While the shadows of Quirrell's past were lengthening in Devon, the atmosphere at Hogwarts was considerably more chaotic—and significantly louder.
"Move! Move! Fred, he's doubling back! Lee's down, he's dead weight now! Don't let him slip into the thicket!"
George's voice cracked as he roared instructions through the dense canopy of the Forbidden Forest. The three of them were crashing through the undergrowth like a herd of panicked hippogriffs, desperate to pin down a single, elusive target.
Practicing combat in the Forbidden Forest hadn't been a suggestion from the twins; it was an ultimatum from Albert. If they were serious about hunting for Gryffindor's hidden cache, they couldn't just be "classroom wizards." The forest was a nightmare of vertical obstacles, uneven terrain, and shifting light. In a dueling club, you had a flat floor and a clear view. Here, a well-placed oak tree was better than any Shield Charm, and a stray root could be more dangerous than a hex.
Albert's reasoning was cold and practical: they needed to improve their spatial awareness and their stamina. After the brush with the Acromantulas earlier in the year, he was under no illusions. Those spiders weren't just "beasts"; they were a colonial force with a grudge, and if the boys went deeper next time, they wouldn't be facing one or two—they'd be facing a literal wall of chitin and venom.
"Expelliarmus!"
A bolt of scarlet light tore through the air. Albert, who had been a blur of movement between two silver birches, dropped into a low roll. The spell missed his head by an inch, slamming into the trunk behind him and showering the area in splinters and scorched bark.
"Missed me," Albert's voice drifted from behind a massive elm.
"He's mocking us! Get him! If we bag him today, he's paying for the next three rounds at the Three Broomsticks!" Fred yelled, his face slick with sweat and flushed a deep, triumphant red.
They had played this game a dozen times, and usually, it ended with the three of them lying face-down in the pine needles while Albert stood over them, barely winded. But today, they had a plan. They had agreed to strip away the "crutches"—no Disillusionment Charms to turn invisible, and no Shield Charms to hide behind. It was a test of raw aim and reflex. At a hundred feet, through a screen of branches, a spell was as difficult to land as a long-distance arrow. It was about "feeling" the magic, not just pointing a stick.
Albert took a sharp breath, his lungs burning with the crisp forest air. He didn't wait to be flanked. He charged directly into the gap between Fred and George, opting for a high-stakes shootout.
"Predictable!" George laughed. "We were waiting for the 'Hero Charge'!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Three spells were cast almost simultaneously. The air hissed with static. Mud erupted from the ground where the twins' spells went wide, but Albert's aim was true. His scarlet bolt caught Fred square in the chest. Fred's wand spun out of his hand, clattering into a pile of dead leaves.
George didn't hesitate. He leveled his wand at Albert's exposed side. "Gotcha!"
Expelliarmus!
Albert didn't dive this time. Instead, he flicked his left hand in a sharp, backhand motion. There was a metallic clink, and the spell didn't hit him—it bounced. The red bolt was deflected at a forty-five-degree angle, sizzling into a nearby cedar tree.
George froze. His jaw dropped, his wand lowering just an inch in sheer confusion. "Did you just... slap my spell away?"
"Focus, George," Albert said.
Expelliarmus.
The spell caught George in the shoulder, sending his wand flying over a bush. The match was over.
"You cheated!" George yelled, his voice echoing through the trees as he scrambled toward his wand. "You absolute scoundrel! You used a protective wristband! I saw the spark!"
"I never said enchanted accessories were off-limits," Albert said, leaning against a tree and wiping a smudge of dirt from his forehead. "In a real fight, the Acromantulas aren't going to check if your jewelry is regulation."
"It's an unfair advantage!" Fred grumbled, brushing leaf mold off his robes. "I'm going to—"
"Quiet!" Albert hissed suddenly, his posture snapping into a state of high alert. "Someone's coming."
He didn't wait for a reply. Albert vanished behind a thick holly bush, his wand blurring as he cast a silent, high-level Disillusionment Charm on himself. His form rippled and melted into the background like a heat haze.
"Who's out there? I can hear ya stompin' around! Come out before I set Fang on ya!"
A massive silhouette broke through the treeline. It was Hagrid, looking particularly grumpy, his crossbow slung over his shoulder and his boarhound, Fang, sniffing the ground with mild interest.
"Hagrid!" Fred squeaked, trying to look like he was just out for a casual stroll in a monster-infested woods.
"What are you lot doin' this far in?" Hagrid asked, his beetle-black eyes narrowing as he took in the scorched bark and the scattered wands.
