The sight of Albert casually drifting back out of the violet haze, seated comfortably on his broomstick while the world around him remained visually inverted, was enough to make the other three question their own sanity. He looked like a man who had gone for a light morning fly, despite being surrounded by a magical aura that should have had him screaming in disorientation.
"You... you just flew through it?" Fred asked, his jaw practically hitting the stone floor. "Just like that? No falling? No being turned into a human pin-cushion?"
Albert landed softly, the transition back to normal gravity making him sway for only a fraction of a second. "It's about relative perspective, Fred. The broom doesn't care which way is up, and if you're flying, your inner ear stops fighting the floor beneath you because there isn't one."
The three of them swarmed him, firing off questions like a firing squad. Albert held up a hand, waiting for the buzz to die down before he explained the reality of the corridor. He didn't sugarcoat it; he told them about the gravity lurch, the terrifying visual of the spikes, and most importantly, the pits.
"If we hadn't waited," George whispered, a chill running down his spine. "If we had just shut our eyes and sprinted like we talked about... we would have stepped right into a hole."
"Gryffindor doesn't like cheats," Albert said simply. "He wants people who can face the fear and keep their eyes open. Now, are we going to stand here all day, or are we going to move? We've got an appointment with some treasure."
"Brooms it is," Fred said, his voice regaining some of its usual swagger. "Adventure is one thing, but I'd rather not spend forty minutes crying on the ceiling if there's a faster way."
"Agreed," George added. "Safety first, glory second."
Lee Jordan, however, was eyeing the Silver Arrow broomstick Albert was holding with deep suspicion. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Albert. That thing looks like it belongs in a museum, not a death-trap corridor. Can we swap? This antique feels like it's going to snap if I sneeze too hard."
Albert rolled his eyes, but he handed over the Silver Arrow and took Lee's more modern, if slightly worn, school broom. "It's your nerves, Lee, not the wood. The broom responds to the flyer. If you're shaking like a leaf, the broom's going to wobble."
"Easy for you to say," Lee snapped, gripping the handle so hard his knuckles turned white. "You're practically part broomstick."
The crossing was... eventful. Lee's flying skills were already shaky on a good day, and the moment the world flipped, he panicked. He lost his grip, sliding off the side of the broom while yelling at the top of his lungs. If Fred hadn't been quick with his reflexes, diving down to snag Lee by the collar of his robes, the boy might have had a very short, very final trip to the spikes below.
By the time they emerged on the other side, Lee looked like he'd aged ten years. His hair was a chaotic nest of curls, and his face was the color of curdled milk.
"Are you still with us, Lee?" George asked, trying to hide a smirk as Lee collapsed onto the solid ground. "Or did your soul stay behind in the fog?"
"I felt every single spike," Lee groaned, his eyes shut tight. "I could see them behind my eyelids. I'm never doing that again. Ever."
"Bad news, mate," Fred chuckled, though he looked a bit winded himself. "We still have to go back the way we came to get home."
"Don't tell me that," Lee whimpered. "Just... don't."
"Walk it off," Albert encouraged, though his voice was firm. "We're almost there. The map shows a major chamber just ahead."
They continued down a sloping path that led deeper into the roots of the forest. The air grew warmer, smelling of dry stone and something metallic. The silence was absolute until they rounded a final corner and stepped into a space so vast their wand-lights barely touched the ceiling.
As they crossed the threshold, blue flames erupted in stone braziers along the walls, casting long, flickering shadows. In the center of the room stood a statue that made the one in the entrance look like a toy. It was at least twenty feet tall, a massive warrior carved from dark, seamless stone, holding a broadsword that looked heavy enough to crush a carriage.
Then, the head moved.
The sound was like two mountains grinding together. The giant's eyes, carved from some glowing blue crystal, ignited with a cold, predatory light. It took a single step, and the entire chamber groaned under its weight.
"Please tell me that's a hologram," George whispered, his voice cracking. "Please tell me it's a very high-quality illusion."
The giant swung its sword in a slow arc, the wind from the blade ruffling their hair even from thirty feet away. It wasn't an illusion.
