"Albert! Get your feet back on solid ground before you give me a heart attack!" Charlie Weasley's voice cracked, sounding like a mix of genuine relief and sheer, unadulterated desperation. He stood on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, shielding his eyes from the glare as he tracked the black blur weaving through the air.
He turned his head sharply toward Fred and George, hoping to find someone to blame, but the twins were masters of the 'innocent bystander' routine. They simultaneously pivoted their heads away, whistling tunelessly and examining the blades of grass as if they were the most fascinating things in Scotland. Their body language screamed that whatever Albert was doing up there, it was a solo venture.
"He's coming in hot," Angelina Johnson said suddenly, her hand gripping the handle of her own broom.
From several hundred feet up, Albert was no longer just flying; he was falling. He had tilted the nose of his broom toward the earth in a vertical drop so steep it looked like he'd been shot out of the sky. To the spectators below, it looked like a suicide run—a plummet without a parachute.
"Is he—is he actually going to crash?" Alicia Spinnet gasped, her face draining of color.
"He's mental," Cormac McLaggen muttered, though his fists were clenched in a way that betrayed his envy.
The wind whistled through the stands as the distance between Albert and the grass vanished in a blur of motion. Some students actually buried their faces in their hands, refusing to witness the impact. But just as the shadow of the broom loomed large over the pitch, Albert yanked the handle back.
The Nimbus Six responded with the grace of a living creature. The tail of the broom grazed the tips of the grass, kicking up a spray of dew and loose dirt before the momentum converted into a vertical ascent. The sheer force of the G-force sent a ripple through Albert's robes, and the localized gust of wind from his passage sent the onlookers' hair flying.
A heartbeat of silence followed, then a thunderous wave of applause and stunned cheering.
"How in Merlin's beard did he pull that off?" Alicia asked, her voice shaking.
"Calculated risk," Fred cheered, throwing his hat into the air. "That's our Albert!"
A few seconds later, Albert brought the broom to a gentle, controlled hover before stepping off. He stood still for a moment, eyes closed, letting the adrenaline subside. The Nimbus Six was a masterpiece of engineering. It wasn't perfect—it had a slight vibration at top speeds that suggested the charm work was strained—but its responsiveness was unparalleled. It didn't just follow his commands; it felt like an extension of his own nervous system.
"During that dive, I think my soul actually left my body," Angelina joked, though she was still breathing heavily.
"That was some of the finest flying I've seen in years," Charlie said, walking over and playfully thumping Albert's shoulder. He then hooked an arm around Albert's neck, pulling him into a half-hug. "But don't think for a second you're sneaking off early. If you can fly like that, I'm putting you through the ringer for the rest of the afternoon!"
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the group returned to the Gryffindor Common Room, tired but buzzing with energy. The atmosphere inside was unusually electric. People were huddled around the notice board, their faces glowing in the firelight.
"What's the word?" Albert asked Lee Jordan, who was lounging by the fireplace, halfway through a game of Magic Cards with Sanna.
Lee didn't even look up from his hand; he just pointed a thumb toward the board with a wide, toothy grin. "First Hogsmeade weekend, boys. Early November. Mark your calendars."
Hogsmeade. For most students, it was the pinnacle of the term. For Albert and the twins, it was technically irrelevant; they knew the castle's secret veins better than the Filch did. They could walk to the Three Broomsticks whenever they felt like it.
"Doesn't really change much for us, does it?" Fred said with a shrug, though the twinkle in his eye suggested he was already thinking about the prank potential of a village full of distracted students.
They headed upstairs for hot showers, washing away the mud and sweat of the pitch. When they regrouped in the dorm, George was sitting on his bed, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a small, squeaking bundle held in his hands.
"Found a volunteer," George said, holding up a very disgruntled-looking mouse.
"Wait, is that..." Albert leaned in, recognizing the dusty fur and the missing toe. "You actually swiped Scabbers? Percy is going to have a stroke if he finds out."
"He was just sitting there on Percy's bedside table, looking bored," George defended.
Albert reached into his pocket and pulled out a bit of biscuit he'd saved from tea. He offered a crumb to the mouse, who snatched it with surprising greed. "He looks rough," Albert noted, examining the creature. "Most mice are lucky to hit three years. This one looks like he's seen a century. He's incredibly old for a rodent; I'd be surprised if he survives another summer."
"Then we'd better get to the experiment while he's still kicking," Fred said. "Before Percy notices the empty cage and starts a manhunt."