"Practicing!" George said quickly, his twin-telepathy kicking in. "You know, the Impediment Jinx and some basic stunning. We can't really let loose in the common room without Percy having a stroke, so we thought the outskirts of the forest would be safer."
"Safe? In the Forest?" Hagrid snorted. "There's things in here that'd eat a third-year for a snack and ask for seconds. Where's Albert? I know he's usually the brain behind these 'expeditions'."
"He... uh... he snuck off the second he heard your boots," George muttered, deciding that if they were going down, Albert was coming with them. "He's probably halfway to the hut by now, the traitor."
Hagrid looked around, his brow furrowed. "Albert! Come out! Don't make me come lookin' for ya!"
There was no answer. The forest remained silent, save for the rustle of the wind.
"See? Deserted us," Fred said indignantly.
"Right. Well, I'm not havin' it. You two, back to the castle. And don't let me catch ya wanderin' again, or I'll be forced to tell Professor McGonagall."
"We promise, Hagrid! Cross our hearts!" the twins said in perfect unison.
"Save it for someone who believes ya," Hagrid grumbled, ushering them toward the path.
By the time they reached the edge of the grounds, they found Albert and Lee Jordan sitting on a log outside Hagrid's hut, calmly feeding Fang scraps of dried meat. Albert looked like he'd been there for hours, his robes perfectly pressed and not a single leaf in his hair.
"You backstabbing, slippery little—" Fred started, pointing a finger at Albert.
"We were looking everywhere for you two," Lee Jordan interrupted, his eyes wide and mock-innocent. "Albert said he saw Hagrid heading into the woods and worried you'd get caught. We came here to intercept him, but we must have missed you."
"Lies! Pure, unfiltered Gryffindor lies!" George cried.
Hagrid, however, wasn't in a laughing mood. He grabbed Fred and George by the collars of their robes. "Save the stories for McGonagall. You lot need a lesson in boundaries."
"Hagrid, wait! Can't we settle this with a nice cup of tea?"
"The tea's for people who stay on the paths!" Hagrid growled, dragging them toward the castle.
"They really are pathetic, aren't they?" Lee Jordan remarked, watching his friends being hauled away.
"Speed is a survival trait, Lee," Albert said, tossing a final bit of jerky to Fang. "If you're too slow to hide, you're fast enough to do detention. It's a balanced ecosystem."
"True," Lee chuckled.
An hour later, the four of them were reunited in the Gryffindor common room. Fred and George looked like they had aged five years.
"McGonagall made us copy the school rules," Fred moaned, collapsing into an armchair. "Every. Single. One. Do you know how many rules there are? There's a rule about not bringing 'unauthorized sentient cheese' into the Great Hall!"
"That's actually a very useful rule to know," Albert said, not looking up from his book. "Now you know exactly what not to call the cheese when you smuggle it in. And look on the bright side—I'll buy the first round of Butterbeers next time we're in Hogsmeade."
"You better," George muttered. "I've got a cramp in my hand that feels like a Cruciatus curse."
"I heard someone was having a rough afternoon," a voice said. Katrina walked over, her expression unreadable. She glanced at the twins' miserable faces for a second before turning to Albert and handing him a thick, cream-colored envelope.
"Oho! A love letter?" George teased, his spirits miraculously recovering at the prospect of gossip. "Is our Albert finally being pursued by a secret admirer?"
Albert rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. "It's a letter from a contact in France about alchemy, George. Not everything is a romance novel."
Katrina shot George a look that could have curdled milk and walked away without a word.
"Touchy," George remarked. "I remember Percy used to get letters like that from a Muggle girl in the village. He used to hide them under his mattress."
"It was a pen-pal arrangement, George. And her name was Penelope," Percy's voice cut through the room like a cold blade. He appeared from the stairs, his Prefect badge gleaming with a distracting level of polish. He looked at the twins with pure, unadulterated disappointment. "I heard you two were caught in the Forest. Again. Fifty points, George. Fifty."
"We were... conducting ecological research," Fred tried.
"You were making us look like a house of hooligans," Percy snapped. "And if I hear another word about my 'correspondence' from either of you, I'll ensure your next detention involves scrubbing the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic."
"We wouldn't dream of it, Perce," Fred said, backing away.
"Yeah, our mouths are sealed," Albert added, standing up and ushering Lee toward the library. "We have 'research' to do. See you later, Percy."
As they hurried away, Albert tucked the letter from Katrina into his bag. It wasn't about alchemy. It was a note about the "Sweet Sixteen" bracket—and a warning that a certain Ravenclaw was looking to challenge the tournament's legality. The games were getting more complicated by the hour. 🏰🌲📜