"Back! Back into the corridor!" Albert roared, grabbing Fred and George by their collars and dragging them into the narrow safety of the stone hallway they'd just left.
They scrambled back, hearts pounding, as the giant reached the edge of its designated "boss arena" and stopped, its blue eyes staring into the darkness of the tunnel with mindless, mechanical intensity.
"Are you mental?" Albert shouted at them, his breath coming in sharp bursts. "You just stood there like targets! If that blade had connected, you wouldn't have been injured—you would have been red mist!"
"It's huge!" Fred shouted back, his hands shaking. "How are we supposed to fight that? It's made of solid rock! Our spells will just bounce off it like pebbles!"
"Can we just... Disillusion ourselves and sneak past?" Lee asked, peeking around the corner. "Or fly over it?"
"Look at the door behind it," Albert pointed to the far side of the room. It was a massive slab of white marble, sealed tight with golden chains. "Gryffindor didn't build this place to let people sneak in the back door. That statue is the key. The door won't budge until the guard is down."
The twins and Lee looked at each other, the weight of the situation finally settling in. This wasn't a school prank or a Hogsmeade run. This was a real test.
"I'm going in," Albert said, his voice dropping to a calm, dangerous tone. "I didn't come this far to be intimidated by a pile of rocks. You can stay here and wait, or you can help me."
Fred gritted his teeth, his Gryffindor pride finally flaring up. "Right. Let's kill the big guy."
"Plan?" George asked.
"It's slow," Albert analyzed, his eyes fixed on the statue's joints. "It has no brain, only a set of instructions. It reacts to movement. We split up. Fred, George, Lee—you take the left flank. Use the Impediment Curse and the Reductor Curse on its legs. Don't worry about breaking it; just slow it down. I'll provide the heavy artillery."
They stepped back into the room. The giant roared—a sound of grating stone—and lunged.
Albert moved first. He didn't use a standard hex. He focused every ounce of his intent into a "Bombarda" spell. A streak of white-hot energy erupted from his wand, slamming into the statue's right knee. The explosion was deafening, sending a shower of stone chips flying, but the leg held.
"Now!" Albert yelled.
The twins and Lee didn't miss their cue. "Impedimenta!" they screamed in unison. The spell took hold, the magical force acting like invisible molasses on the giant's left leg. As the statue tried to shift its weight to compensate for the explosion, its movements became sluggish and jerky.
It lost its balance. With a sound like a collapsing building, the twenty-foot warrior crashed to the floor, the impact making the braziers rattle in their sockets.
"Keep the pressure on!" Albert commanded. He was already moving, his wand a blur of motion. He fired three more Bombarda spells in rapid succession, targeting the stone neck and the shoulder joints.
The room was filled with smoke and the smell of sulfur. For five minutes, the air was nothing but the sound of explosions and the desperate shouts of the four boys. Slowly, methodically, Albert dismantled the guardian. He blew the sword-arm off at the elbow, then systematically cracked the torso until the glowing blue light in the giant's eyes flickered and died.
Silence returned to the chamber, thick and heavy with dust.
"Is... is it dead?" Lee asked, peeking out from behind a pillar.
"It was never alive," Albert said, wiping ash from his forehead. He walked up to the headless torso, kicking a piece of the shattered granite. "But it won't be getting back up. That's for sure."
"That was incredible," Fred breathed, looking at the destruction. "I thought we were dead. I really did."
"It's just stone," Albert said, though his own hands were a bit unsteady. "Magic made it move, and magic can stop it. But I'll admit, that thing was built to last. My Bombarda can usually take the head off an Acromantula in one hit, but this thing took ten to even show a crack."
"We need to learn that spell," George said, his eyes wide as he looked at the crater in the statue's chest. "We definitely need to learn how to blow things up like that."
"Focus on the basics first," Albert warned. "If you misfire a Bombarda, you'll blow your own arm off. It's not a toy."
"The boss is down," Albert continued, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "Let's go see what Godric was hiding."