It is a well-known, and often tiresome, truth in the castle that Gryffindors possess a notable inability to maintain secrecy.
The tale of Albert Anderson's midnight foray into the Forbidden Forest to retrieve the lost Weasley twins was not just a piece of gossip; it was a self-replicating myth, embellished with every telling, passing from the common room whispers to the corridors, and finally, to the broader student body.
By breakfast the following day, the story had grown to truly mythic proportions.
The latest, most popular version claimed that Albert, armed only with a Level 1 Wand and sheer audacity, had single-handedly tracked the twins deep into the ancient forest using obscure Runic Tracking charms.
He had then confronted a colossal nest of Giant Eight-Eyed Spiders—not a hundred, but thousands—and engaged in a legendary battle, slaying the horrifying arachnids with a new, terrifyingly effective Blasting Curse of his own invention.
Furthermore, the tale asserted that when the hostile Centaurs attempted to shoot him for trespassing, Albert, through an act of impossible diplomacy, had somehow convinced the tribal elders to grant him a protective escort to the twins, and later, a triumphant parade escort back to the castle grounds.
The whole thing was patently ridiculous.
No sane student could look at the composed, slightly aloof first-year and believe he was a legendary warrior capable of defeating an army of monsters that even the Ministry of Magic officially classified as Class XXXXX—known wizard-killers.
And yet, the rumors persisted, fueled by the sixty house points Dumbledore had awarded Gryffindor in the aftermath of the event. Points, after all, are irrefutable evidence.
Albert, who had been deliberately quiet, neither confirming nor denying the wildest exaggerations, knew this bubble of absurdity had to be popped—or, more accurately, redirected. He didn't want the reputation of a reckless duellist; he wanted the reputation of a calculating strategist and a scholarly prodigy. The former attracted unwanted challenges; the latter attracted powerful patrons.
The moment he sat down at the Gryffindor table for lunch, a large, expectant throng of students, including prefects and even a few upper-year Hufflepuffs, immediately converged on him.
"Albert, the truth! We need the true account!" cried an impatient fifth-year.
"Tell us how you defeated the Spider Lord! Was it a new spell?" demanded a third-year.
Albert sighed, theatrically, the picture of an overworked, exhausted young wizard. He reluctantly set down his fork, abandoning his perfectly cooked Cornish pasty, and looked up at the sea of eager faces.
"Fine. You want the truth?" Albert began, adopting a tired, defeated tone that implied he was being forced to reveal a humiliating secret.
"Actually, that night, I defeated a relentless, seemingly endless horde of spider monsters along the way," he started, repeating the most unbelievable parts of the rumor. "I almost came to blows with the centaurs, a stubborn lot who insisted I should be shot on sight. I had to negotiate with them using ancient, forgotten runes and an elaborate promise of a future gift to get them to acknowledge the emergency flare Fred had set off."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially, yet loud enough for everyone to hear. "When I finally arrived, I found Fred and George cornered on a precarious, swaying branch of the Guardian Tree, surrounded by a swirling, multi-eyed darkness of spider monsters."
He paused for dramatic effect, letting the horror of the scene settle in.
"I managed to turn the tables by utilizing a rare, highly illegal Dark Arts spell that causes mass, synchronized hallucinations—making the spiders believe they were eating each other. That bought us the few seconds we needed for Professor Brood's Portkey to activate. I drove off the giant spiders and rescued the Weasley brothers, though I had to leave behind my invisibility cloak and half a dozen potion vials in the chaos."
An eerie, stunned silence fell over the assembled students. They looked from one another to Albert, who merely slumped back onto the bench, staring mournfully at his plate. The story was far too specific, too absurd, and too clearly invented to be anything but a deliberate lie. The Dark Arts spell, the mythical runes, the 'Spider Lord'—it was all nonsense.
After a moment of profound quiet, a nervous snort of laughter broke the tension, followed by a ripple of suppressed giggles.
"You're right not to believe it," Albert said, sighing dramatically, meeting their eyes with a look of profound exasperation. "Do you honestly believe the original rumors, let alone come and ask me if they're true? Are you all so bored with your holiday homework that you've finally lost your basic sense of judgment?"
Many students flushed, their faces darkening. Albert's calculated insult hit home: Are you being stupid enough to believe something a first-year shouldn't be capable of? By dismissing the true events as just as ridiculous as his made-up version, he effectively inoculated himself against the scrutiny.
Since Albert, the person centrally involved, was so clearly mocking them for their gullibility, the matter was immediately considered closed. The crowd sheepishly began to disperse, suddenly feeling foolish for believing a tall tale.
"Wait, Albert, you really fought over a hundred of them though, didn't you?" Shanna asked, her voice softer, pulling him aside as the others left. "Professor McGonagall announced sixty points for Gryffindor. That part must be true."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Shanna," Albert replied, his lips twitching slightly at her earnestness. "Believe fewer rumors next time. It's important to decide for yourself whether something is true or not, otherwise you risk losing your ability to distinguish fact from fiction."
"But the points are real!" Shanna insisted. "You must have done something monumental!"
