"The curse stops immediately," Albert muttered, staring in horror at the wooden door. The thick oak was now a mass of splinters and torn-off hinges, hanging pathetically from the wall. The door, which should have been secured by an ancient ward, had been violently and comprehensively demolished by his simple knock and an accidental word.
"Merlin's beard, what now?" Lee Jordan whispered, his eyes wide.
The three Weasleys instinctively took a step back, collectively swallowing hard, their adrenaline pumping. The resounding crack of wood and stone had surely been heard throughout the upper levels of the castle.
"Should we...?" Fred began, miming a frantic, panicked dash down the corridor.
"Don't be silly. Running away is the worst thing to do," Albert said, grabbing Fred's shoulder and stopping him. He quickly recalled magical lore. "Powerful wizards often use tracking and revealing magic to find out who's been in an area recently. We need to be here when they arrive. Better to look contrite than guilty."
"Then what in the name of the Headless Hunt do we do?" George asked, his voice strained with anxiety.
"I should be able to fix it," Albert said, forcing himself to calm down. The key was to reverse the damage immediately before a teacher—or worse, Filch—arrived. He drew his wand, pointed it at the wreckage, and concentrated, quickly reciting the counter-spell he had learned: "Reparo sicut ante (Repair it as it was before)!"
With a low, grinding sound, the splintered wooden planks and torn hinges began to fly back into the door frame. The gaping crack slowly knitted itself closed, the door reforming and healing under the focused magic.
However, before the repair could be fully completed, the door—still slightly uneven and raw-looking—suddenly sprang inward, swinging open completely.
The four boys froze, their hands dropping to their sides as if caught with their fingers in a cookie jar.
Standing in the doorway, framed against the dusty interior of what was clearly a small, auxiliary office, was Professor Minerva McGonagall. Her already severe expression tightened as she took in the scene: four sheepish first-years, a half-repaired door, and Albert's wand pointed directly at the damaged wood. The atmosphere immediately curdled into a thick, awkward silence.
Professor McGonagall's face twitched once. She had been working in her secondary office when a noise like a small explosion had occurred right outside. She looked from the four stunned children to the mangled door.
"What, precisely, were you gentlemen doing?" Professor McGonagall's voice was dangerously low and steady.
"I'm deeply sorry, Professor," Albert immediately took the lead, forcing sincerity into his voice. "We didn't know 'Open Sesame' was an actual spell. I think it was just... an enormous accident."
"No need to say more, Mr. Anderson. All of you. In my office. Now."
The four boys filed past her into the small, cramped room.
"It was genuinely an accident, Professor," Albert softly repeated once they were inside. The twins and Lee were pale, holding their breath.
Professor McGonagall's gaze swept over them, landing back on Albert. "That was a very good Reparo spell, Mr. Anderson. However, I must inform you that 'Open Sesame' is a rudimentary and highly destructive unlocking charm dating back several hundred years. Modern wizards prefer the more subtle and elegant Alohomora spell, or the highly refined Aperio (Open Aloud) spell."
"I know, Professor. But Alohomora didn't work on this door," Albert pointed out, feeling a sliver of confidence return now that the conversation was technical.
"That is because this door was treated with an Anti-Alohomora Charm," Professor McGonagall explained, her tone shifting slightly toward the didactic. "That is the kind of crucial detail on counter-spells I think Professor Flitwick would be delighted for you to ask him about."
"I will," Albert promised, relieved that she seemed more interested in correcting their theoretical knowledge than in handing out punitive measures.
"Good. Now, gentlemen, do not let this happen again, or you will receive a hefty deduction of points and detention." Professor McGonagall didn't seem to have the heart—or the time—to punish four frightened first-years for what was clearly a massive, accidental surge of magic. She turned, picked up a rolled piece of parchment from her desk, and handed it to Albert. "This is the first-year class schedule. Please post it prominently on the Gryffindor notice board for me."
