The stone corridors of Hogwarts, once filled with the echoes of rushing footsteps and the frantic scratching of quills, had finally succumbed to the quiet hush of the winter holidays. For the students, this wasn't just a break; it was a liberation. The "Christmas Fever" had gripped the castle for weeks, and by the time the carriages rolled toward Hogsmeade Station, the excitement was almost palpable.
The Hogwarts Express sat on the tracks, puffing out great plumes of white steam that vanished into the freezing Highland air. Inside, the chaos was controlled, but barely. Students were shoving trunks into racks, owls were screeching in protest of the cold, and the smell of pumpkin pasties was already beginning to waft through the corridors.
Albert, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan had managed to snag an empty compartment toward the rear of the train, though it had taken some aggressive elbowing from the twins to secure it. Once the door was slid shut and the heater was hummed to life, the four of them settled into the familiar rhythm of a long journey.
Around eleven o'clock, with a deep, resonant whistle, the train lurched forward. Albert rested his temple against the cool glass of the window, watching the snow-dusted turrets of the castle slowly shrink into the distance. It was a rare moment of peace for him. His mind was usually a storm of runic calculations and system prompts, but today, he just wanted to watch the world go by.
Beside him, the cabin was anything but peaceful. Fred and George had already broken out a deck of Wizard Cards for a "warm-up" round. George had just suffered a crushing defeat—his 'Gryffindor Brave' card had been neutralized by Fred's well-timed 'Ice Trap'—and the penalty was currently being enforced.
"Eat up, Georgie," Fred grinned, holding out a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. "A loss is a loss. And this one looks particularly... vibrant."
George grimaced, eyeing the deep, angry red bean nestled in Fred's palm. It was the color of a sunset that had gone horribly wrong. With a sigh of resignation, he tossed it into his mouth. Almost instantly, his face turned a matching shade of crimson. Steam didn't actually come out of his ears, but his frantic reach for his water bottle suggested it was a close call.
"Pepper," George wheezed, wiping his eyes. "Definitely... concentrated cayenne."
"While George recovers his sense of taste," Lee Jordan said, pulling a leather-bound notebook from his pocket with an air of professional gravity, "we should probably talk business. Albert, I've done the tally for the first half of the year."
Albert turned away from the window, offering Lee his full attention. "Go on. What are the numbers looking like?"
"We're at 67 active club members," Lee reported, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and anxiety. "That's nearly ten percent of the school. However, we have a supply chain issue. Thirty-nine of those members are still playing with 'loaner' decks or shared sets. They don't have their own cards yet."
"Sixty-seven?" Fred chimed in, momentarily distracted from his victory. "Blimey, that's more than the Gobstones Club and the Charms Club combined. We're practically an institution."
"The largest club in Hogwarts," George added, his voice still a bit raspy. He was stealthily trying to flick a suspicious-looking gray bean out the cracked window.
Fred caught his hand mid-air. "Don't even think about it. If I have to taste fire, you have to taste... whatever that gray monstrosity is. I'm watching you."
"The size isn't the problem, though," Lee continued, ignoring the twins' antics. He pulled out a card he had made himself—a crude, hand-drawn 'Forest Troll' with stats scribbled in messy ink. "The problem is the quality. People are getting restless, Albert. They look at Exploding Snap, where the cards actually blow up, and then they look at our Wizard Cards, which are basically just bits of stiff parchment with some moving ink. It's... well, it's a bit dull for people who aren't obsessed with strategy."
Lee leaned forward, his eyes earnest. "We need to push harder. If we optimized the cards—added some flashier charms, maybe some sound effects—we could capture the whole school by Easter. Why are we holding back?"
Albert watched Lee for a moment. He understood the boy's impatience. At fourteen, "now" is the only time that matters. But Albert wasn't playing for a school-yard trend; he was playing for a monopoly.
"Patience is a resource, Lee. Just like mana in the game," Albert said calmly. "If you dump a hundred complex cards on a player on day one, they don't get excited—they get overwhelmed. They feel stupid because they don't understand the mechanics, and then they stop playing. We're building a culture, not just selling a toy. A slow drip of content keeps the 'meta' fresh and gives people time to actually get attached to their decks."
"But everyone's ready for more!" Lee argued.
"Listen to him, mate," George said, surprisingly serious as he tossed a green bean into his mouth (and immediately regretted it, judging by the look of disgust). "Every time we think we have a better idea than Albert, we end up either singed or in detention. His logic is usually bulletproof."
"It's not just about the players, either," Albert added, his voice dropping slightly as he glanced toward the compartment door. "Think about the wealth. If Wizard Cards become the next big thing in the Wizarding World—not just Hogwarts, but the world—what stops a shop in Diagon Alley from printing their own versions? What stops a merchant from pirating our hard work?"
The three boys fell silent. The thought of someone else getting rich off their idea clearly hadn't crossed their minds.
"We need a 'brand,'" Albert explained. "We need to weave complex anti-counterfeit charms into every card. I want a genuine Wizard Card to feel different in the hand. I want it to have a specific magical signature that can't be replicated by a standard printing press. Like a Galleon, it needs to be 'official.' But developing those spells takes time. Right now, we're in the 'beta' phase. We're growing the fans. Once the fans are loyal, they won't want the fakes."
Lee looked a bit dazed, his brain clearly trying to process the concept of intellectual property and magical encryption. "I... I guess that makes sense. I just want to see people's faces when we release the 'Dragon' expansion."
"You'll see them," Albert promised. "Just not yet."
"See? This is why he's the boss," Fred laughed, slapping Lee on the shoulder. "He's thinking about the Ministry-level stuff while we're just thinking about how to make a card look like it's burping."
"Anyway," George said, trying to pivot the conversation away from his failed bean-disposal. "Enough talk about the future. Let's talk about the present. Did you actually pull it off, Albert? The Patronus?"
Albert blinked, snapping out of his business mindset. He looked at the twins, then at his own hands. He pulled up his internal system, looking at the 'Patronus Charm' skill. It had hit Level 2 recently, thanks to his secret sessions in the vault and the Room of Requirement. At Level 2, the mist was dense, almost solid. He could feel the shape of the animal wanting to burst out, but he hadn't pushed it to the final stage yet.
"I'm close," Albert said. "Very close. I can feel the 'spark' of it. Why?"
"Because we have a pool going," Lee said, his excitement returning instantly. He produced a small, battered tin box filled with an assortment of the most wretched-looking beans Albert had ever seen. "Fred and George are convinced you're going to manifest an eagle. Symbol of Ravenclaw, wisdom, all that rubbish. They think your soul is secretly blue."
"And what do you think?" Albert asked, amused.
"I think you're too unpredictable for an eagle," Lee grinned. "I'm betting on something unexpected. Maybe a fox or a large cat. If an eagle pops out of your wand, I have to eat half of this 'Misery Box.' That includes the vomit, the earwax, and the legendary 'Wet Dog' flavor."
"And if it's not an eagle?"
"Then the twins have to eat three each, chosen by me," Lee said, his eyes gleaming with malice. "And they can't use a 'Scourgify' on their tongues afterward."
Albert looked at the box of beans—a collection of gray, brownish-yellow, and sickly green lumps that looked like they had been harvested from the underside of a troll's bridge. His face twitched.