It takes a long time for the ice to freeze three feet thick, and the depth of animosity between the Weasley twins and Argus Filch was practically glacial.
Yesterday, George and Fred, utterly humiliated by the ambush in the corridor, had spent the entire night huddled with Lee Jordan. They discussed, in hushed and increasingly exhausted whispers, how to execute a proper, humiliating revenge on the caretaker who had so brazenly stolen their ammunition. They sketched diagrams of tripwires, calculated bomb trajectories, and debated the philosophical merits of a full-scale Dungbomb barrage versus a single, perfectly aimed stink pellet.
The result?
The three conspirators had stayed up until the first hint of dawn, consuming copious amounts of stale cauldron cake smuggled from the feast, only to decide on the singularly unambitious plan of throwing a few remaining Dungbombs at the door of Filch's office. They were a pathetic sight in the morning.
Albert, returning to the dormitory after a leisurely breakfast in the Great Hall, found them barely stirring. He had to prod and cajole them awake, lecturing them on the importance of punctuality and the folly of sacrificing sleep for such a weak prank.
"I'm so sleepy," George mumbled, covering a yawn that seemed wide enough to swallow his face. He chewed listlessly on a piece of dry toast as they rushed down the crowded corridors.
"I shouldn't have listened to either of you," Lee Jordan groaned, having finished his own bread. He stared hungrily at the untouched slice in Fred's hand. "Give it to me if you don't want it, I'm starving."
"Who said I don't want it?" Fred quickly shoved the bread into his mouth, taking a messy, defensive bite. He then pointed the half-eaten piece at Lee Jordan, daring him to try and take it.
Lee Jordan recoiled in disgust and turned away.
"By the way, you guys talked all night long," Albert asked, stepping neatly around a cluster of giggling Hufflepuffs. "What earth-shattering plans did you devise that required ignoring your circadian rhythm?"
"We're going to throw a few Dungbombs at Filch's office door," Fred announced, a sliver of excitement piercing his utter exhaustion.
"That's it?" Albert stopped walking and looked at them incredulously. "You sacrificed an entire night of REM sleep, risked being late for your first Herbology class, and that's the best you could come up with? A bit of localized door stink?"
He didn't get an answer because at that exact moment, as they rounded a corner toward the greenhouses, a high-pitched, infuriating scream echoed from the aisle ahead.
They looked at each other in bewildered resignation. When they walked forward, they found Peeves the Poltergeist floating about ten feet off the ground. He was holding a large, glass ink bottle aloft and blowing vile, black ink beads at the passing students, cackling wildly.
Students were furious. Some foolishly crumpled up parchment and threw paper balls at Peeves, trying to drive him away. Peeves dodged the makeshift projectiles with contemptuous ease, snickering. In revenge for one student's attempt, Peeves opened his hideous, wide mouth and sprayed a thick stream of ink directly onto the boy's face and robes.
The boy's face contorted with impotent rage, but there was nothing he could do. In the end, everyone was forced to cover their heads with books and bags, making a desperate run through the corridor of chaotic, airborne ink.
"Peeves, are you a ghost?" Albert asked, having stopped outside the danger zone. This was his first proper look at the notorious poltergeist. The creature had a pair of evil, beady black eyes, a wide, malevolent grin, and wore a ridiculous, bell-adorned hat.
Peeves looked down at Albert and the three other boys, his smile widening. "What do you think, you nasty first-year brat?"
"Obviously not," Albert stated, drawing his wand smoothly. "A ghost can't physically pick up an inkwell." As he finished the sentence, Peeves, irritated by the logic, launched a massive volley of ink directly at the four boys.
Albert didn't hesitate. He took a wide stance, extended his wand, and shouted the incantation he had practiced hundreds of times in theory.
"Protego!"
A shimmering, invisible circular shield sprang into existence in front of the four boys. The mass of black, foul-smelling ink splattered against the magical barrier with a wet, disgusting thwack, harmlessly dissolving as it was blocked by the powerful Shield Charm.
Even Peeves was stunned. He froze in mid-air, the ink bottle hovering beside him. He wasn't used to actual magical resistance from a first-year. After the ink bottle was bounced away by the residual force of the shield, Peeves gave Albert a high-pitched, mocking raspberry. "You nasty, brainy little brat!" he shrieked, before zooming off down the corridor, presumably to find easier targets.
"No wonder everyone hates that creature," Lee Jordan said, staring in shock at the ink stains that had narrowly been prevented from soaking his robes.
"Protego," Albert murmured, pointing his wand at the ink-soaked floor and the walls. A simple Scouring Charm made the mess disappear, cleaning up the corridor.
