The castle's nocturnal corridors enjoyed a period of blessed quiet. The night tours of Hogwarts had, for the time being, vanished entirely, thanks to the relentless, almost obsessive efforts of Argus Filch. The caretaker, fueled by a searing sense of humiliation, prowled the halls day and night, transforming the simple act of a late-night stroll into an act of supreme folly.
Fred and George had no intention of testing the limits of Filch's newfound, vengeful tenacity. Their temporary pause in mischief was less about fear and more about sheer, brutal exhaustion.
It had been nearly a month since the term started, and the first-year curriculum was settling into its relentless, demanding rhythm. While the class schedule didn't look overly packed, the volume of homework across subjects was substantial. Moreover, the twins also had to dedicate significant time to their Gryffindor Quidditch team training.
Unlike Albert, whose legendary efficiency allowed him to dispatch his assignments with alarming speed, the Weasley brothers were less academically inclined.
Beyond the mandatory essays and readings, they struggled to find enough hours to memorize crucial theoretical knowledge and, most importantly, practice the practical magic required to pass their tests.
Transfiguration was proving to be a particularly frustrating discipline. It took Albert's three roommates an entire, grueling week to fully grasp the necessary concentration and wrist movement required to successfully turn a simple match into a sharp needle, finally passing Professor McGonagall's initial assessment.
In stark contrast to the busy, draining lives of the twins, Albert's existence was remarkably comfortable. He completed his weekly assignments with effortless punctuality. Recitation and rote memorization were trivial tasks for his highly retentive memory. As for spell practice, Albert excelled. Even Transfiguration, the most challenging spell-work for a beginner, presented no real obstacle.
Since joining the Transfiguration Club, Albert had steadily increased his proficiency. The last lesson, turning stones into teacups, was a skill he mastered after only a handful of genuine attempts. He diligently maintained the facade of struggle, however, always claiming to his friends that it took him "several days" of frustrating practice to achieve the desired result.
Even his Quidditch participation was handled with efficiency. He only attended organized "training" once a week, and even then, it wasn't so much for arduous drills as it was a chance to enjoy the game with fellow enthusiasts. He loved flying and subtly strengthened his grasp of Quidditch rules while enjoying the freedom of the sky.
Time flowed easily for Albert. He was beginning to truly settle into the rhythm of Hogwarts life, a feeling that strangely mirrored the comfortable, controlled pace of his university years in his previous life. He pursued his interests and plotted his future in a leisurely, deliberate manner.
No electricity, no internet, no mobile phone, no music, no movies, and no computer games, he thought, ticking off the disadvantages. But otherwise, everything is quite fascinating.
Crucially, his understanding of basic magical theory was deepening, leading to a steady improvement in his spell-casting. Just moments before, Albert had achieved a significant personal milestone: the initial successful casting of a basic Summoning Charm.
Though he could only manage to conjure a single, small, bright chrysanthemum, it appeared blooming vividly on the tip of his wand.
"Finally!" Fred exclaimed, reaching out to take the flower and sniffing it appreciatively. "Can you conjure up other kinds?"
"Of course. Here, full-blooming orchids," Albert replied, placing several exquisite orchids on the table next to the textbooks. "With more practice, I should be able to manage entire bouquets."
"Astonishing," Lee Jordan muttered, genuinely impressed. Summoning was widely known to be an advanced and difficult feat of magic for an experienced wizard, let alone a first-year.
"Look, you have a package," George announced, pointing.
Albert looked up to see an owl flying toward their table. Fred and Lee Jordan quickly cleared space, moving bowls and toast crumbs to allow the owl a clean landing.
"Thank you, Sheila," Albert said, gently stroking the owl's back. He opened the package to find two thick volumes inside, along with a smaller, securely taped square parcel.
The two main books were unexpected, but not surprising. Having likely heard from Herb that his grandson had an interest in finance, Albert's Grandfather Luke had sent him Principles of Economics as a belated birthday present. The second book, slightly more accessible, was The Nature of Finance, a gift almost certainly from Herb himself.
Albert quickly set the heavy texts aside and focused on the smaller, carefully wrapped square package. He tore away the paper to reveal a beautifully decorated box containing a miniature cake.
"Ooh, who sent you a cake? And such a tiny one!" Angelina Johnson leaned over, her eyes sparkling.
"It's from home," Albert replied, his face lighting up with a rare, genuine smile as he picked up the small, handwritten card. Even without reading the birthday message, he knew what it would say.
The card was from his little sister, Nia. Along with the standard birthday blessings, she had proudly pointed out that she had personally helped with the cake's baking and decoration.
"Happy Birthday, Albert!" Shanna immediately understood the situation and sent her congratulations.
"Thank you," Albert said, picking up a clean knife. He sliced the small, rich chocolate cake into six pieces and distributed them to his roommates and the acquaintances sitting nearby.
The birthday wishes chimed around him, warm and sincere. Sharing the joy felt better than hoarding the treat; besides, he had classes later, and carrying a cake was impractical. He certainly didn't want the efforts of his family to be ruined by being squashed inside his book bag.
"Wow, you're officially one year older," George quipped, already taking a large bite of his chocolate slice.
"If you'd been born twenty days earlier, you could have started school last year, right?" Fred noted.
"Yes," Albert replied calmly, sipping his pumpkin juice. "But starting a year later has worked out quite nicely for me."
No one in the noisy dining hall grasped the profound, double meaning hidden in his simple statement.
"Wait a second, are these your other birthday presents?" Angelina asked, her eyes falling on the two hefty tomes in the opened package, specifically the one titled Principles of Economics.
"Is something the matter?" Albert asked, genuinely confused by her suddenly strange expression.
Angelina's mouth twitched. She stared at Albert, a profound confusion clouding her gaze. Why is this person in Gryffindor? she wondered.
"May I look at it?" she asked, reaching for the book.
"Go ahead," Albert consented easily. "Just don't ruin it." He knew they wouldn't understand it, and he was certain they wouldn't be interested for long.
As predicted, Angelina picked up the crisp, new Principles of Economics and flipped through two pages. Her head began to spin. She could read every word—marginal utility, supply-side elasticity, diminishing returns—but the combination of the concepts made absolutely no sense to her. It was worse than Ancient Runes.
"I don't understand why your family would send you this," George muttered, equally perplexed, trying a few sentences himself before quickly closing the book.
"It's just an old interest of mine," Albert dismissed the subject lightly. He needed to gently pivot the conversation away from his unconventional hobbies and toward the looming stress factor for the others: flying. "Don't stress about the next lesson, Shanna. It's quite easy once you get the hang of a broom."
"Am I honestly the only person who still struggles to ride a broom properly?" Shanna murmured, her voice laced with anxiety, tapping the cover of her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.
"Is the chocolate cake not to your liking?" Albert asked, deliberately ignoring her direct question and offering a soft, distracting piece of reassurance.
"No, I love the chocolate cake," Shanna said, quickly finishing the piece in front of her.
The truth was, Shanna couldn't help but be nervous. She felt utterly isolated, the only one among the Gryffindor first-years who still hadn't mastered even the most basic broom maneuvers. It was a humiliating and terrifying feeling for a student at a wizarding school.