acromantula, which would have been inconvenient at best, I believe I owe him a personal debt. I award an additional fifty points to Gryffindor for bravery beyond expectation."
A total of two hundred and fifty points for Gryffindor. The twins were ecstatic, their penalty instantly mitigated by Albert's genius.
"One final matter," Professor McGonagall stated, her voice hardening again as she turned to the twins. "What is this 'Gryffindor secret treasure' that tempted you to such suicidal idiocy?"
Under the weight of her interrogation, the twins confessed the details of the map.
"And where is this map now?" McGonagall demanded, expecting to confiscate the dangerous parchment.
"I left it behind in the Forbidden Forest," Albert quickly interjected, his voice firm. "I did it to prevent them from suffering another moment of brain death and going back for it. One stupid mistake is quite enough for all of us, Professor."
McGonagall's expression did not soften. She merely stared at the boys, assessing the sincerity of the statement. "Very well. If the map is truly lost, that is a risk I will accept, provided its absence prevents further recklessness." She glanced at the twins. "You will consider this a permanent warning. Do not disappoint me again."
"Now, Poppy, they have confessed everything," Dumbledore said gently. "I believe your patients are due for their rest."
Madam Pomfrey marched back, holding three small, steaming goblets. "Time for your draughts. Drink it all down; it will guarantee a deep, restorative sleep."
Albert instantly recognized the thick, lilac-colored liquid. The Draught of Living Death—or a mild variation thereof. Under the watchful, stern eye of Madam Pomfrey, he raised the goblet and drank the potion in a single, bitter gulp.
The effect was immediate and overwhelming. A heavy, pleasant numbness washed over his limbs, his head swam, and his eyelids felt like lead. He felt himself sink deep into the cool, pristine white sheets, closing his eyes without any conscious thought, drifting instantly into a vast, dreamless oblivion.
Outside the Hospital Wing, after Lee Jordan was dismissed with ten points for seeking help, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Brood walked slowly down the corridor, the Headmaster stroking the beak of his phoenix, Fawkes.
"Mr. Anderson is largely truthful, I believe," Professor Brood mused, his hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But I remain surprised he found the Weasleys. The Centaur story, however convenient, sounds plausible enough to credit, given the boy's evident linguistic talents and audacity."
"He is a brilliant boy, Bud. And a very cautious one, for all his bravery," Dumbledore murmured, his eyes distant, as if seeing more than the stone walls. "But now, tell me what you intended to discuss before the children were brought in."
Professor Brood's wry smile returned, tinged now with a heavy sense of fatalism. "Headmaster, Minerva, I think I must tender my resignation immediately."
McGonagall stopped dead in the corridor. "Resign? Bud, you've only just started the post! Is this about the spider colony? We can deal with the creatures—"
"No, no, Minerva," Brood chuckled darkly. "The spiders are a new problem, but the post itself is the old one. This position truly brings bad luck and misfortune. Already, I have had a near-fatal encounter with creatures that should not exist in these numbers, and I was forced to stand within a foot of death. The pattern is inescapable. Resigning before the curse inflicts its full damage upon me is undoubtedly the most strategically sound, wise decision I can make. My term has been productive, but survival is ultimately the highest priority."
McGonagall sighed, deeply and wearily. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts curse…"
"It seems to be holding steady, yes," Brood confirmed. "I will prepare my notice and suggest potential replacements. Good evening, Headmaster. Minerva." With a polite bow, Professor Brood turned and walked down the darkened corridor, leaving the other two professors in stunned silence.
"Now we must deal with the Acromantulas, and find a new professor," McGonagall muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"And what of this Gryffindor secret treasure the twins spoke of?" Dumbledore asked, his focus shifting back to the lighter, though still dangerous, topic.
McGonagall pulled a spare piece of parchment from her sleeve, frowning. "They seemed utterly convinced it was real. But the map is lost, according to Albert."
"Similar legends do exist, of course, regarding all four founders leaving behind a legacy," Dumbledore said softly, his voice full of the knowledge of ages. "Some claim they hid their greatest works—priceless artifacts, scrolls of prophecy, perhaps great riches. You know, legends are not always reliable, even if they have some historical root."
All three remained silent for a moment, weighing the weight of ancient myth against the night's terrifying reality. They had all dealt with the mythical before.
The legend of the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts, for instance, persisted, but no one had ever found the supposed hideout Slytherin left behind. Legends were powerful motivators, and tonight, they had nearly claimed the lives of three students.
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Merry Christmas to u all. Hope u all are happy and healthy ☺️ ☺️