The oppressive chill of the dungeon was a distant memory, replaced by the warmth and boisterous energy of the Great Hall during lunch. Nevertheless, the morning's encounter with Professor Snape still cast a minor shadow over the Gryffindor table.
"Albert, seriously, are you quite alright?" Shanna asked, sliding onto the bench next to him. She was still nursing a quiet frustration over the unjustified point deduction, a small act of academic injustice that had ruined her mood.
"Of course I'm alright," Albert replied, his attention entirely focused on the construction of a monstrous sandwich. He was a master of the culinary stack: a thick layer of creamy mayonnaise, perfectly sliced red tomatoes, two crisp, freshly fried rashers of bacon, and finally, a cold, savory sausage—all wedged between two slices of soft white bread.
Shanna watched the assembly with grudging admiration. "You can still eat like that, after all that?" she murmured, leaning in conspiratorially. "Did you… did you do something specific to annoy Professor Snape? Because it felt like he was gunning for you right from the first minute."
"Absolutely not," Albert stated, taking a decisive bite that required some careful maneuvering. "If I had offended him, the answer would still be no. I can't confess to crimes I haven't formally committed, can I?"
"I can shed some light on this glorious rivalry," George interrupted, chewing enthusiastically on a steak and kidney pie. His face was still a little flushed from the earlier dormitory chaos, but his spirits were high.
"This goes back to before we even stepped foot in Hogwarts! We were exploring the castle—perfectly innocently, mind you—and we ran right into the greasy-haired git. Albert, in his infinite wisdom, decided he simply must have a photograph of the Potions Master for posterity."
Fred picked up the thread, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yes! He asked Snape if he could take his picture! Snape was absolutely apoplectic, and he vowed right then and there to test Albert's knowledge to failure in class."
"So that's why all the interrogation this morning!" Shanna exclaimed, finally piecing together the events. "He was trying to get him to fail, but when Albert answered perfectly—he resorted to that ridiculous extra essay!"
"Precisely," Lee Jordan confirmed, nodding wisely. "Snape was defeated by sheer book knowledge, so he switched tactics. He can't deduct points for a perfect potion, so he punishes success by giving Albert a mountain of extra, unnecessary work."
Albert cleared his throat dramatically, adopting the same patronizing tone he had used on Snape. "Ahem. You are all mistaken. What you fail to appreciate is the deeper meaning. Professor Snape recognized a prodigious, albeit rough, talent in my brewing." He wiped his hands meticulously.
"He is simply giving me special, accelerated instruction to cultivate my unique skills. I am receiving the kind of intense academic development that the rest of you, quite frankly, don't merit."
The twins and Lee Jordan dissolved into forced, wheezing agreement, their eyes rolling to the ceiling. "You are completely correct, Albert," Fred wheezed. "It was our error. A slip of the tongue. Special care is exactly what we meant to say."
Shanna couldn't help but smile at the performance, but she was still practical. "But seriously, is the paper going to be difficult? A two-foot theoretical divergence between two potions sounds... lengthy."
"It's just one or two papers," Albert said dismissively, finishing his towering sandwich. "The library is my battlefield; I'll dispatch them this afternoon. I want them done, submitted, and out of my mind by the end of the weekend."
"Merlin's saggy beard, you're going to the library right after lunch?" George looked aghast, clutching his heart. "We still have weeks before most of the homework is even due! Why rush the process?"
"It doesn't take long when you tackle it immediately," Albert explained patiently, leaning back. "And by finishing now, I reclaim my free time for activities that aren't mandatory. It frees up mental space, which is far more valuable than an extra hour of procrastination." This philosophy—the immediate execution of unpleasant but necessary tasks—was an indelible Muggle habit that none of his wizarding friends could grasp.
"Do you mind if I join you later for the library run?" Shanna asked, winking at Albert. "We can compare notes and split the research on the divergence points. It's much faster with two people."
Albert nodded readily. He appreciated her efficiency.
The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan recoiled from the table with exaggerated horror, shuffling their feet rapidly away from Albert and Shanna. They moved as if afraid of contracting a highly contagious, highly debilitating academic disease that mandated the immediate completion of all assigned tasks.
"Right, well, ahem," Fred said stiffly, needing a swift change of topic and location. "We, on the other hand, are planning a much-needed post-lunch constitutional outside the castle. Are you coming to wander the grounds, Albert?"
"You aren't planning to 'wander' into the Forbidden Forest, are you?" Albert countered, arching an eyebrow. He had already established his rule: no unnecessary risks until he possessed the spells and knowledge required for self-defense against serious magical threats.
