Chapter 68
Albert watched as a swarm of ghosts drifted toward the long table, heedless of anything but the feast laid out before them. Beside him, Hermione clutched her notebook with visible excitement.
"Today was such a harvest," she said brightly. "I learned so many secrets I never knew. For instance, while Earl boasts of his bravery, the ghost of the archer who killed him lurks at his feet! In reality, so many historical 'facts' can't be taken at face value."
As Hermione happily recounted her discoveries, a sudden gurgle escaped her stomach. Her face flushed crimson.
Albert couldn't help but chuckle at the unexpected sound.
Embarrassed, Hermione turned away, hiding her face with her hair.
By then, Albert himself was feeling hungry. He approached Nick to take his leave.
Nick, already in high spirits and clutching an empty spectral goblet, stood atop the dais, beaming at the sight of his banquet in full swing. Upon seeing Albert tugging gently at Hermione's sleeve, he floated down and bowed slightly.
"Thank you for everything," he said with heartfelt sincerity. "I think today is the happiest day I've had since my death."
"No need to thank us—it wasn't difficult," Albert replied with a polite smile. "We'll go upstairs to have our meal now, before the feast ends."
"Ah! I've been so busy these past two days, I completely forgot to prepare anything for the living," Nick said apologetically. "Go on, hurry! At least you'll catch dessert. As for your breakfast tomorrow—well, consider it my treat."
With a final bow, Nick escorted them out of the underground classroom.
Albert and Hermione hurried through the corridors, ascending the staircase two at a time. When they slipped into the Great Hall, the main course had already been cleared away. Platters of caramel apples and pumpkin pasties gleamed on the tables.
"You missed the Halloween apple pies," Ron said through a mouthful of sticky caramel as the two sat down.
"But the ghost gathering was fascinating," Hermione said with a satisfied smile, spearing a slice of pumpkin cake. "I learned things you'd never find in a book."
Albert smirked. "Don't forget, Hermione—if not for my invitation, you wouldn't have had the chance." His tone carried a teasing pride rather than arrogance.
"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"So what's so special about ghost parties, anyway?" Harry asked curiously.
"Well, for one thing, I saw headless knights tossing their own heads across the hall," Albert said between bites of cake. "I'd never seen that before."
"And the whole atmosphere—the blue flames, the cold air, a hall filled with ghosts—it all captured the spirit of a truly magical Halloween," he added. "The only problem is, well… nothing there was really suitable for the living."
After filling his stomach with sweets, Albert returned to the dormitory with the others.
The next morning, he awoke to find a thick envelope resting on his bedside table. Curious, he opened it to discover a letter from Nick, delivered overnight by a house-elf.
In the opening lines, Nick explained that he had asked the Bloody Baron to dictate the letter, as only a ghost could pen it properly. He had deliberately avoided letting the house-elf write it, as he felt its contents were… not entirely appropriate for the Headmaster's eyes.
Inside were several gifts of knowledge. First, a list of secret passageways throughout Hogwarts. Second, a note revealing that the Room of Requirement—known in ancient ghost lore as the "Answering Chamber"—had existed for centuries. Any student in need only had to pace before the door with their desire in mind, and the room would appear.
At the very end, Nick added one final "secret":
A ghost once witnessed a group of wizards carrying several heavy chests along the southern coast of England nearly two hundred years ago. They buried them in secrecy—and no one had returned since. Judging by the size and weight of the chests, it was likely treasure.
Albert's mind raced. The Christmas holidays… that would be the perfect time for a treasure hunt.
This, truly, was a generous gift. He had gained far more than he expected.
In a cheerful mood, Albert attended Lockhart's class later that day, where the self-styled celebrity was putting on his latest dramatization: "Gilderoy versus the Werewolf."
Honestly, Albert thought, if he weren't a wizard, he'd have a fine career in Hollywood.
Lockhart gave a few vague instructions, then had Harry act out the werewolf while he himself struck heroic poses. He could conjure a "scene" with nothing more than florid words and exaggerated movements. Albert had to admit: for this kind of cheap spectacle, the man was a natural.
But as a teacher? Useless. Albert knew he wouldn't learn a thing in this class.
So, while Lockhart basked in his imaginary spotlight, Albert quietly unfurled a sheet of parchment and began working on the Viking spellwork preserved in his inherited memory.
Spellcraft, after all, wasn't just about learning incantations. Once you understood the runic structure of a spell, you could modify or evolve it.
Ordinary wizards might only transfigure a stone into a statue, or swap objects in simple transformations. But a true master—like Dumbledore—could extend a basic transfiguration into something breathtakingly complex.
Albert recalled how, in his previous life, Dumbledore had used spheres of water to counter Voldemort's attacks in the Ministry of Magic. That feat had merely been a masterful extension of basic transfiguration.
To be honest, Albert mused, I can already manage something like that now. Imagine what I could achieve after two or three more years of serious training.
For now, he was carefully deconstructing a simple Viking charm, verifying the purpose and effect of each component rune before making slight adjustments.
This work was tedious but fascinating. To succeed, he had to break the spell down to its primal magical text—stripping away modern gestures and chants—and rebuild it piece by piece.
The ancient Viking charm he chose was simple and safe. At worst, a failed cast would just produce a brief flash, like a camera's blink. He knew better than to attempt a dangerous spell first—after all, Luna's mother had died that way.
On his second attempt, Albert successfully adapted the spell from memory, increasing its potency by channeling three times the usual magical force, doubling its duration.
But in his excitement, the incantation slipped from his lips aloud.
A silver-white orb of light shot from his wand toward the teacher's desk.
Fortunately, Albert's reflexes were extraordinary. With a sharp counter-incantation, he dispelled the magic in midair—mere inches before it struck Professor Lockhart's table.
The entire class had seen it.
To be continued…