Albert pulled out his wand, giving it a sharp flick toward a discarded biscuit wrapper. The paper stiffened and elongated, weaving itself into a temporary wire-thin cage. He gently placed Scabbers inside, added a few more crumbs to keep the "volunteer" occupied, and tucked the cage into his backpack.
They slipped out of the common room, moving with the practiced ease of shadows. Albert kept the Marauder's Map active in his hand, his eyes scanning the ink-drawn corridors. When they reached the seventh floor, he stopped, a strange, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
On the map, near the entrance to the corridor, was a dot labeled Peter Pettigrew.
[System Notification: Hidden Truths. You have encountered the presence of a 'Dead Man' on the map. Objective: Observe the anomaly without alerting the prey. Reward: 1000 XP, 1 Skill Point, Unlock: 'Keen Intuition' (Level 1).]
Albert didn't linger on the notification. He knew exactly what he was looking at, but now wasn't the time to play hero. He led the group toward the blank stretch of wall across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He paced three times, focusing on a space for testing and experimentation.
The door materialized. Inside, the Room of Requirement had manifested as a stark, echoey chamber with stone walls and flickering torches.
"Right, gear up," Albert commanded, pulling out a set of heavy-duty earmuffs and passing them around.
"Why aren't you putting yours on, Lee?" Albert asked, seeing his friend just standing there with his arms crossed.
"The Mandrake isn't mature yet, is it?" Lee shrugged, looking remarkably unbothered. "At most, it'll give me a headache or a quick nap. Besides, I want to see if your 'recording' actually has any punch. I'm the human baseline."
"If you faint and crack your skull on the stone, I'm not explaining this to Madam Pomfrey," Albert warned, though he didn't push it. He knew the Mandrake cry wouldn't be fatal at this stage.
Albert didn't wear earmuffs himself; he preferred the precision of wax earplugs, which allowed him to hear the 'vibration' of magic without the deafening volume. He signaled the count. Three. Two. One.
He pressed the rune on the silver cylinder.
An agonizingly sharp, high-pitched screech tore through the room. It wasn't just loud; it felt like a needle being driven into the center of the brain. Even with the earplugs, Albert felt a wave of nausea. The air in the room seemed to ripple with the sound, turning the torches a sickly shade of green for the duration of the noise.
Lee Jordan's face went white. He clapped his hands over his ears, his knees buckling slightly as he swayed on the spot.
In the cage, Scabbers didn't even have time to squeak. The mouse went rigid and then slumped over like a dropped stone, completely unresponsive.
A moment later, Albert deactivated the device. The silence that followed felt heavy, almost physical.
"Merlin..." Lee muttered, rubbing his temples and blinking rapidly. "That... that felt like my head was being put through a meat grinder. I didn't black out, but I'm definitely seeing double."
Albert walked over to the cage, tapping the wire. Scabbers was breathing, but he was out cold. "It worked," Albert said, his voice reflecting a mix of scientific curiosity and mild disappointment. "But the magic is diluted."
"Diluted? It knocked the rat out!" George exclaimed, taking off his earmuffs.
"Yes, but think about the source," Albert explained. "A real Mandrake cry at this age would have sent Lee to the floor instantly. The recording captures the frequency—the sound—but magic isn't just sound. It's a physical manifestation of the plant's life force. By recording it, I've effectively stripped away the 'soul' of the attack. It's like the difference between a Basilisk's gaze and its reflection. One kills; the other just petrifies."
He picked up the cage, looking at the unconscious Peter Pettigrew. There was a certain irony in using a traitorous wizard as a test subject for a sonic weapon, even if the wizard didn't know he was being used.
"The cry is truly magical," Albert mused. "It's not just about the decibels or the pitch. There's a resonance that bypasses physical hearing and strikes the magical core of the listener. If I can find a way to amplify the intent behind the sound, not just the volume..."
"You'd have a weapon that could end a fight before it starts," Fred finished, looking at the silver cylinder with newfound respect.
"Let's get out of here," Albert said, glancing at the map again to make sure the coast was clear. "We need to put this 'poor' mouse back before Percy realizes his favorite paperweight is missing. I'd rather avoid a family feud today."
As they snuck back, Albert felt the weight of the tasks ahead. He had successfully tested his deterrent, spotted a ghost from the past on his map, and secured his place as the most dangerous flyer in the school. It had been a productive day, but as he watched the dot labeled Peter Pettigrew vanish into the Gryffindor dorms, he knew the real game was only just beginning.