"Poof!" A ball of mud, skillfully bypassing the students in its path, splattered against the marble slab in front of Filch.
The caretaker stared down at the mess, his face twisting into an ugly scowl as an aura of no trespassing seemed to radiate from him.
Albert and Lee Jordan noticed the sudden change in atmosphere. They stopped, along with other students, and turned toward the source of the disturbance.
Filch stiffly turned his head, just in time to see another thumb-sized mud ball flying toward him. He dodged quickly, his gaze lingering on the spot where he had just stood. Then, with grim determination, he shoved through the crowd and charged after the direction the mud ball had come from.
The sheer intensity of his pursuit made students exchange astonished glances. Some even followed behind, eager to watch the spectacle.
Whispers spread through the hallway as students speculated about who had dared to throw mud at Filch.
Meanwhile, in the opposite direction, the Weasley twins appeared around a corner, waving cheerfully at Albert and Lee with mischievous smiles.
"How was it?" Fred and George had just emerged from a nearby secret passage. Albert raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
Indeed, it was the twins who had launched the mud balls—using the enchanted winged slingshot Albert had found in the Room of Requirement. The mud itself was a concoction of soil mixed with Mooncalf dung, freshly acquired from Herbology class.
Of course, their aim hadn't been Filch himself, but the marble slab at his feet. Still, to any onlooker, it looked as though they had targeted him directly.
Now, the furious caretaker was chasing shadows, and it was anyone's guess whether some unlucky student might end up suffering for the prank.
Back in the common room, the group took hot showers and changed into fresh clothes. When they returned, they overheard others talking about Filch, who was still storming through the castle in search of the culprit.
"Wonderful, simply wonderful!" Fred beamed, clearly delighted by Filch's frustration.
"Eat quietly," Albert reminded them, nodding toward Filch sulking in the corner of the Great Hall.
Albert himself ate little, saving his appetite for the grand Halloween feast later that evening.
The prank had left the group in high spirits, and the afternoon passed pleasantly.
Professor Broad, sensing that no one was in the mood for serious study, spent the Defense Against the Dark Arts class telling stories.
One tale described a fifteenth-century Earl who attempted to duel a child suspected of witchcraft. Charging on horseback with a lance, he was stopped by a Shield Charm cast by a witch. The Earl crashed headlong into the barrier, suffering multiple fractures and head injuries, and was forever after known as the "Feeble-minded Earl."
The story sparked great interest in the Shield Charm, though Broad explained it would only be taught in higher years—much to the disappointment of the class.
"Is it really that hard? Doesn't Albert know it already?" Lee Jordan muttered. His voice wasn't loud, but enough students heard to cast suspicious glances at Albert.
Albert only smiled, neither confirming nor denying. "Guess for yourselves."
That evening, the Halloween feast quickly dispelled lingering regrets.
The Great Hall was breathtakingly decorated: twelve giant pumpkins from Hagrid's garden carved into lanterns large enough for students to sit inside, bats fluttering beneath the enchanted ceiling, and candlelight flickering in smaller pumpkins.
Before the feast began, Dumbledore invited the famous witch singer Celestine Warbeck to perform Catch the Bludger, Throw the Quaffle, Lads.
Albert listened with a bewildered expression. Though Warbeck's voice was undeniably powerful, he couldn't appreciate the style. While the hall erupted in excitement, he sat awkwardly, feeling out of place.
Across the table, Sanna looked equally lost.
Thankfully, the song ended quickly, and Warbeck left the stage to thunderous applause.
"Why aren't you reacting? Don't you like Celestine Warbeck's song?" someone asked.
"Very infectious music," Albert replied carefully. In truth, he wanted to ask if everyone had gone mad, but he swallowed the words to avoid offending her fans.
"Right, Sanna?" he prompted.
"Very peculiar music," she agreed, forcing a smile.
"You don't seem to like her songs," Angelina teased slyly.
"Uh, no, that's not it. I just… don't listen to music often," Albert said vaguely, swallowing a bite of beef.
Fred and George, however, were enthusiastic. "Our whole family are Warbeck fans," Fred said through a mouthful of drumstick. "They play her songs during holidays."
"Yes," George added. "I heard she sometimes performs with a Banshee. I wonder if we'll see one tonight."
The mention of a Banshee piqued everyone's interest.
"Are you sure?" Albert asked skeptically. "Banshees are Dark creatures. Their screams are said to be fatal."
Lee Jordan insisted the rumor was true. His mother loved Warbeck's duet with the Banshee.
Albert recalled the description from Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection: long black hair trailing to the ground, a skull-like face, and glowing green eyes.
Suddenly, someone pointed toward the stage.
Albert turned—and froze. His fork slipped from his hand as he saw exactly what he had described: a Banshee, shrieking in eerie harmony with Warbeck's song.
The scream blended seamlessly with the music, creating a haunting performance. Even Albert found himself applauding—not for the song, but for the sheer audacity of the spectacle.
Later, Warbeck performed her famous You Stole My Cauldron, But You Can't Have My Heart. The crowd erupted, nearly lifting the roof with applause.
Albert, however, remained baffled. The lyrics struck him as absurd, and without the Banshee's accompaniment, the song seemed even worse.
Still, he clapped politely, pretending to share in the enthusiasm.
After the feast, Warbeck departed with her team and the Banshee, leaving students buzzing with excitement.
On the way back to the Gryffindor common room, Albert overheard countless discussions about the Banshee.
"How many people will have nightmares tonight?" Mark joked, slinging an arm around Albert.
"I don't know. But it was certainly bold," Albert replied, waving to Mario and the others. "When they form a circus, they should invite Peeves."
"That's brilliant," Mark laughed. "By the way, you haven't practiced in a while."
"Homework never ends, and I have Transfiguration Club every week," Albert sighed.
"Charlie wants you to take his Seeker position," Mark said. "Honestly, there's no one else in Gryffindor who can."
"Maybe next year—or the year after—someone better will appear," Albert said helplessly.
Charlie himself appeared, smiling as he clapped Albert's shoulder. "You'd make a great Seeker."
Everyone admired Albert because he had once caught the Snitch before Charlie in a friendly match.
But Albert protested. "I only play Quidditch for fun."
"Playing won't stop you from becoming an excellent wizard. McGonagall was a Seeker herself, and you're her star pupil," Charlie insisted.
Albert appreciated their praise but understood their desperation. Gryffindor hadn't won the Quidditch Cup in years.
Still, he didn't care much. After Charlie graduated, Harry Potter would take over as Seeker. That was destiny.
Harry Potter—the so-called Star of Salvation.
Though in Albert's eyes, he was merely a scapegoat.
Later, in the dormitory, Albert yawned and tossed a pillow at the Weasley twins, who were tap-dancing and singing off-key.
Merlin's beard, he thought. Is this the after-effect of attending a concert?
It wasn't surprising. Hearing Celestine Warbeck live was a rare thrill.
"Should we go for a night stroll?" George suggested.
"Another day," Albert muttered, catching the pillow Fred tossed back at him. He yawned again and burrowed under his covers, drowsy after the feast.