"Who goes first?"
The group, having finished breakfast, stood before the mirror passage entrance on the fifth floor.
"Why even ask? Obviously one of you three," Albert said matter-of-factly. "You've already been in once, so you know what to expect."
"Alright, I'll go first."
Fred carefully stepped onto the stairs, and the others immediately followed. The mirror swung back into place behind them, sealing the secret passage.
The passage was cramped, steeply sloped, and pitch-black. The four descended slowly.
Albert raised his wand. "Lumos."
"I hate these narrow, dark places," Lee Jordan muttered.
"Stop complaining and keep up," Fred said, concentrating hard to maintain his own Lumos Charm as they continued downward.
The passage was so tight two people could barely squeeze past each other. They walked for what felt like ages, the darkness nearly absolute except for the shaky wandlight. Halfway down, Fred's light flickered out several times.
"You should really practice Lumos more. It's one of the most basic spells," Albert said, extending his own wand forward.
"I hate this feeling," Fred grumbled as he tried to relight his wand yet again.
"Once we finish this staircase, the tunnel widens. Albert, why don't you take the lead then?" George suggested, tired of stopping every few minutes.
"Fine by me."
After the stairs, they stepped into a gloomy earthen passage. The ground was damp and uneven, water dripping from above. One cold drop splashed onto Albert's face, making him flinch. He wiped it off quickly and continued.
Albert walked carefully to avoid slipping. The others stayed quiet, all of them focusing on the uneven ground beneath their feet.
They trudged on. The tunnel twisted and turned in ways that made it difficult to imagine who—or what—had dug it.
Strangely, they hadn't suffocated yet.
Albert lifted his wand, examining the low ceiling.
"What are you looking at?" Fred asked.
"Trying to see if there are vents up there."
"Where?"
The three looked up but saw nothing.
"Right above the section we just passed," Albert said.
After an hour and twenty minutes of walking, the passage finally began to slope upward—the exit was close. Encouraged, they quickened their pace.
Five minutes later, a cold breeze brushed their faces.
The exit lay beneath a large, secluded boulder. The opening was tight; a fat person would never make it through.
It was still raining outside, though only lightly.
Albert crawled out first, pulled out an umbrella, and opened it above his head.
The Weasley twins squeezed out after him.
"You didn't bring umbrellas?" Albert asked, exasperated.
The three shook their heads simultaneously.
Albert duplicated his umbrella three times and handed the conjured ones over.
"As dependable as ever," the three said shamelessly.
"By the way, this umbrella is strange…" Lee Jordan said, fiddling with it. "It extends and retracts?"
"German invention from a few years ago. Convenient and portable."
Albert cast a charm on himself to keep his clothes and boots dry as they pushed through the tall, wet grass.
"Careful!" George called.
Albert turned just in time to see Lee Jordan slip and land flat on the ground, completely soaked.
"Are you alright?" Fred rushed over to help him up.
"Just my luck. I'm drenched," Lee muttered bitterly.
Both twins looked at Albert.
"Why are you staring at me? I didn't make him fall," Albert said defensively.
"Do you know the Drying Charm?" George asked hopefully.
"What makes you think I'd know that kind of household magic?" Albert shot back.
"Ahem, we were just asking. We always feel like you know every spell," Fred said, coughing to lighten the mood.
"Can we please just leave here?" Lee Jordan snapped. Soaked and miserable, he was in no mood for jokes. "I hate—hate—hate—rain."
They made their way through the grass and towards Hogsmeade Village.
Because of the rain, the streets were almost empty. Lee Jordan's teeth were chattering by now, and he insisted they head to the Three Broomsticks for butterbeer and warmth.
No one disagreed.
They followed the road for a few minutes before spotting the pub—three brooms hung on the door in a triangular formation.
Albert couldn't help staring at the crooked triangular roof. Was this really built by Wizards?
It completely defied both the laws of physics and basic visual aesthetics.
A sign beside the door read: Three Broomsticks.
The pub was nearly empty. A lone wizard sat at the counter chatting with Madam Rosmerta. A fire roared in the fireplace.
Lee Jordan hurried to the fireplace, removed his dripping robe, and spread it out to dry.
"I'll get the drinks," Albert said, heading to the counter. The twins exchanged a glance and sat across from Lee Jordan.
"Four butterbeers—warm, please," Albert said to Madam Rosmerta.
The wizard at the counter looked annoyed at the interruption and shot Albert a glare.
Albert glanced back, unimpressed, then took the seat next to him.
"Where'd this brat come from?" the wizard muttered—only to shut up instantly when Madam Rosmerta shot him a fierce glare.
"Are you Hogwarts students?" she asked, surprised. She clearly couldn't imagine how four teenagers had managed to sneak out.
"How much?" Albert asked calmly.
"Eight sickles." She disappeared into the back room to warm the drinks.
Albert used the moment to study the pub.
It was certainly nicer than the Leaky Cauldron: bright hall, clean tables, neatly arranged furniture. It lacked the heavy beer smell too. Though the décor reminded him oddly of medieval taverns from games he'd played.
Five minutes later, four steaming mugs appeared. Albert called the others over to grab them.
"Eight sickles."
Albert placed the coins on the counter, picked up a mug, and returned to their seats.
The butterbeer released a warm, buttery aroma. Albert took a sip—it tasted like a lighter, less greasy butterscotch, smooth and pleasant. Virtually no alcohol. More a comfort drink than anything.
"How is it?" the three asked eagerly.
"It's… fine. Just a drink." Albert blinked and added, "It's like trying a Muggle soda. Not bad, but not something you're used to."
The three exchanged glances and burst out laughing, as if thinking: Of course that's the sort of review you'd give.