It was around 8:30 a.m. when Albert's three roommates finally shuffled into the Great Hall, eyes barely open and hair sticking up at impossible angles. They slumped onto the bench, exhibiting the classic signs of extreme sleep deprivation.
"Good morning, my dear friends!" Albert greeted them cheerfully, a hint of playful mockery in his voice. He had already finished his usual breakfast and was calmly sipping a cup of pumpkin juice, having long ago put away his book.
"Don't sound so aggressively awake, Albert," Lee Jordan groaned, rubbing his face vigorously. He immediately snatched a large sausage and stuffed it into his mouth, muttering around the mouthful, "I feel like my legs are going to snap off. I need a week to recover from that crawl yesterday."
"It's not as exaggerated as you say," Albert said, closing the Selected Nineteenth Century Spells in his hand and putting it back into his backpack with a definitive thump. He reached out and patted Lee's shoulder, using just enough force to be slightly annoying.
"You simply overexerted yourself. How about I take you to Madam Pomfrey at the hospital wing and ask her to give you a potent muscle relaxant potion? That should sort you out."
"Forget it!" Lee suddenly looked terrified. The prospect of a cold, unfamiliar potion from the school nurse was apparently worse than the soreness. He feared the mysterious cure more than the ache.
Fred, who was meticulously scraping the yolk off a golden fried egg, laughed heartily. "He just offered you free medical care, Lee. But I can offer you a classic Weasley remedy," he suggested, leaning in conspiratorially. "Slapping your legs vigorously a few times can greatly relieve the deep, muscular soreness."
George immediately chimed in, picking up the joke, "And I can help you, for free. Nothing like a good, solid slap to the quadriceps to restore circulation!"
"Are you still human?" Lee Jordan glared at the unrepentant twins, grabbing a handful of toast and retreating to the safety of eating in silence.
"Stop messing around and eat quickly," Albert reminded them, glancing at the gigantic hourglasses representing the House points. "The first class is Charms, and it starts in twenty minutes. I don't want to be late on my very first day."
Just as the four of them were focused on cramming food, a stocky, red-haired young man with the look of someone accustomed to physical exertion approached the table. He wore worn Quidditch robes and had a scattering of mud on his boots. He sat down next to the twins and offered a friendly smile.
"Morning, boys," he said, quickly grabbing an apple. "Still adjusting to school life?"
"Charlie!" George exclaimed in surprise. "The Quidditch team is going to start practice so early in the morning? It's the first day of classes!"
"It's just a simple warm-up and a skills assessment, George," Charlie Weasley, the Quidditch Captain, explained matter-of-factly, taking a large bite of the apple. "No one's touched a broom all summer. We need to knock the rust off. This year, we must win the Quidditch Cup. Ravenclaw's Seeker has gotten too arrogant."
Albert, who was listening intently, couldn't help but shake his head. He spoke up before he could stop himself. "Young man, you are truly tempting fate. Don't you know that publicly declaring such a goal will lead to an inevitable demise? That's the first rule of dramatic irony."
Charlie raised an amused eyebrow at the unexpected intervention from the well-spoken first-year, but Fred immediately seized the opportunity.
"Speaking of winning, Charlie, is the team still short of anyone? George and I could be invaluable additions as Beaters. You know our level; we've been playing since we could walk."
"Don't even think about it," Charlie said sternly, though a slight, nostalgic smile played on his lips. "You've just enrolled. The rules strictly forbid first-years from joining the Quidditch teams. You can't even try out until your second year."
"Rules are boring," George groaned, dropping his fork dramatically.
"There are always exceptions, aren't there?" Fred insisted, winking broadly at his older brother. "If a freshman demonstrates a truly exceptional talent, a rare gift for the broomstick, they can be admitted. Like a spectacularly good Seeker."
"Who told you that!" Charlie Weasley demanded, his voice rising in genuine annoyance. The twins were always trying to find loopholes in school rules, and he, as Captain and an older brother, had a duty to maintain order—especially when the Headmaster wasn't inclined to make arbitrary exceptions. Even if he was the Quidditch captain, he couldn't act so recklessly. Losing the game was one thing, but getting caught bending the rules for his own siblings would be disastrous for his reputation within the House.
The twins suddenly looked at Albert with identical, expectant expressions, their eyes gleaming with suppressed mischief.
"Why are you looking at me?" Albert asked, utterly bewildered by the sudden shift of attention.
Charlie followed the twins' gaze, landing on Albert, and became even more confused. He had absolutely no idea what these two strange first-years were up to.
"He's the exception," Fred declared, pointing dramatically at Albert with a piece of bacon.
"Fred!" Albert hissed, momentarily forgetting his cool demeanor.
"Don't worry, Albert. Charlie won't tell anyone," George reassured him, immediately backtracking on the initial point. "But, Charlie, seriously, the official tryouts ended yesterday. You can wait until next year to officially try to join the team, but we're the best Beaters you're going to get in the next few years. They will be graduating soon, won't they?"
Charlie Weasley coughed lightly, looking thoughtful. In fact, both of the current Beaters on the Gryffindor team were set to graduate next year. Training up two replacements with innate talent—even if they were his irritating younger brothers—was a smart move. He was very clear about George and Fred's skill level; at least they had a better foundation and instinct for the game than most others.
"Alright," Charlie conceded gruffly, putting down his apple core. "Here's the deal. You two can't officially join, and you won't play any games. But I'm looking for a couple of reliable substitute Beaters to help with drills and strategy. You can join the training sessions."
"Then we can also participate in the training?" The twins' eyes were filled with unconcealable, triumphant excitement.
