"Am I early?" Albert looked around the expansive, echoing Great Hall and didn't see George, Fred, or Lee Jordan anywhere. He reached into his pocket, retrieved his beautiful, silver pocket watch, and checked the time: 4:10 PM.
Just right, very on time, he thought, before a sudden realization hit him.
He couldn't help but sigh. The twins and Lee were only eleven years old, and he couldn't expect them to possess a meticulous sense of timekeeping. What's more, none of them carried a pocket watch.
"I hope you won't keep me waiting too long," he murmured, slipping his watch back into his robes.
With nothing else to do, Albert took out his wand, polished the dark wood with a clean handkerchief to remove any distracting fingerprints, and mentally began reviewing the complex theoretical knowledge related to Conjuration that he'd absorbed from the Level 2 Transfiguration Theory skill.
He tried a quiet, wordless spell, focusing his intent on the tip of his wand: "Chrysan..."
Well, nothing happened. The subtle flicker of magic he was looking for didn't manifest. He checked his skill list—no Summoning Charm had appeared. He definitely needed to borrow a Fifth-Year textbook to bridge the gap between theory and practical application.
"Is there something wrong?"
Albert realized he wasn't alone. He looked up and saw Shanna—a girl from his Charms class—sitting nearby, watching him.
"Um... can I..." Shanna hesitated, her expression nervous.
"Albert! This way!" The twins were suddenly waving frantically at him from the entrance of the Auditorium, Fred looking exasperated and George looking winded.
"I have to go," Albert said, gathering his things quickly. He looked back at Shanna. "What did you want to say just now?"
"Nothing," she replied, looking slightly disappointed.
"If you wanted me to help you with Transfiguration, I'm afraid I can't right now. I have an appointment to keep." Albert recalled the difficulty everyone else had faced with the Match-to-Needle spell. He smiled kindly. "Don't be too anxious. The beginning is always the hardest part. It took me a long time to get the knack for Transfiguration theory."
"Oh, thank you," Shanna said, pausing to think. "Can you spare some time tonight? Just an hour or so?"
"If you're still up after dinner, it's not impossible. I'll be around the Common Room. See you tonight!" Albert gave her a friendly wave and walked quickly out of the Great Hall.
"See you tonight," Shanna whispered to herself, watching his retreating figure. She couldn't help but feel a pang of competitive jealousy. "Why is the gap between us so huge?"
"What were you talking about with that Ravenclaw girl?" Fred asked curiously the moment Albert reached them.
"I was talking about how annoying it is to have to wait for people who can't keep track of time," Albert said, feigning an unhappy look. "You agreed to meet Charlie at four-thirty, and it's already past four-fifteen."
"You know we don't have pocket watches," George defended, looking slightly sheepish.
"I don't blame you," Albert conceded, softening his expression. "I suspected you'd be late." He glanced up at the sky. The afternoon sun was still warm, but a pleasant, cooling breeze had started to stir.
"By the way," Lee Jordan stiffly changed the subject, clearly nervous about the upcoming activity. "Will your brother really let us ride his broom for a test flight? Just a casual flight?"
"Yes, of course," Albert said, casually comforting him. "Charlie's the Quidditch Captain. If he's a decent captain, he wouldn't mind taking a look to see if there are any first-years who can handle a broom well. Even if you can't join the team this year, you could be reserve players next season."
"Albert's right," George said, patting Lee Jordan's shoulder with exaggerated firmness. "Besides, I think your biggest concern shouldn't be whether Charlie will let you fly, but whether you'll fall off."
"I'll make sure you fall from mid-air," Lee Jordan threatened George, glaring at him.
"Albert, have you ever played with a broom before?" Fred asked suddenly.
"I was born into a Muggle family, what do you think?" Albert rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He bent down and picked up a small, grey stone from the ground.
"Why are you picking up that broken stone?" George asked, puzzled by the random act.
"You'll know in a moment," Albert replied, tossing the small stone in his hand as they walked.
The four boys arrived at the Quidditch pitch, which was situated at the bottom of the long slope behind the castle grounds. Charlie hadn't arrived yet—the appointed time was still ten minutes away.
"Your brother might show up even later than we did," Fred commented with a slight pout.
"We should have come later," George also regretted their early arrival. They stood outside the imposing, locked iron gate of the stadium, feeling impatient.
"You can always practice," Albert reminded them kindly, sitting down in the shade of a nearby oak tree. He pulled out his wand. "We're here, and we're free. Practice the Lumos Charm or even just basic wand control. Find something to do so the time passes faster."
"Okay, you're right," the three conceded, pulling out their own wands and beginning to aimlessly practice the simple light-producing spell, mumbling the incantation and flicking their wrists. It wasn't the excitement they'd planned, but it beat standing around.
Albert, meanwhile, drew his wand and directed his focus on the small stone he'd picked up. He was practicing the Disillusionment Charm, aiming to perfectly blend the small rock into the lush green lawn. The stone shimmered, its surface fighting to match the texture and colour of the grass, but it kept failing, appearing as a slight, almost transparent distortion.
"Now, I know why you were able to learn spells so quickly," Lee Jordan muttered, staring at Albert's intensely focused expression. His own wand, held loosely, was only producing a weak, wavering light. "No matter who practices like that—with that kind of concentration—there's no reason why they can't learn it, unless they're truly stupid!"
Of course, if they knew Albert was systematically grinding experience points and had an advanced skill for theory, they might revise their assessment of his "hard work."
It was nearly five o'clock when Charlie Weasley finally arrived, sprinting towards the stadium with a wide grin and bringing his broom with him.
The broom was a sturdy, worn, but powerful-looking model—a Comet Two-Sixty. The twins immediately introduced it to Albert, clearly proud of their brother's prized possession, even if it was technically an "older" model.
"How did you get in?" Charlie asked, looking confusedly at the gate, which he distinctly remembered locking.
"Used the Unlocking Charm, of course," the twins said matter-of-factly, puffing out their chests.
"Ahem, don't use that tone. You're giving the impression that you were the ones who successfully cast the spell," Lee Jordan complained, pointing a finger at them.
"It's not your broom to worry about anyway, Jordan," George retorted.
Charlie merely shook his head, accustomed to the twins' antics. "Alright, listen up. This test is going to be extremely simple. All you need to do is ride my broom once, honestly and carefully, around the Quidditch pitch!"
He looked directly at Albert and Lee Jordan. "Have either of you ridden a proper flying broom before?"
"No," Albert answered simply.
"I've only ever ridden one of those toy ones, the kind that barely lift you a foot," Lee Jordan muttered, his eyes wide as he looked at the sheer size of the stadium.
"After the boys have flown, you two can try it, but only if you follow my instructions," Charlie said, not rejecting the twins' friends. He then turned his head to look at Fred and George, who were already jostling each other for the broom. He adopted a warning tone.
"You two," he warned, pointing a finger at them. "You will fly honestly and only around the perimeter of the Quidditch field. One simple loop each. If I find out you're doing any tricks, dives, or high-speed maneuvers, I will put this broom away, and you won't touch it again until your flying lessons start. Understood?"
"Understood, Charlie!" they chorused, grabbing the broom before he could change his mind.
The test flight was about to begin. The sheer scale of the Quidditch pitch, with its three fifty-foot-high hoops at each end, felt enormous and intimidating, yet thrillingly inviting, promising the dizzying freedom that only magic could provide