"He did! He was amazing!" Fred chimed in enthusiastically, finally finding his voice, ready to detail the true, terrifying account of the Draconifors spell and the Repelling Charm.
Albert shot him a quick, piercing glare that silenced him instantly. "I recall you still have a week of quarantine detention, right, Fred?" Albert interrupted smoothly, his voice dropping to a low, warning tone. "Mr. Filch wanted me to remind you to be in his office at six tonight, promptly, to begin your sentence. I wouldn't want you to be late and earn yourselves another week, would I?"
Fred's face fell, and he clammed up immediately, realizing Albert's message: Do not compromise the official narrative.
"Detention?" Angelina Johnson asked, surprised, looking between the suddenly crestfallen twins. "Gryffindor gained sixty points, but you two got detention?"
"It was a bizarre combination of outcomes," Albert conceded, allowing his narrative to be twisted into a riddle.
"Actually, Lee Jordan and I informed Professor McGonagall that Fred and George were missing and had illegally entered the forest. We even sent an emergency owl confirming their position via the red flare. Professor McGonagall was grateful for the proactive intelligence, and she rewarded Lee and me with thirty points each for our quick action and resourcefulness. The twins were then given detention for breaking school rules."
Lee Jordan, who had been listening intently, quickly nodded, playing his part. "That's exactly right! We were quick on the uptake, Angelina. Thirty points each for being the smartest blokes in the room."
Angelina looked at the perfectly synchronized pair—Albert, all serious and precise; Lee, all casual and agreeable—then at the chastened Fred and George, and shook her head, thoroughly confused. The story was confusing, yet consistent, built on a foundation of partial truths.
"Let's head to the library, chaps," Albert suggested, standing up. "Since two of you are facing a week of forced labor, we need to maximize our study time now to ensure you don't fall behind on your homework."
Fred and George agreed immediately. They were acutely aware that their holiday homework had progressed at a snail's pace compared to Albert's meticulous planning. Lee Jordan didn't object, eager to get the work done.
"I suddenly realize how simple-minded those people were, believing your absurd version of the story!" Fred muttered as they walked away.
"Because they don't want to admit they were wrong," a soft, cynical voice called out from behind Albert.
All four stopped and turned. Izebel Carrow, her dark hair gleaming in the hall light, stood there, her younger sister Katrina Carrow trailing behind her.
"Professor Brood is looking for you, Albert," Izebel stated flatly.
"Sorry, guys, looks like my study session is delayed. We'll meet up tomorrow morning," Albert said, excusing himself from his roommates.
He turned to Izebel. "Congratulations on becoming the new big name at Hogwarts. Everyone's talking about you. Perhaps you should start keeping a detailed diary; it might become a legendary historical document in a few years."
"No need, thank you," Albert retorted, a faint edge of irritation in his voice. "And next time, pay less attention to the gossip. Dwelling on such things leads to lazy thinking and the easy loss of your most basic sense of judgment—the very mental retardation I spoke of."
Izebel's lips curved into a thin, knowing smile. "There's a Special Contribution Medal with your name already engraved on it in the Awards Exhibition Hall. Go see for yourself if you doubt the result." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Next time you try to fool an entire school, be careful not to leave behind too many inconvenient truths that contradict your narrative."
"I'm just providing the conclusion everyone desperately wants to hear," Albert said, shrugging, completely unashamed at being seen through. "Sometimes people don't want the complicated, terrifying truth; they just want a simple, satisfying answer. There is no benefit in stubbornly arguing with a mob."
Izebel's smile vanished. "Then next time you speak to me, remember to put aside that perverse sense of humor. Don't you find your manner tiresome when you treat everyone around you as a mere fool to be managed?"
"I'm simply stating the facts as they pertain to the current social dynamic," Albert corrected mildly.
"So that whole thing… was it really true, Albert?" Katrina asked, stepping forward, looking from her highly perceptive sister to the frustratingly evasive first-year.
"Fake," Albert replied bluntly, already walking away towards the staircase.
Katrina looked at Izebel, waiting for her sister to confirm Albert's latest answer.
"It's fake," Izebel confirmed immediately.
Katrina stared, perplexed. "Did I not just hear you two talking about the points and the award? Do you think I'm stupid?"
"Whether it's true or not, it's fake," Izebel clarified with a slight smirk, articulating the core of Albert's strategy.
"Why?" Katrina asked, genuinely confused by the double negation.
"Because I, the person centrally involved in the incident, say it's fake!" Albert called back matter-of-factly, already halfway up the stairs. "Therefore, naturally, it is officially fake."
Albert disappeared onto the second floor, leaving the two sisters—one amused, one utterly bewildered—in the bustling Great Hall. His reputation was now perfectly managed: an extremely clever student, a strategic genius, but definitely not a reckless adventurer who had risked life and limb fighting giant spiders. That part, the official record would show, was just a silly rumor.
He reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, knocking on the door, ready for whatever Professor Brood had waiting for him now.
He had the money, the experience, the awards, and the perfectly curated reputation. All that was left was the final exchange before the semester continued.