"Today... this afternoon, you should be free, right?" Charlie thought for a moment, checking his mental timetable. "Meet me at the Quidditch pitch at 4:30 p.m. sharp. I'll give you a glimpse of the situation first. And for Merlin's sake, do not cause any trouble."
"We know!" the twins nodded in perfect unison, practically vibrating with energy. The sudden change in mood was astonishing, transforming them from sleepy teenagers into focused, aspiring athletes.
The bell chimed for the first class, and the four boys hurriedly left the Great Hall.
Their first destination was the Charms classroom on the fourth floor. Unlike some of the other freshmen, the four boys, fresh off their weekend adventure, were surprisingly adept at navigating the castle. They found the Charms classroom easily this time.
Gryffindor shared its Charms class with the Hufflepuff students. The atmosphere in the hallway was notably calmer than the Great Hall.
When they walked into the classroom, quite a few students were already there. Albert spotted Shanna Wilson and Angelina Johnson already seated at a table in the front row, chatting earnestly with a group of Hufflepuff students. The front-row seats were all taken—a clear sign of the keen students.
The four friends headed for the back. Albert took a seat with Lee Jordan, and the Weasley twins settled in immediately behind them. Albert took out his parchment and quill, preparing for a long session of note-taking.
Professor Flitwick entered the classroom right as the second bell rang. The Charms professor was indeed surprisingly tiny, standing barely three feet tall. His cheerful expression and surprisingly loud voice commanded respect despite his stature.
Due to his height, Professor Flitwick had to stand on a neat stack of old, worn textbooks to reach the desk comfortably during class. No one laughed or pointed; his impressive reputation quickly suppressed any urge for mockery.
Before diving into the curriculum, Professor Flitwick took out the class roster and began the solemn ritual of calling the roll—a moment that instantly transported Albert back to the familiarity of a Muggle college lecture.
The first item on the agenda for the Charms class was a breathtaking demonstration.
The tiny professor pointed his wand—a short, polished piece of ebony—at a small stack of books resting on the corner of his desk. He gave a sharp, almost silent flick.
The books instantly levitated several inches into the air. They began to spin, then separated, flipping open their pages as if shuffling themselves. Suddenly, they started tap-dancing happily on the surface of the desk, their spines acting as feet, producing a rhythmic, staccato clack-clack-clack. They then leaped higher and higher, forming a straight line in mid-air, dancing in perfect synchronization to an inaudible beat. The entire magical display was mesmerizing.
When the performance concluded, the books gracefully dropped back to their original shape, falling neatly into a stack on the desk.
A wave of warm, spontaneous applause erupted immediately. All the students, whether Muggle-born or pure-blood, were completely captivated by the powerful, yet graceful, magic they had just witnessed. They were all eager, now more than ever, to start learning the spells themselves.
"That, young wizards and witches, is what you can achieve," Professor Flitwick squeaked proudly, puffing out his chest slightly after the applause subsided. "But you still have a great deal to learn before you reach this level."
He then directed them to the required reading. "Now, open your textbook to page three. We must first master the fundamental theory of spells. This academic knowledge will provide the necessary foundation to help you better understand and successfully execute Charms in the future."
Professor Flitwick spent the better part of the next forty minutes meticulously explaining the theory of wand movements, incantation pronunciation, and magical intention. The students busily scribbled down a dizzying array of complicated and often difficult notes, which the professor repeatedly emphasized were crucial for successful spellcasting.
While Albert was concentrating on writing down a particularly complex point about the difference between Charms and Transfiguration, he felt a light but insistent nudge from Lee Jordan's elbow.
"What's the matter?" Albert turned his head slightly, asking in a low, exasperated whisper. He did not want to miss a single word of the lecture.
Lee Jordan subtly pointed his chin toward the Weasley twins at the next table, who were engaged in a frantic, silent charade. They were pointing first at Albert's inkwell, then at his quill, and finally making exaggerated writing motions with empty hands.
Needless to say, Albert instantly understood the situation. Those two notorious rascals hadn't even bothered to bring quills or parchment to their very first class. He couldn't help but be impressed by their sheer lack of preparedness.
With a sigh that was more air than sound, Albert placed his quill down on the desk. He leaned over, careful to keep his voice below the noise of Professor Flitwick's rapid-fire lecture, and subtly whispered the Cloning Charm he had practiced extensively. Two identical, functioning quills instantly appeared on the table in front of Fred and George.
"Give me one, too," Lee Jordan whispered instantly, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
"You didn't bring one either?" Albert hissed, aghast. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? I could have done all three at once!"
Lee Jordan chuckled, his eyes crinkling. "I was just afraid of disturbing you while you were taking those complicated notes. I figured I'd wait until you were done and just borrow a copy."
Albert simply rolled his eyes and performed the charm one more time.
This small scene of magical, back-row laziness did not go entirely unnoticed. Not only did Albert's mouth twitch in annoyance, but even Angelina and Shanna in the row ahead glanced back at them with strange, bewildered expressions, clearly wondering how three extra quills had mysteriously materialized in the back of the classroom.
Professor Flitwick, who was perched high atop his books at the podium, was also aware of the small commotion. However, he merely paused his lecture for a fraction of a second, flicked his eyes towards the back, and then continued explaining the advanced spell theories, opting to ignore the minor transgression. After all, the boys were attentive, taking notes now, and a new school year required a certain amount of tolerance for minor mischief.
Albert returned to his note-taking with renewed focus, grateful that the Charms professor valued academic effort over strict adherence to classroom rules—especially rules involving the need to carry writing instruments. He found himself looking forward to the practical application of the spells.