The common room was buzzing with a peculiar kind of energy when the quartet returned from the kitchens. Usually, at this hour, it was just the sound of quill scratching and the crackle of the fireplace, but tonight, the air was thick with rumors of the upcoming Halloween spectacle.
"Did you hear? The choir is bringing in those giant bullfrogs again," George remarked, leaning against the back of a sofa. "Professor Flitwick has been drilling them for weeks. Apparently, one of them accidentally swallowed a third-year's wand during practice."
Albert, however, was only half-listening. The mention of the choir brought back a flash of memory from his first year—the sight of students holding amphibians the size of dinner plates, singing in haunting, multi-layered harmonies. It was "interesting" in the way a car crash was interesting; you couldn't quite look away, but you weren't entirely sure it was supposed to happen.
He found a quiet corner, pulled out a stack of parchment, and began the mechanical process of clearing his actual schoolwork. He moved with a practiced efficiency that made the others look like they were struggling with basic literacy. Once the essays were rolled and tied, Albert leaned back, his eyes glazing over as he called up his mental interface—the panel that dictated the hidden rhythm of his life at Hogwarts.
His gaze settled on a newly updated entry that sent a chill of cold logic through his veins.
[Task: Those Who Passed Away]You have accidentally discovered that Peter Pettigrew, a man documented as a deceased war hero, is currently hiding within the walls of Hogwarts.This revelation hints at a conspiracy of cowardice and betrayal. Your curiosity is a hunger that must be fed.Objective: Uncover the truth behind Peter Pettigrew's staged death.Reward: 2000 Experience Points, 1 Skill Point.
Albert stared at the floating text for a long time. For any other student, this would be an impossible mystery, a thread leading into a labyrinth of blood and shadow. But for Albert, it was just a memory retrieval exercise.
He knew the script. He knew about the Secret Keeper swap, the explosion in the middle of a crowded street, and the bloody finger left behind as a gruesome prop. He knew that the "hero" was currently sleeping in a four-poster bed upstairs, disguised as a fat, balding rat named Scabbers.
Betrayal under the Fidelius Charm, Albert thought, his quill hovering over a blank sheet of paper. Sirius Black, the fall of the Potters, and a decade of wrongful imprisonment in Azkaban. All because of a rat who was too afraid to die.
The task was essentially free experience. He didn't even have to move a muscle to "discover" the truth—he already possessed it. He felt a slight pang of guilt for how easy it was, but he quickly suppressed it. In this world, knowledge wasn't just power; it was the ultimate currency.
He turned his attention to the second quest, which was proving to be significantly more annoying.
[Task: First Encounter with Mandragora]Your understanding of the Mandrake is academic, but the potential of this homicidal root is vast. To truly master its essence, you must study the living specimen beyond the classroom.Objective: Obtain a Mandrake plant and conduct independent research.Reward: Basic Knowledge of Mandragora (Special Information).
"Special information," Albert muttered under his breath. That usually meant hidden properties or unconventional brewing techniques that weren't found in standard textbooks like One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
The problem wasn't the research; it was the acquisition.
Where was he supposed to get a Mandrake? He could sneak into Professor Sprout's Greenhouse Three, but those plants were tracked. Even if he successfully "liberated" one, they were currently in their moody, adolescent stage. They weren't useful for high-end alchemy until they reached a screaming maturity.
The black market was the obvious choice. There were always people willing to sell restricted botanical assets—Mundungus Fletcher types who operated in the grey areas of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. But then Albert caught sight of his own reflection in the darkened window pane.
He looked like a boy. A talented boy, yes, but still a child in the eyes of any hardened smuggler.
If I walk into the Hog's Head and try to buy a Mandrake, the dealer will either laugh in my face or rob me blind, he thought bitterly. Age is a curse.
He considered his options. Hagrid? No, the big man was too honest for this kind of transaction, and he'd likely report it to Dumbledore out of "concern" for Albert's safety. Polyjuice Potion? He didn't have the ingredients, and the risk of a botched transformation was too high for a simple plant run. The Imperius Curse? He dismissed the thought instantly. He wasn't a Dark Wizard, and more importantly, he wasn't a stupid one. One slip-up with an Unforgivable and his comfortable life at Hogwarts would end in a cell next to the very man he was currently thinking about.
