Returning to the relative sanctuary of the Gryffindor common room after his productive session in the library, Albert noticed the immediate silence. His three roommates—Fred, George, and Lee Jordan—had, predictably, disappeared in search of a more thrilling afternoon than academic toil.
He pushed open the dormitory door. The room was empty. Perfect. He required solitude for the highly sensitive task of corresponding with the Muggle world, a task that demanded careful planning and absolute secrecy.
Albert picked up his wand, tapped the small wooden cabinet beside his bed, and muttered the counter-charm to unlock its magically concealed contents. He retrieved the stationery he'd purchased at Hogsmeade and, more importantly, the small, sturdy cardboard boxes he had already prepared using Transfiguration—a necessary layer of Muggle disguise for the packages.
Writing home was always a precise, calculated effort. He had two separate letters to compose: one for his parents, and a separate, more detailed missive for his Grandfather Luke.
The letter to his parents was carefully crafted to be reassuring but vague. He described the immense size of the castle and the old-fashioned, artisanal quality of the food. He spent a long paragraph lamenting the lack of electricity, framing the whole school experience as an eccentric, old-world boarding school—a place where the professors were a little mad, the traditions were incredibly strict, and everyone used quills and parchment. He stressed, repeatedly but subtly, the crucial need for him to blend in and adhere to the school's strict privacy rules regarding "personal projects." This was his coded way of referencing the Statute of Secrecy without violating it.
The second letter, to Grandpa Luke, was far more meaningful. Luke, having once been connected to the magical world himself, would understand the context and the regret. Albert filled this letter with coded nostalgia, subtly referencing the atmosphere, the grandeur, and the palpable magic that permeated the air.
It was a secret communication, a chance for the old man to finally glimpse the legendary Hogwarts he had been forced to leave behind—a small, bittersweet salve for a lifetime of lost opportunity.
Once the letters were complete, Albert used a simple Copying Charm to duplicate the several photographs he had taken—carefully selected images of the lake, the distant mountains, and the non-magical architecture of the castle's perimeter, ensuring they contained no moving parts or obvious spell effects.
He then loaded the two packages. For his parents, he included the photos, a few samples of Hogsmeade's finest Muggle-friendly sweets, and two sealed bottles of Butterbeer and Pumpkin Juice. He Transfigured the glass bottles to look like old-fashioned, specially labeled lemonade and ginger beer, adding a line in the letter about the "unusual, but delicious, local beverages."
The problem, as he'd feared, was the sheer bulk. Even with the simple Transfiguration boxes, the package containing the bottled drinks and the numerous paper contents was considerable.
This package is nearly as big as Sheila, he realized, frowning. He couldn't risk overburdening his small, personal owl. I'll have to borrow a school owl for the heavy one.
To prepare the package for the arduous delivery, Albert performed two quick, practical charms. First, he secured the bottles with an Imperturbable Charm to prevent the glass from shattering during the long flight.
Second, and crucially, he layered a Featherlight Charm over the entire box, making the perception of its weight manageable for a larger, stronger bird, though the box itself remained unwieldy due to its large dimensions.
He secured the boxes with sturdy twine, wrote the recipient's information clearly on the top, and noted his own name and the necessary Muggle post codes on the sender's section.
He stacked the two boxes in his arms. The Featherlight Charm helped, but the awkward bulk still made the package a cumbersome burden. He stepped out of the dormitory, making sure the door was firmly latched behind him.
The journey to the Owl Shed, located at the very top of the West Tower, was a grueling reminder that magic did not solve every problem. As a boy who made a point of daily physical training (a habit left over from his karate lessons in the Muggle world), his fitness was above average for a wizarding student, but the sheer number of winding, irregular stone steps demanded genuine effort.
He was focused on his breathing and his upward momentum when he heard it: a panicked scrambling of footsteps and a muffled thump from above. He quickly pressed himself against the cold stone wall of the staircase to avoid collision.
A moment later, a figure stumbled past him in a rush, moving with a desperate, hurried energy. It was a fifth-year Hufflepuff boy, and he was clearly having a very bad day. He was red-faced, panting, and his robes were liberally plastered with a vile, greenish-white residue.
Albert didn't need to ask what had happened. The stench of owl droppings and the sight of straw clinging to the poor student's hair told the entire, filthy story.
"Are we really in such a rush that we can't look where we step?" Albert muttered to himself, watching the boy's hasty, miserable retreat. The scene served as a visceral warning: in a castle of careless magic and ancient chaos, one had to be constantly vigilant. He certainly didn't intend to slip on bird waste and wind up with a sprained ankle.
The Owl Shed was exactly as forewarned—a round, unheated stone room with open windows high in the tower, allowing the fresh, brisk air to circulate, but doing little to abate the conditions underfoot. The floor was a chaotic tapestry of straw, tiny, brittle mouse bones, and the copious, treacherous droppings of hundreds of owls.
Albert wisely stopped at the threshold, refusing to track the grime into his clean robes. He spotted his own small, light brown owl amidst the dozens of magnificent birds.
"Sheila!" he called out softly. The sound, while low, was distinctive enough to stir the flock.
Sheila, ever attentive, chirped a few times in recognition and swooped down to the entrance.
"This one is for Grandpa Luke," Albert said, handing over the smaller, lighter package. "Be quick, and be careful, little one. And bring me back the reply."
