When Albert finally woke, the dormitory was shrouded in a pervasive, thick darkness. The early morning was signaled only by the faint, rhythmic drumming of rain against the windowpane—a continuation of the downpour from the stormy night before.
He sat up in bed, covering a vast yawn. The unsettling, vivid quality of his dream—the strange, meta-fictional dream of him being an author—had left him feeling strangely drained, as if his mind hadn't properly rested.
He was far too early. The silence around him confirmed it; the low, steady breathing of his three roommates was the only sound besides the rain. Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were all deep in the dreamless sleep of exhaustion and good food.
Albert reached out into the dimness, his fingers finding the familiar, smooth wood of his wand tucked into the corner of the bed frame. He raised it carefully and whispered, "Lumos."
The tip of the wand immediately emitted a soft, pale, steady light. He moved the luminous point closer to the mechanical pocket watch he had placed on his bedside table. A quick glance confirmed his suspicion: 5:40 a.m.
Far too early, even for a Saturday.
He extinguished the light, lying back briefly. The pocket watch, a thoughtful gift from his father, Luke, to celebrate his Hogwarts invitation, felt cool in his hand. It was a tangible link to his Muggle life, a reminder of the world he had left behind, now keeping time in a castle that ignored the laws of time itself.
Since he was awake, Albert knew trying to force himself back to sleep would be fruitless. He threw back the heavy curtains of his four-poster, sat up, stretched, and walked silently to the window. He unbolted the wooden latch and eased the frame open slightly.
A blast of cold, damp wind rushed in, raising goosebumps on his arms. The chill was immediately clarifying, wiping away the residual grogginess. Outside, the world was still pitch black beneath a sky thick with cloud cover. The massive castle was swallowed by the haze, its stone walls merging with the sheets of rain.
"Time for a great adventure," Albert murmured, a sense of purpose overcoming his fatigue. This early hour, before the castle stirred, was the absolute best time for an unsanctioned exploration.
He closed the window, dressed swiftly in his robes, and tucked the pocket watch and wand securely into his pocket. Before leaving the dormitory, he made sure to drop his soiled clothes into the wicker basket in the shared bathroom, knowing that the efficient house-elves would retrieve, wash, and magically return them before nightfall. The thought brought a moment of appreciation: the student life here was remarkably comfortable, allowing them to focus almost entirely on magic.
The Gryffindor Common Room was deserted and quiet. Only a shimmering, indistinct female ghost—not Sir Nicholas, but a much older, less flamboyant specter—sat on one of the sofas, silently reading a book. She glanced up at the sound of his footsteps, gave him a brief, melancholy look, and returned to her reading.
Albert felt a momentary urge to engage her in his ongoing inquiry into the nature of ghosts, but he suppressed it. As a voracious reader, he respected the sanctity of uninterrupted reading time.
He did not linger. His target was the Room of Requirement.
Pushing open the portrait-hole door, he stooped and stepped out. The Fat Lady, in her floral pajamas, looked far less regal than she had the night before, her expression sleepy and annoyed.
"Going somewhere so early, dear?" she mumbled.
"Just taking a walk," Albert replied pleasantly.
He raised his wand. "Lumos Maxima." The light was a little stronger now, cutting a pale, white path through the dim, cold corridor. The stone walls, slick with the cold dampness of the rainy morning, made the hallway feel like a set piece from a gothic horror film. The silence was punctuated only by his soft footsteps and the distant drumming of the rain.
He consciously chose a different path than the one he had followed last night. After navigating a labyrinthine series of turns and minor staircases, he recognized a landmark he had read about. As he rounded a corner, he saw a large, floor-to-ceiling vase and, opposite it, a truly hideous tapestry.
"A stroke of luck," Albert whispered, quickening his pace. This was it.
He approached the tapestry, illuminating it with his wand. The sight was even worse than the description. The tapestry depicted a group of enormous, grotesque trolls, dressed in ridiculous pink ballet tutus. . One particularly vicious-looking troll, armed with a bone club, was actively beating a small, terrified ballet master.
As Albert stared, the troll, woven into the fabric for centuries, paused its assault, its beady, embroidered eyes seeming to turn and fix on him. It was a moment of bizarre, silent confrontation.
