From within the receding shadows of the Room of Requirement, a series of muffled groans and the sound of heavy breathing drifted into the hallway. Albert stepped out first, looking remarkably refreshed, followed by three roommates who appeared as though they had just been put through a professional-grade laundry wringer.
"Next time," Fred wheezed, rubbing a particularly sore spot on his wrist, "if the plan is to 'take down Albert,' leave me out of the invitation list. I think I've rediscovered where all my joints are, and none of them are happy about it."
George leaned against the wall, trying to regain his breath. "He's not a wizard; he's a mountain troll in a school sweater. How is it that we had him three-to-one and I still ended up staring at the ceiling before I could even draw my wand?"
Albert paused to adjust his robes, a faint, sympathetic smile playing on his lips. "I did warn you. Magic is great, but muscles don't need a three-second incantation to work. I spent years training my reflexes before I ever got my Hogwarts letter. Even a fully grown wizard would struggle to keep their footing if they let me get within arm's reach."
He wasn't exaggerating. Albert's physical stats, bolstered by his disciplined regime and the occasional system-assisted nudge, made him a bit of an anomaly in a world where most people's idea of exercise was walking to the Great Hall for second helpings of pudding.
"But why bother?" Lee Jordan asked, finally straightening up and checking if his glasses were still intact. "We're wizards, Albert. The whole point of having a wand is so we don't have to roll around on the floor like Muggle wrestlers."
"To stay alive, obviously," Albert said, his tone shifting to something more pragmatic. "Hard fists and fast feet are the ultimate insurance policy. If someone decides they don't like the look of your face, they aren't always going to wait for a formal duel. Sometimes, the only thing between you and a trip to the Hospital Wing is being able to punch back."
The trio went quiet for a second. At Hogwarts, Albert was rarely the target of open bullying—partly because of his academic reputation, and partly because everyone remembered the "Toilet Incident" involving a group of Slytherins who had tried to corner him the previous year.
"Is the Muggle world really that violent?" George asked curiously. "I mean, Dad says they're mostly harmless, if a bit confused about how electricity works."
"It's generally safer than a place where a twelve-year-old can accidentally turn your ears into kumquats," Albert joked. "But humans are humans. There will always be some idiot who thinks he's the king of the castle because he's got a loud voice and a heavy hand—sort of like the guy who was shouting about 'crushing the genius' about ten minutes ago."
"Who was that? Sounds like a real jerk," Lee Jordan said, looking around the hallway as if searching for the culprit.
"It was you, you absolute prat!" Fred and George barked in unison.
"Me? No, I have a very distinct memory of being a voice of reason and pacifism," Lee said, his face a mask of wounded innocence.
"Do we need to jog your memory?" Fred asked, cracking his knuckles with a grin. "Because I think I remember you being the one who suggested the 'Triple-Gryffindor Pounce' that ended with you face-planting into a beanbag."
"Ah... yes. It's coming back to me now," Lee muttered, his shoulders slumping as the twins erupted into triumphant laughter. "But I still say it's barbaric. Wizards have wands for a reason. Down with violence! Up with levitation!"
"If your wand gets snapped or disarmed, what's the difference between you and a Muggle?" Albert asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "You can't exactly rely on your winning personality to stop a hex, can you?"
"There's always wandless magic," Lee retorted, though he sounded less than confident.
"Can you do it?" Albert challenged.
"Well... no. But I've read about it."
"Exactly," Albert said. "Wandless magic is the Everest of wizardry. I'm not even touching that until my core magic is completely stabilized. Without a wand to focus the energy, you're basically trying to paint a portrait with a bucket of water and a prayer. It's imprecise, weak, and takes decades to master just to light a candle."
"But what about accidental magic?" Lee argued, unwilling to concede the point. "Like when people fall from heights and bounce? That's wandless, isn't it? It's an instinct."
Albert rolled his eyes. "Lee, if you fell off the Astronomy Tower right now, I promise you that 'instinct' wouldn't save you. You'd hit the ground with the grace of a dropped watermelon. Accidental magic is a desperate flare sent out by the subconscious. It's uncontrolled and unreliable. If it were actually a viable defense, we wouldn't be spending seven years learning how to point a stick at things."
"What would you do if you fell?" Fred asked, testing him.
"I try not to make a habit of falling off buildings," Albert replied. "But if I did, I'd use a Cushioning Charm. Charlie mentioned it once—he used to be terrified you two would fall off your brooms during practice and spent half his time mentally rehearsing the incantation."
"He did?" George asked, surprised. "I thought he just liked shouting at us to fly faster."
"He cared more than he let on," Albert said. "Your memory is just a bit selective when it comes to older brothers being responsible."
As they began to walk toward the Gryffindor tower, the conversation drifted, as it often did, back to the faculty.
"Oh, speaking of being responsible," Lee Jordan said, lowering his voice. "I had a weird chat with Professor Smith the other day. He seemed really interested in that whole mess from last year—the 'rescue mission' in the Forbidden Forest."
Albert's internal alarm bells gave a faint, rhythmic ping. "Smith? What did he want to know?"
"He was asking about the Acromantulas," Lee said. "He wanted to know if Fred and George actually ran into them or if it was just a rumor. I told him I didn't know anything, obviously. But then he got all philosophical. He sighed and said that even someone as 'meticulous' as you has moments of acting impulsively."
"Impulsively?" Albert's mouth twitched. "I think the word he's looking for is 'courageous.' Or perhaps 'unwilling to let my roommates become spider-bait.'"
"I think 'courageous' sounds better for the biography," Fred agreed.
"Do you think he's looking for a payday?" George asked. "Acromantula venom is worth a fortune on the black market. And the eggs? You could buy a fleet of Firebolts with a single nest."
"Maybe he's just holding a grudge," Fred suggested. "He was attacked by one, wasn't he? When he went in there with Rowena?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Albert blurted out. "We were right there with them. There was never an Acromantula ambush."
The hallway went silent. Fred, George, and Lee all stopped walking at the same time, turning to stare at Albert with identical expressions of dawning realization.
"You scoundrel," Fred whispered. "You lied to us. Again."
"I... er..." Albert realized his mistake instantly. He had been so focused on the logic of the situation that he'd forgotten which version of the truth he had fed his friends. "I promised Dumbledore and Hagrid to keep the details quiet."
"So what was in there?" George asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "If it wasn't a giant spider, what made a Ministry-level wizard like Smith look like he'd seen a ghost?"
Albert checked the corners of the hallway, ensuring no portraits were eavesdropping. "It was Hagrid's pet. You remember Fluffy from the incident near the trophy room? He's a three-headed dog. He'd wandered off into the forest, and Dumbledore asked us to help track him down. The whole 'spider attack' was just a cover story to keep people from hunting the dog for its pelt."
"A three-headed dog?" Lee breathed. "And you just... found it?"
"Something like that," Albert said, spreading his hands. "But Dumbledore's already sent him back to Greece. He's gone. Totally out of the country. Not hidden in the forest at all."
He said the last part with a straight face, knowing full well that Fluffy was currently being groomed for a starring role in the security system for the Philosopher's Stone.
The trio looked at him with profound distrust. They knew Albert well enough to know that when he started being "helpful" with his explanations, the real truth was usually buried under three more layers of secrets.