"We didn't say we were going in the woods," George retorted with a wide, disingenuous grin. "You were the one who brought up the Forbidden Forest."
"Oh, I doubt you haven't given it a thought," Albert scoffed, knowing full well the twins' future reputation as reckless adventurers. He knew the Forbidden Forest would become a favorite haunt of theirs soon enough.
"No, no, Albert, a simple wandering is all we intend," Fred assured him, adjusting his robes. "There are still parts of the immediate perimeter we haven't explored. We were thinking of checking out the grounds near the old wooden cabin. You know, for navigational purposes."
George immediately chimed in, "Exactly! We aren't going in the woods, just near the woods. We want to see the old groundskeeper's cottage, the one on the very edge of the treeline."
Albert glanced up at the ceiling of the Great Hall. The light filtering in was weak—a dull, cloudy autumn day, perfect for a walk that required minimal effort. It would certainly help digest the monstrosity he'd just consumed.
"Fine," he agreed. "A constitutional it is. But the boundary is the boundary."
"Excellent!" The twins descended upon him, Fred on one shoulder, George on the other.
"Wait, my plate!" Albert protested as they dragged him bodily away from the table.
"I've got it!" Lee Jordan yelled, grabbing the plate and smiling broadly at Shanna.
"Two o'clock in the library, Shanna!" Albert called back, waving a hand as he was hustled toward the castle doors, the three of them clearly eager to escape the threat of productivity.
The walk was invigorating, if slightly damp. They passed the manicured lawns and training pitches, gradually moving toward the darker, wilder parts of the estate. The towering, intimidating treeline of the Forbidden Forest loomed ahead, a deep, ominous shadow against the grey sky.
The small wooden hut was visible just where the lawn ended and the forest began. It was a rustic, surprisingly large structure, smoke curling lazily from its stone chimney.
As they approached, they found the master of the hut, Rebeus Hagrid, working outside. He was seated on a massive log, busy meticulously stretching and scraping a thick mink pelt over a wooden frame, preparing it for curing.
Beside him, tied to a stake, was an enormous, black-haired dog. The hound, seeing the approaching figures, lifted its massive head and let out a low, guttural bark aimed squarely at them.
The sheer size and rough appearance of the man were enough to give anyone pause. Hagrid stood at least fifteen feet tall—a towering, intimidating figure whose fiercely bearded face, covered in thick black hair, was permanently set in a rugged, scowling expression. He wore a patched coat made of moleskins and fur that made him look like some kind of legendary giant or a primeval barbarian.
He looked up from his work, his small, dark eyes resting on the nervous first-years. "Don't hover 'round here, you lot," Hagrid rumbled, his voice like the grinding of large stones. "The Forest ain't for play. There's things in there that won't hesitate. I don't want to be havin' to collect a few small bodies for Dumbledore."
Lee Jordan gulped audibly. "He's really... big," he muttered, glancing at the twins. Despite having seen the Gamekeeper at the feast, his intimidating height and wild dress—all patched cloth and rough leather—gave off an immense sense of primal force.
Albert, however, wasn't deterred. He knew, from his textbook knowledge and overheard gossip, that despite his terrifying appearance, Hagrid possessed a deeply kind, if slightly reckless, heart. Albert's courage, unlike that of his friends, was built on information and cognition, not brute defiance.
Fred tugged urgently on Albert's sleeve, pulling him back. "Let's go. We've seen the cabin. Time to leave."
Albert ignored the warning. He pulled out the final piece of sausage—the untouched leftover from his earlier sandwich—and held it out, shaking it gently in front of the giant hound.
The dog's low, threatening growl instantly subsided. The fierce, black hound, which looked capable of taking down a small deer, slowly approached Albert, its massive tail giving a tentative, almost embarrassed wag. It raised its nose, sniffed the offered meat, and then delicately took the sausage from Albert's fingers, settling down to crunch on its unexpected bribe.
Fred, George, and Lee stared at the rapidly consumed sausage and the now-docile, tail-wagging beast in utter shock.
"Is that seriously the ferocious guard dog?" Lee Jordan whispered, completely bewildered.
Hagrid, who had been watching the whole exchange with a stony expression, blinked slowly. The little first-year had walked right up to his Fang, ignoring the warnings and the dog's display, and had instantly secured his loyalty with a single piece of cold sausage.
It took a certain type of audacity, and a strange kind of calm, to bribe a vicious-looking hound with such casual efficiency. The groundskeeper felt a small, reluctant curiosity bloom toward the courageous, sandwich-wielding boy.