Albert, completely unfazed, executed a small, sarcastic, theatrical knocking gesture towards the immense, fabric-woven creature. The troll instantly mimicked him, raising its bone club and resuming its unending, brutal battering of the poor dance instructor. The sheer, tragicomic loop of the scene was profound.
Truly priceless, he thought. If he'd had a high-resolution camera, this would have been his first great photographic trophy of the castle.
But the objective lay directly opposite: a completely plain, unadorned section of white stone wall. The location of the fabled Room of Requirement.
Albert approached the wall, his hand resting on the hard, cold stone. He knew the theory: he had to pace back and forth three times, focusing with absolute, intense concentration on what he needed.
He positioned himself at the end of the wall nearest the window, using the immense vase as his turning point at the other end.
First pass. "I need a private, secure place to practice magic and study advanced theory," he chanted internally, his steps slow and deliberate. His mind locked onto the image of a spacious, well-lit classroom filled with books.
Second pass. "I need a secret base, somewhere no one can interrupt my learning and skill development." The stone remained cold and smooth.
Third pass. "A private sanctuary for magical practice, a room where I can learn without being seen..."
As he turned back from the vase on his third pass, a strange, low grinding sound began. The ordinary white stone wall shimmered, the smooth surface becoming textured and blurred. Countless faint, shifting patterns began to flicker across the stone, rearranging themselves into the shape of a perfectly smooth, dark wooden door, complete with a gleaming brass handle. .
Albert grinned, the fatigue of the early morning instantly forgotten, replaced by a surge of pure, triumphant intellectual satisfaction. He had succeeded.
He grasped the cold handle, pulled the door open, and stepped inside.
The Room of Requirement was magnificent. It was spacious, easily the size of two large classrooms, illuminated by half a dozen tall, blazing torches affixed to the stone walls. It was set up precisely as he had willed it: a dedicated, unsanctioned learning environment.
Along one wall stood a series of sturdy, functional wooden bookshelves, easily holding hundreds of volumes. Albert walked over, scanning the spines. He recognized several texts that were kept in the restricted section of the library, and many more obscure titles.
The Room had clearly pulled the specific knowledge he needed directly to him. No need to sneak into the library just yet, he thought, touching a heavy tome titled "Advanced Self-Transfiguration Charms."
On the opposite side, the room was laid out for practice. Several reinforced practice dummies stood ready, complete with scorch marks and dented wood, looking like they had seen serious magical combat. The space was open and high-ceilinged, perfect for testing full-powered spells.
"This is perfect," Albert breathed softly. This single room was the key to achieving the accelerated mastery he craved. The reward scale on his Thousand-Year-old School quest suddenly felt far more reachable.
However, the Room's magic, while powerful, was not flawless. The entry point—the door that popped into existence—was the vulnerability.
Albert quickly left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. The brass handle vanished, the door dissolved, and the wall was once again a seamless expanse of ordinary white stone. The magic was discreet, but not instantaneous.
The problem is the moment of entry and exit, Albert realized. If someone—a student, a teacher, or even a curious ghost—happened to turn the corner while the door was manifesting or dissolving, the secret would be out, and his perfect training spot would be compromised, possibly locked away forever.
His priority list adjusted instantly:
Absolute Secrecy (Disillusionment Charm): To use the Room of Requirement frequently and safely, he needed to be invisible. The Disillusionment Charm was the only reliable solution, a complex piece of magic that would require serious practice. He now knew he could find the necessary manuals inside the Room itself. This moved from a theoretical desire to an immediate, critical necessity.
Absolute Awareness (Marauder's Map): Even if he was invisible, he needed to know if someone was approaching the corridor before he attempted to summon the door. Relying on chance was foolish. He needed the Marauder's Map, the unique artifact that displayed the entire castle and the real-time locations of everyone in it.
The Map, however, was in the possession of Argus Filch, the crotchety, magic-hating caretaker. Acquiring it would require subterfuge and planning of the highest order, likely involving a confrontation or a major distraction.
Slow down, Albert told himself, gripping his wand tightly. One step at a time. The books are here. I start with the Disillusionment Charm. Then, I focus on Filch.
He would not be able to fully utilize his secret classroom until he had mastered the art of being unseen. The true adventure had just begun. He turned and quietly began his long walk back to the Gryffindor Tower, the silence of the massive castle surrounding him, now feeling less eerie and more like a challenge to be conquered.