"Growing up is taking way too long," he sighed, the weight of his limitations pressing down on him.
He looked at his schoolbag and remembered the correspondence he'd been maintaining with Hertok Dagworth. The man was a giant in the field of potions. Perhaps a request for "rare research materials" under the guise of an ambitious student project would work?
He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write. He kept the tone professional, layering his request between complex questions about the volatility of salamander blood and the stabilization of Draught of Living Death. At the very end, he added a "casual" inquiry about where a dedicated student might find a mature Mandrake for private study.
As he sealed the envelope, Fred poked him in the ribs.
"Oi, Albert. You're looking awfully grim. Did you finally hit a wall with the Grindylow essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Albert blinked, his mind still halfway in a black market deal. "The Grindylow essay? I finished that two days ago."
Fred grinned, exchanging a look with George. "Really? Because Professor Lupin just announced he wanted an extra six inches on the water-demon's grip mechanics. Said the previous submissions were... lacking."
Albert's brow furrowed. He reached into his bag, pulling out Dark Forces: A Self-Defense Guide. He flipped through his notes. Nothing. He checked his finished pile. Nothing. A small spark of panic flared in his chest—he never missed a requirement.
"Wait, did he send a note? I don't remember him saying anything about an extension on the grip mechanics," Albert said, his voice rising slightly in confusion.
Lee Jordan let out a snort, unable to keep his face straight. "He didn't. Fred's just bored because he hasn't finished his own and wants to see you sweat for once."
Albert stared at them, his eyes narrowing. The panic vanished, replaced by a dull irritation. "You three are remarkably committed to being nuisances. I have a dozen things on my mind, and you're worried about six inches of imaginary parchment?"
"We're just looking out for your mental health," George said smoothly. "You were staring at that blank wall for ten minutes. We thought you'd finally broken your brain."
Albert rolled his eyes, gathering his things. "My brain is fine. My patience, however, is at an all-time low. I'm going to the dorms before you decide to tell me that Snape has invited us all for a pajama party."
"Now there's an image I didn't need," Fred shuddered.
Back in the safety of his dormitory, Albert pulled the curtains shut and cast a quiet Muffliato. He pulled out the Marauder's Map, watching the tiny ink dot labeled Peter Pettigrew as it circled the Gryffindor boys' dormitory.
With a thought, he navigated the panel.
[Task: Those Who Passed Away — Completed]Reward: 2000 XP, 1 Skill Point.
It was the easiest payday of his life. But as soon as the reward cleared, a new objective flickered into existence, glowing with a more intense, golden hue.
[Chain Task: Uncover the Secret]The truth is a weapon. Now that you know the rat's identity, the question remains: what will you do with it? Exposure is a dangerous game, but the rewards are fit for a king.Objective: Make Peter Pettigrew's crimes public and prove his survival to the Ministry of Magic.Reward: 5000 Experience Points, Unknown Special Title.
"Five thousand," Albert whispered. That was a massive jump.
But he wasn't a hero. He wasn't interested in the "justice" of Sirius Black. If he exposed the rat now, he'd lose the leverage for the later years when the stakes were higher. Black's suffering in Azkaban was tragic, certainly, but a large part of it was the man's own arrogance. He'd played right into Pettigrew's hands, hadn't demanded a trial, and had spent the last decade laughing like a maniac in a stone box.
"Sorry, Sirius," Albert murmured, folding the map. "But you're more valuable to me behind bars for a little while longer. I have a Mandrake to find, and I can't have the Ministry crawling all over the castle quite yet."
He checked his skill points. One new point. He saved it. In this world, you never knew when you'd need to master a new spell in the span of a heartbeat. As the moonlight filtered through the dormitory window, Albert lay back, his mind already drifting toward Hogsmeade and the dark, narrow alleys of the Hog's Head. He just needed to figure out how to look five years older by next Saturday.