"Actually, don't bother cleaning it all up," Fred said, a familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes, despite his exhaustion. "Leave a few splatters. It's Filch's job to clean the corridors. Peeves caused the mess, so Filch can deal with it."
"Forget it, let's go," Albert said, shaking his head at the twins' petty revenge fantasies. "We're going to be late."
As they hurried toward the greenhouses, George asked, "How did you do that just now, Albert? That… that Iron Armor Curse?"
"The Shield Charm?" Albert corrected him smoothly. He glanced around at the students crowding the entrance to Greenhouse Number One, most of whom still bore the tell-tale smudges of Peeves's ink on their collars or sleeves.
"The Shield Charm is a relatively advanced, but incredibly practical, defensive spell," Albert explained casually, using the theoretical knowledge the skill upgrade had given him. "It creates a temporary, invisible barrier that can deflect most minor jinxes, hexes, and physical attacks. It's one of the best ways to protect yourself from minor magical assault."
"I think I heard about it somewhere, but I thought that was N.E.W.T. level magic," Fred muttered, wide-eyed.
"Where did you learn such an advanced spell?" Lee Jordan asked, utterly fascinated. "You know so many spells that none of the rest of us have even heard of."
"I found it in an extra book I bought for my own study," Albert lied, maintaining his cover story. "I learned it because I thought it was useful for... well, for situations exactly like that one. It took me quite a while to master the focus required, though."
The lie wasn't malicious, and it was certainly easier than explaining the existence of a magic-granting Panel.
"It must be incredibly difficult for us, then," George said, a look of awe replacing his exhaustion. He walked into the warm, damp air of the greenhouse. "But it's genuinely cool that you've learned it. Once you've mastered that, you don't have to worry about anyone trying to curse you in the hallways."
Albert rolled his eyes internally. Curse? The majority of the Hogwarts student body was still struggling to turn a match into a needle. The most dangerous spell they'd be able to cast at each other for the next few years would be a simple, weak Flipendo or a poorly aimed Jelly-Legs Jinx.
As the boys entered the humid atmosphere of the greenhouse, the Head of Hufflepuff, Professor Pomona Sprout, a short, plump witch with a perpetually kind smile, greeted them. She was wearing thick, dirt-stained dragon-hide gloves and a patched hat. The students immediately parted to let the Herbology expert open the heavy wooden door to Greenhouse Number One.
"Welcome, students! Now, open your copies of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi," Professor Sprout chirped happily, her voice bright despite the early hour. "Our first lesson is an introduction—a general understanding of what Herbology teaches, why it matters, and what you will learn this semester."
Albert found that Herbology was indeed remarkably similar to Muggle botany, but with a crucial magical overlay. Students needed to learn how to nurture, harvest, and utilize plants, but primarily for their unique magical properties and applications. Many of these plants served as vital ingredients in Potions and medicines, while others had powerful, standalone magical effects.
"Many of you will already know that a simple Mallowsweet plant, which is easy to cultivate, can be used to make simple memory potions, but today we're looking at something far more vital: Dittany."
Dittany was a legendary herb, recognizable by its smoky-green, slightly shimmering leaves and its distinctive, pungent aroma. Professor Sprout explained that it possessed incredible healing properties.
"Not all wounds can be sealed by simple magic, you see," she said, holding up a small, freshly cut leaf that looked like velvet. "Dittany, or rather the essence derived from it, is invaluable for treatment. Long ago, before we had refined the essence, wizards would simply chop up the leaves and apply them directly to deep wounds—it's that powerful."
"But modern wizards, thankfully, use the refined Essence of Dittany," she continued, her eyes gleaming. "Just a few drops can effectively heal gashes, burns, and even magical curses that damage the skin. And here's the most marvelous part: wounds treated with Dittany won't leave a scar. It's the closest thing we have to a genuine, biological magical repair."
She then stressed the plant's rarity. "The only tragedy is that not much wild Dittany remains. It has been over-harvested for centuries. Therefore, most of the Dittany used today must be artificially cultivated."
Professor Sprout emphasized, her voice dropping to a serious tone: "How to properly care for and nurture cultivated Dittany is one of your main courses this semester, and it will feature heavily on your end-of-year examination. This is not just theoretical knowledge, children. This is lifesaving knowledge. Look closely at the roots. Note the soil composition. Understand what makes it thrive. Your future ability to brew an emergency potion might depend entirely on how well you can keep this plant alive."
The entire class collectively leaned in, captivated by the prospect of handling such a vital, powerful, and demanding magical resource. For Albert, the focus shift was perfect. Herbology, unlike Quidditch, directly fed into his academic goals, and the delicate, precise care required to keep Dittany healthy presented a tangible, non-combat skill to master. He was already planning to spend his free periods in the library researching optimal soil pH levels.