Sheila accepted the task with a soft, reassuring hoot, gripped the package's twine firmly in her talons, and gracefully launched herself out of the window, disappearing into the vast, grey sky.
Now, for the big one. Albert stood at the entrance and made his request to the assembled flock. "I have a very large, heavy package that needs to be delivered quickly. I am willing to compensate the strongest owl for this journey. Is anyone willing to assist?"
It was a strange, yet effective, negotiation. Almost immediately, a magnificent Great Gray Owl with piercing amber eyes detached itself from its perch. It was an enormous, powerful bird, its thick plumage suggesting the strength required for a long haul. It landed directly in front of Albert, staring at the package with clear intent.
Albert recognized the implied contract. He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of owl nuts—a special, extra-nutritious treat he kept specifically for such transactions. He extended his palm.
"This is your fee, my friend," Albert said. The Great Gray Owl delicately picked the nuts from his hand with its beak, consuming them with dignity. Satisfied with the payment, the owl grabbed the large, awkward package, secured the twine, and with a powerful thrust of its immense wings, lifted the burden and departed, a shadow momentarily blocking the light from the sky.
"Thank you," Albert murmured, watching the professional transaction unfold. Indeed, a magical creature with human nature. Treat them with respect, offer fair payment, and they will perform the job flawlessly.
Turning away from the Owlery, Albert began his descent. He hadn't made it far down the winding stairs when he ran directly into the source of the afternoon's chaos: Fred, George, and Lee Jordan.
They were being marched unceremoniously back toward the castle by a grim-faced Hagrid, who looked less like a groundskeeper and more like an exasperated, seven-foot-tall disciplinary warden. The three boys were covered in mud and bits of moss, their faces streaked with what looked like shame and a healthy dose of fear.
"...and I told you three times this morning not to go near the place!" Hagrid was booming, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He was dragging a large, unusually twisted dead branch behind him.
"You're only just off the train, and you're sneakin' into the woods! You ought to be grateful I caught you before something nasty did. Try that again, and I'll be speaking to Professor McGonagall myself. You'll be scrubbing cauldrons until your hands bleed!"
Albert walked towards the quartet with a bright, innocent smile. "Good afternoon, Hagrid," he greeted the Gamekeeper warmly. He then glanced at his roommates, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "What in the name of Merlin happened to the three of you?"
"They went and proved just how reckless they are!" Hagrid huffed, his bushy beard bristling with frustration. "I found them ten feet inside the treeline! Thought they were too brave for my warnings, didn't they?"
Albert knew exactly what to do. Discipline was a long, dull road; passion, however, was an immediate detour. He looked pointedly at the giant's massive, fur-covered coat and then at the objects entangled in Hagrid's wild, dark hair and sitting precariously on his shoulder. They were tiny, animated, branch-like figures, camouflaged perfectly against his clothing.
"Hagrid," Albert interrupted, his voice laced with genuine interest and admiration, "excuse me, but what is that creature in your hair? On your shoulder? Their appearance is fascinating—so much like living bark and twigs."
Hagrid instantly stopped mid-lecture, his anger dissolving into a proud, slightly embarrassed smile. The switch was instantaneous and absolute.
"What? Oh, you mean these little things?" Hagrid looked down, gently cupping his hand near his collarbone. "These are Bowtruckles. Found 'em near the Rowan trees—two of 'em have got a nasty scrape. I'm taking 'em back to the hut to patch 'em up."
"You're going to bandage them?" Albert asked, his face alight with genuine wonder. "That's incredible, Hagrid. I was just reading the syllabus; I heard that the Care of Magical Creatures course isn't even offered until third year. Can you really treat creatures that delicate with fingers as… sturdy as yours?"
Albert's sincere compliment—acknowledging the disparity between the giant's rough appearance and the gentle task—was the final stroke. It was a recognition that Hagrid, despite his looks, was a master of his craft.
Hagrid visibly swelled with pride. "Well, I got a bit of skill with 'em, aye. I learned a few things from Professor Bourne—he's the current Creatures professor, old fella now. I help him out with the more sensitive beasts sometimes."
Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, meanwhile, exchanged a series of frantic, silent gestures: Apologize! Apologize now! He saved us!
"That's genuinely remarkable," Albert pressed on, securing the distraction. "Would it be too much to ask to see how you bandage them? I'm fascinated by the finer points of creature care, and I know those little Bowtruckles guard the Rowan trees so fiercely."
Fred leaped in, seizing the opportunity before Hagrid could remember his fury. "Hagrid, we are truly, genuinely sorry for ignoring your warning. We know we were wrong. But, yes! Please, let us see how you treat them! That's much more interesting than getting detained!"
George and Lee Jordan chimed in with immediate, sincere-sounding apologies and enthusiastic nods. "We know we were wrong, Hagrid! Please forgive us!"
Hagrid, thoroughly mollified by the flattery and Albert's deep interest, grumbled, but his eyes were kind. "Well... alright. Come on then. You can watch. But if I catch any of you so much as looking at the trees again, I'll be writing that letter to Minerva before you can say 'quidditch'!"
He turned, leading Albert and the three now-reformed sinners back towards his cabin. The threat of detention had been successfully diverted by a little creature care and a perfectly timed strategic intervention.
The price of curiosity for the twins was a good dressing-down; the reward for Albert was a closer look at Hagrid's secretive world.
The four boys followed the massive Gamekeeper across the grounds and into the welcoming, earthy scent of his wooden hut.