The castle was slipping into its nighttime rhythm by the time Albert made his way back from the Room of Requirement. The portraits were mostly snoring or visiting neighboring frames for a late-night gossip session, and the flickering torchlight cast long, dancing shadows against the stone walls.
He reached the Fat Lady's portrait, whispered the password—which was currently Mandrake Muffle, a choice he found ironically appropriate—and stepped through the swinging hole into the Gryffindor common room.
The space was mostly deserted, though a few dedicated students were still huddled near the dying embers of the fire. Shanna was one of them, her nose buried in a thick Arithmancy text, a half-finished cup of cocoa cooling on the table beside her. She looked up as Albert climbed through, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Albert? I thought you'd turned into a ghost. Where have you been hiding?" she asked, stretching her cramped neck.
"Just took a detour through the kitchens," Albert lied smoothly, shaking a small grease-stained bag. "Dobby and the others were in a generous mood. Want some shortbread? It's still warm."
"You're a lifesaver," Shanna sighed, taking two of the buttery cookies.
They spent ten minutes discussing the finer points of the Weight-Reducing Charm before the fatigue finally caught up with her. She gathered her things, bid him goodnight, and headed up to the girls' dormitories. Albert waited until the stairs stopped creaking before heading up to his own room.
The moment he pushed the door open, he was greeted by the sight of Fred, George, and Lee Jordan sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a high-stakes game of Exploding Snap.
"He lives!" Fred shouted, throwing a card down. "And look, George, he's still got all his limbs. I'm down two Sickles. I was certain he'd accidentally Transfigured himself into a footstool tonight."
"Sorry to disappoint your wallet, Fred," Albert said, his voice laced with mock annoyance as he stepped over a pile of discarded robes. "Next time I'll try to lose a finger just to keep things interesting for you."
"Did you finish it?" Lee Jordan asked, ignoring the card game entirely. He stood up, his eyes locked on Albert's pocket. "The 'Banshee' thing? Is it as dangerous as you promised?"
"It's finished. And yes, it's quite effective," Albert said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wire-mesh cage containing a very motionless, very grey mouse. He set it on the bedside table.
"What's that? A snack for Mrs. Norris?" George asked, poking the cage.
"It's a test subject. I picked it up in the storage cellar earlier," Albert explained.
"Wait, did you use the Extension Charm on that cage?" Fred asked, leaning in close. "I thought Professor Flitwick said that was N.E.W.T. level theory. How'd you manage it without turning the mouse inside out?"
"Professor Smith gave me some pointers," Albert said vaguely. "The point isn't the cage. The point is the mouse. Look at it."
The mouse was sprawled on its side, its tiny chest barely moving. It looked less like it was sleeping and more like it had been hit by a miniature Avada Kedavra.
"Is it... dead?" Lee whispered, his bravado slipping. "Albert, if you're killing things in the dorm, we need to talk about your hobbies."
"It's not dead. At least, I don't think so," Albert said. He pulled out his wand and tapped the mouse's nose. "Rennervate!"
Nothing happened. The mouse remained a limp grey rag.
"Well, that's comforting," George muttered. "A Reviving Charm doesn't touch it. What happens if you use that on a person? Do they just stay like that until they rot?"
"Certainly not," Albert said, though he looked thoughtful. "It's a deep, magically induced coma. A standard spell won't wake the system because the 'noise' of the Mandrake cry has effectively jammed the body's magical receptors. You need a physical counter-agent."
He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of dark, almost purple-tinted salt.
"Is that... Scabbers?" Fred asked suddenly, pointing at the mouse. "If you've accidentally coma-fied Percy's rat, we're going to have a very long, very loud talk with our brother."
"It's not Scabbers," Albert assured them. "Besides, isn't that rat supposed to be about a hundred years old in rat-years? It probably wouldn't survive the shock."
"That thing is immortal," George grunted. "I'm pretty sure it's going to outlive all of us."
"Help me with this," Albert commanded.
