"It really is him. I saw the lightning scar—the whole nine yards." Fred and George had only been gone for ten minutes, but they returned to the compartment looking like they'd just discovered a new continent. Harry Potter was, without a shadow of a doubt, on the train.
Lee Jordan sat frozen, his gaze snapping from the twins back to Albert. "Are you telling me you actually knew he was on the train? Or did you just happen to guess correctly?"
"I don't guess," Albert said, not looking up from his book. "I analyze probabilities. And the probability of a famous orphan starting his first year at Hogwarts on September 1st is high enough that I'd be a fool not to bet on it."
George collapsed into the seat opposite Albert, his eyes immediately locking onto the ventilated box on the table. The Bagman's spider inside was pacing, its vibrant colors shifting in the dim light. "Where on earth did you find this thing? It's massive. It looks like it could take a finger off if you weren't careful."
"Massive? It's practically a shrimp compared to an Acromantula," Albert muttered, though he kept a respectful distance from the box.
Fred reached out, tapping his index finger against the plastic, but the spider remained aloof, its multiple eyes tracking the movement with unsettling focus. "You're keeping this secret, then? Or are you looking for a buyer?"
Lee's voice held a genuine pang of regret. "I wanted to keep it. But between the cost of specialized feed and the risk of it biting me in my sleep, I'm starting to think it's not the most practical companion. Might have to let it go."
"Why give it up? If you're that desperate to get rid of it, hand it over to us!" Fred said, his grin widening.
Lee rolled his eyes, shoving the box back toward the center of the table. "I'd rather release it into the Forbidden Forest and let it take its chances with the local wildlife than give you two a venomous weapon. You'd have it attacking the Slytherins before we even made it to the castle."
George ignored him, leaning in. "Can I take it out for a quick look? Just a peek?"
"And lose a finger? No thanks," Lee said. "The thing is clearly not in a mood to socialize."
Albert leaned back, watching them with a faint, amused smile. "If you do get bitten, the protocol is simple: we just lop off the limb before the poison hits your heart. Keeps the rest of you functioning, at least."
George's face twitched, a momentary flash of hesitation crossing his features. He knew Albert was joking, but with the way Albert said it, it sounded entirely too practical. He pulled his hand back, deciding that poking a venomous spider was suddenly much lower on his list of priorities.
"Your cat, on the other hand," Fred said, turning his attention to Tom, who was currently sprawled out, occupying an unreasonable amount of space. "He's grown into a literal orange boulder. Did you feed him a potion or just a constant stream of cream?"
Fred reached out to pet him, but Tom, displaying the reflexes of a ninja despite his girth, swiped at Fred's sleeve with such speed that the fabric ripped.
"Wild," Fred muttered, reaching for his wand to mend the tear.
"He's not wild, he's just expensive to maintain," Albert sighed. "If I didn't feed him, he'd probably start hunting the students. I've brought enough supplies to keep him satisfied, but he's not exactly a mouser."
The twins, always looking for a way to break the boredom of the journey, turned their attention back to the spider box, using a small wooden stick to tap at the sides.
"What does this thing eat anyway? Besides humans?" George asked, poking the container.
"Dried fish, apparently," Albert said, pulling a small packet from his robes. He tossed a strip to Tom, who crunched it down with alarming speed, and then dropped two more into the insect box. To the shock of the room, the Bagman's spider pounced on the fish, tearing into it with a ferocity that suggested it hadn't eaten in days.
Lee sat there, mouth agape. "I've never heard of a spider eating dried fish. Are you sure that's healthy for it?"
"Carnivores aren't picky when they're hungry," Albert said. "Fish is meat. Meat is protein. It works."
"You could feed it Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," Fred suggested, his eyes glimmering with a dangerous idea. "I bet you could find a flavor that matches a fly."
"The spider wouldn't care, and Lee probably needs those beans more than the spider does," Albert chuckled.
Lee grabbed a handful of leftover candies from his own stash and tossed them into the box, but the spider didn't even glance at them. It was far more interested in the dried fish.
"Don't stress the animal," Albert cautioned. He watched Lee looking at the fish with a worried expression. "It's not expensive. Five pounds for a massive bag. It's barely a Galleon. Why didn't you just stop by the magical creature shop in Diagon Alley and buy the proper feed?"
The twins shared a look, then looked at Lee. The unspoken question hung in the air: did they think Galleons just grew on trees?
"You think we're made of money?" Lee asked, incredulous.
"Keeping pets is an investment," Albert said, his tone softening slightly. "If you want the creature to survive the term, you have to budget for it. Otherwise, you're just wasting your time and the animal's potential."
Lee looked down at the cat, who was now busy trying to nose his way into Albert's pocket, and sighed. He envied Albert's nonchalant attitude toward money, but he lacked the foresight—or the "lucky" lottery tickets—to match it.
"Here, have a caramel," Fred said, sensing the gloom. He tossed one to Lee, who caught it suspiciously. George caught Albert's eye, a silent signal that said: don't interfere.
Lee examined the candy, looking for traps, but finally shrugged and popped it into his mouth. He chewed for a second, then his face contorted. He gagged, and to the horror of everyone in the room, a long, purple, prehensile tongue shot out of his mouth, flapping wildly in the air like an escaped party streamer.
"Looks like a success," Albert said, calmly pulling out his wand and performing a quick, precise counter-curse. The tongue retracted, and Lee collapsed back into his seat, coughing and gasping for air.
"You scoundrel!" Lee roared, lunging at Fred, who was already howling with laughter. A scuffle broke out, cushions flying and bags toppling over.
"You knew!" Lee glared at Albert once the dust had settled. "You knew what they were doing!"
"I recognized the scent of the Expanding Potion," Albert said, picking up an identical candy from the stash. He chewed it once and swallowed it whole. "But if you don't chew it properly, the reaction doesn't trigger. It's a matter of technique."
The three of them stared at him, stunned.
"What do you think about selling these at school?" Fred asked, his tone suddenly business-like. "We've been trying to figure out how to start turning a profit, and the prank market is always open."
"Not yet," Albert said, shaking his head. "You rush this, and you'll be out of business by October. These are too simple; anyone can copy a basic expanding charm on a sweet. You need a portfolio, a reputation for quality and unpredictability. Save your ideas, stockpile your inventory, and build the business correctly. When you open that shop, it shouldn't be for pocket money—it should be for a legacy."