In the evening, during dinner, the buzz of the Great Hall seemed to fade around the small pocket of Gryffindor students at the end of the table. Charlie Weasley sat next to Albert, his enthusiasm for Quidditch overpowering his hunger. He enthusiastically explained the rules and strategy of the game while simultaneously devouring a roast potato.
"It's not just speed, Albert, it's strategy. A good Seeker needs spatial awareness, of course, but a great one needs to be able to read the opponent's Seeker and anticipate the Snitch's movements before they happen. It's like a magical game of chess, only three hundred feet in the air."
Charlie suggested that Albert absolutely had to read The Origins of Quidditch if he was serious about the game. "It's surprisingly detailed; it even covers the history of fouling. You'll learn more about the dark arts of the sport than you will in your textbooks."
"If the game only ends when the Golden Snitch is caught, what happens if the Snitch is genuinely lost or flies out of the stadium?" Albert asked, curious about the rules' contingency clauses.
Charlie paused, stirring his pumpkin juice with his spoon. "Lost? That's highly unlikely, but the longest game ever recorded at Hogwarts was said to have lasted three days before the Captains, exhausted and starving, agreed to call it off. The rule is, if the Snitch can't be found or the weather makes flight impossible, the match is ended early, and the team with the most points wins. But that's a dull way to end. The glory is always in the catch."
He leaned in conspiratorially. "That's why our current Keeper is obsessed with defense; he knows he has to hold the line if the game drags on."
Their Quidditch chat was interrupted by a familiar, purposeful female voice.
"Albert, Professor McGonagall asked me to give this to you." Angelina Johnson, a third-year Chaser and an extremely focused student, handed Albert a tightly folded piece of parchment. She didn't linger, nodding briefly before returning to her friends.
"Thank you, Angelina," Albert replied, taking the parchment. He unfolded it. Written in Professor McGonagall's precise, sharp script, it read:
Thursday evening at 7:00 PM, Room 21, 6th floor of the Castle. Remember Gamp's basic laws of transformation.
"What is that?" Fred, who was eating a jacket potato, dropped his fork and strained to read the note over Albert's shoulder.
"Professor McGonagall's notice," Albert confirmed, passing the parchment to the twins and Lee Jordan. "The time and place of the first Transfiguration Club meeting."
Charlie, who had been listening to their chatter with an impatient look, suddenly stopped chewing. "Transfiguration Club? What in the name of the Headmaster is that?"
"It's a club Professor McGonagall set up herself," Albert explained, watching the twins and Lee Jordan examine the ominous message.
"What does it mean, 'remember Gamp's basic laws of transformation'?" George asked, genuinely puzzled by the specific academic instruction.
Albert shrugged, though he knew perfectly well what they were referring to. "It's probably the password to enter the classroom. Gamp's Laws deal with the limits of what you can Transfigure and Conjure—mostly that you can't create things from nothing, especially not food."
He then turned to Charlie, his expression regretful but firm. "Sorry, Charlie. If Quidditch practice ever conflicts with the Transfiguration Club schedule, I'm afraid the club has to take priority."
Charlie's face fell instantly. The enthusiasm that had been radiating off him just moments ago vanished. "Priority? Albert, you have incredible talent! You saw how easily you took to the broom. This is a chance to play for Gryffindor, to be one of the youngest students to join the training roster!"
"I know, and I appreciate the offer immensely, Charlie," Albert said sincerely. "But Transfiguration is a core subject, and this club is a rare opportunity for advanced study. It aligns more directly with my academic goals."
"Oh, I almost forgot that happened this afternoon, didn't it?" Lee Jordan interjected, remembering the conversation Albert had with the professor. The twins exchanged a knowing look—they could all see the secret weapon Charlie had been planning to unleash next year had slipped away before it had even been polished.
Charlie was stunned. His plan to secure another Quidditch trophy before he left Hogwarts, built partially on the unexpected speed of this Muggle-born freshman, was dissolving. He needed to talk to McGonagall. What was she teaching him that was more important than Quidditch? He pushed away his plate and stalked off, determined to find out.
"Charlie is absolutely determined to win another Quidditch trophy before he graduates," Fred observed, watching his brother's rigid, retreating back.
After finishing their meal, the four returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. It was early in the term, and the common room was absolutely packed. First-years were chasing each other, older students were shouting over chess matches, and the sheer volume of excited chatter made Albert feel like his head was about to split.
"This noise is impossible," Albert declared, rubbing his temples. "I'm heading to the Great Hall." He picked up his bag, which was already heavier due to the advanced reading list McGonagall had given him. "I'm going to read and practice."
The Great Hall was the ideal solution. It was sparsely populated after dinner, offering high ceilings and quiet corners. Albert found a secluded spot near the entrance.
It wasn't long before Shanna noticed him. She carried her textbook and wand and quietly approached, asking if she could work near him. She then began practicing the Lumos Charm.
Shanna failed repeatedly. Her wand barely emitted a spark before it dimmed.