It took the three of them to pry the tiny, clenched jaw of the mouse open. Albert carefully tilted a few grains of the purple salt into the mouse's mouth, followed by a drop of water. He then cast a mild Circulation Charm to force the swallow.
Ten seconds passed. Then twenty.
Suddenly, the mouse's whiskers twitched. It let out a tiny, high-pitched sneeze and scrambled to its feet, looking utterly bewildered. It did a frantic lap of the cage before huddling in the corner, its eyes wide with a very human-looking sense of betrayal.
"It worked!" Lee cheered.
Fred, always the pioneer of bad ideas, leaned over and sniffed the salt pouch. "It smells like... ozone and old socks. Is it edible?"
Before Albert could stop him, Fred pinched a tiny bit of the salt and touched it to his tongue.
The effect was instantaneous. Fred's face didn't just turn sour; it folded in on itself. His eyes watered, his skin turned a pale shade of grey, and he spent the next five minutes hanging out the window, dry heaving into the cold night air while George and Lee roared with laughter.
"It's processed Mandrake salt, you idiot," Albert said, shaking his head. "It's designed to shock the nervous system back into alignment. It's not meant for snacking."
"I... I can taste... my own thoughts..." Fred wheezed, wiping his mouth. "And they taste like copper and despair."
"Good," Albert said, tucking the Banshee's Wail safely into his trunk. "Maybe that will keep you from touching it until I've had a chance to brief you properly."
As it turned out, Albert's faith in his roommates' self-preservation was entirely misplaced.
The following afternoon, they met in the Room of Requirement for a "controlled" demonstration. Albert had barely finished saying, "Whatever you do, don't touch the silver catch until I have my earplugs in," when Fred decided to test the trigger mechanism.
Albert had been fast enough to shove his own plugs in, but the others weren't so lucky.
The Banshee's Wail didn't make a loud noise—not in the traditional sense. It was more of a ripple in reality, a high-frequency spike that bypassed the ears and went straight for the brain.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hit the floor in perfect synchronization.
Albert sighed, looking down at the heap of Gryffindors. Fred was clutching the device like a prized trophy, even in his stupor. George had fallen face-first into a cushion, but Lee had taken the brunt of the hard floor, his forehead already beginning to bruise.
"If you don't court death, you won't die," Albert murmured, picking up the silver device and carefully clicking the safety back into place. "Why is that such a difficult concept for you three?"
He spent the next twenty minutes playing medic. He started with Lee, prying his mouth open and administering the salt-and-water treatment.
"Ugh... my brain... it's vibrating..." Lee groaned as he finally came to. He sat up, clutching his head, and immediately began to dry heave as the Mandrake salt hit his stomach. "What... what happened?"
"Fred happened," Albert said, gesturing to the still-unconscious Weasleys.
It took another ten minutes to revive the twins. George was the worst off; he had a bump on his forehead the size of a snitch and looked like he wasn't entirely sure what year it was. Fred, meanwhile, woke up with a look of pure, unadulterated awe.
"That... was... incredible," Fred rasped, even as he leaned over to gag into a nearby bucket. "One second I was standing, the next... I was dreaming about giant flying squids."
"You could have died," Albert said, though there was no real heat in his voice. He was too busy recording the recovery times in his notebook. "Or at least ended up with a permanent stutter. I told you specifically to wait."
"We wanted to see if it worked!" George protested, his hand hovering over his bruised forehead. "And boy, does it work. If you used that in a crowded hallway, you could take out half the school."
"Which is exactly why none of you are allowed to touch it without my supervision," Albert said, stowing the device back in his pouch.
"You did that on purpose," Fred accused, squinting at Albert. "You knew I was going to pull the trigger. You just wanted to see what would happen to us."
"I gave you every warning possible," Albert countered smoothly. "If you chose to ignore the expert advice of the person who built the weapon, that's on your head. Quite literally, in George's case."
"He's right, George," Lee said, still looking a bit green. "We walked right into that one."
"So annoying," Fred muttered, though a mischievous glint returned to his eyes. "He's too smart for his own good. Come on, George, Lee... let's tackle him. He can't take all three of us."