"You should have more confidence in yourself and relax," Albert advised, without looking up from his book. "Concentrate. When you cast the spell, you must vividly imagine your wand igniting—not just wishing it would, but seeing it glow."
Shanna's face flushed slightly with frustration, but she failed again.
"Your mindset is incorrect," Albert continued, closing his book. He pointed to the small box he'd placed beside him. "This internal anxiety, this self-doubt, is creating a magical block. It's a genuine phenomenon. If you keep thinking you can't do it, your chance of failure increases exponentially."
He offered her the box. "Would you like one? Don't worry, these are just chocolate chips. Something sweet can sometimes help disrupt the anxiety pattern. It breaks the cycle of negative focus."
"How did you know that?" Shanna asked, chewing a few of the sweet chips. "How do you know that sweets will help you cast a spell?"
"Do you believe it was just a guess?" Albert said with a grin.
"I don't believe you guessed," she insisted.
"Well, actually, it's a conclusion I came to after failing Transfiguration spells far too many times myself," Albert admitted, though his experience was far less painful than hers. "Wizards' emotions, especially anxiety and fear, can absolutely affect their spellcasting focus. Chocolate releases endorphins. It's non-magical, pure psychology."
Feeling the mild sweetness in her mouth, Shanna took a deep breath. She tried again. She maintained her focus, imagining a perfect beam of light. This time, after three more attempts, she finally succeeded. Her wand tip flared brightly, and her face broke into an excited, relieved smile.
The light on her wand soon flickered and went out.
"You need to maintain the concentration and practice the consistency," Albert comforted her. "But you succeeded! That's the hardest part."
Lee Jordan arrived then, sliding into the seat next to Albert. "I thought you were going to the library," he said, looking suspiciously at Shanna and the chocolate chips. "Am I interrupting a secret tutoring session?"
"What about the two of them?" Albert asked, referring to the twins.
"I don't know," Lee Jordan replied. But seeing Shanna practice the Lumos Charm so diligently, he felt a renewed spark of ambition. George and Fred had managed to master it easily, but his was still inconsistent. He took out his own wand.
"What's wrong with mine?" he muttered, failing to keep his light steady.
"Maybe you're not concentrating enough!" Albert suggested.
"What do you mean, 'maybe'?" Lee Jordan was depressed, but he focused and tried again. He knew Albert was right; consistent practice was the only path.
"How do you define successfully mastering a spell, Albert?" Lee Jordan asked, finally managing to sustain a dim glow.
"When you can keep it glowing even when you are not concentrating fully on the wand—when you can maintain the light while thinking about something else entirely. That should be considered success," Albert replied, returning to his advanced Transfiguration book.
After some more focused effort, Lee Jordan's light became much harder to extinguish. Shanna's progress, while slower, was also steady. The power of consistent, low-stakes practice was proving itself.
It was nearly half-past eight when the twins finally appeared in the Great Hall, both looking thoroughly miserable, their energy completely deflated.
"Where have you two been?" Lee Jordan asked.
"Filch just took most of our Dungbombs," Fred ground out through gritted teeth, his face a picture of righteous fury.
"What happened?" Albert asked, looking suspiciously at the pair. "You didn't get caught while throwing them, did you?"
George, who was marginally more composed, recounted the disastrous sequence of events. Not long after leaving the Great Hall, they had run into Peeves the Poltergeist. Peeves, deciding to be especially nasty, had managed to enchant a bucket of sludge and dump it directly onto their heads from a high perch, coating them in foul-smelling, sticky mess.
Furious and humiliated, the twins had immediately headed back to the dormitory to re-arm. They had grabbed their supply of Dungbombs, fully intent on tracking down Peeves and giving him a taste of his own medicine—a revenge so foul it would surely wipe the smirk off his incorporeal face.
However, just as they were creeping down a corridor, wands out and Dungbombs ready, Argus Filch the caretaker, who seemed to have a sixth sense for forbidden objects and mischievous intent, had emerged silently from the shadows.
He had caught them dead-to-rights, wands raised and the distinct, vile smell of the Dungbombs wafting from their pockets.
Filch had then spent ten glorious minutes lecturing them on the proper punishment for bringing prohibited items into the castle. He had seized the majority of their valuable supply, claiming they were destructive items that violated a half-dozen ancient school rules. The twins were left with only a handful of the stink bombs and a mountain of bitter resentment.
"He claimed it was a prohibited item and just confiscated them!" Fred spat, his nose practically twitching with anger. "It was Peeves who started it! He's a menace, and Filch helps him!"
The twins' noses were practically crooked from the humiliation. They hadn't even had the satisfaction of throwing a single one.
After listening to the whole ridiculous tale, Albert couldn't help but shake his head. It was a classic, preventable Hogwarts disaster fueled by blind, predictable revenge.
"Well," Albert said mildly, returning to his reading. "Next time, don't get covered in sludge before you plan your ambush. You reeked of trouble before you even pulled out the weapons."