"There won't be a next time, I promise," Albert affirmed, slightly pushing the backs of the twins and Lee Jordan to usher them quickly out of the office before the Professor could change her mind.
"I am terrified," Lee Jordan confessed once they were safely down the corridor. "We actually nearly took down the door of Professor McGonagall's office. And we got away with it!"
"It was brilliant, Albert! Your 'Open Sesame' spell actually worked," Fred exclaimed, his eyes glittering, all fear replaced by admiration for the destructive power they had accidentally unleashed.
"It was an accident! I didn't know it was a spell!" Albert protested, though he couldn't hide a slight, rueful grin. He unrolled the schedule. The first class on Monday morning was Charms.
He tapped the parchment with his wand and quietly performed a duplication charm, quickly creating four perfect copies.
George skimmed his copy. "Why is there no Flying Class on here?" he asked, disappointed. He had been eager to get on a broom.
"It's not every week, you'll have to wait," Albert explained. He looked over the weekly lineup again. "Don't you guys think the number of courses is a bit light?"
"Too few courses? Are you crazy?" Lee Jordan stared at Albert as if he'd gone mad.
"In a typical Muggle school, we'd have at least double the number of subjects," Albert mused. He quickly calculated the logistics. "There are only a few professors. If a class has two lessons a week, and a professor teaches all seven years across four Houses, that's twenty-eight lessons they have to cover. With only five weekdays available for teaching, their schedules are actually completely full."
"Ah, the sheer logistics of the magical world," George said, nodding sagely.
"Exactly. Now, let's go continue the map," Albert said, stuffing the schedule into his pocket.
The exploration continued on the upper floors. On the third floor, they found the Transfiguration classroom and the History of Magic classroom. Near the History classroom, they passed a neglected, abandoned girls' bathroom.
Albert instantly recognized it as the secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets—home to the dangerous Basilisk. They all gave the door a wide berth, not wishing to attract unwanted attention from the resident ghost, Moaning Myrtle, or, worse, being caught lingering outside a girls' restroom.
Their persistence paid off on the fourth floor. Near the corridor leading to the Charms classroom, they discovered a clear anomaly: a richly embroidered tapestry that looked too thick and too large. After a bit of poking, they found the seam and slipped behind it, revealing a low, narrow secret passage. The passage ended near the corridor housing the suits of armor and the Trophy Display Room.
"I bet all the tapestries at Hogwarts have secret passages hidden behind them," Lee Jordan joked as he squeezed out from behind the hanging fabric.
"Well, it's not a bad assumption," George conceded, a little disappointed. "I was hoping for a more obscure passage, one that only we would know about."
"We'll find one eventually. Come on, let's check out the Trophy Display Room," Albert suggested. He was curious if the dozens of gleaming cups and plaques were made of actual gold and silver.
The room was silent and gleaming, filled with polished wood cabinets and rows of engraved silver and gold objects.
"George, Fred," Lee Jordan pointed to one cabinet. "Look at this. I remember Charlie Weasley was your brother, right? He won the Quidditch trophy for the school."
The inscription below a slightly dented silver cup confirmed it. "Yes, that was shortly after Charlie joined the team," George said, his voice tinged with pride and melancholy. He gestured to the vast majority of the other cups. "He always wanted to win the championship again before he graduated. But look—it's almost all Slytherin."
Gryffindor and Slytherin had a legendary, bitter rivalry that extended far beyond the Quidditch pitch.
"Those Slytherins sometimes do whatever it takes to get what they want," Fred muttered darkly. "Percy told me so."
"Absolutely," George agreed, nodding vigorously. "Percy says that if Slytherin is ever even a few points down, they start targeting the leading House. And their Head of House, Snape—he's incredibly biased. He never deducts points from his own students. Most people call him the Old Bat."
Albert listened to the flood of information—and blame—being directed toward their older brother, Percy. The twins seemed to use their well-meaning, Prefect brother as a source of all information and a scapegoat for all opinions they didn't want to own themselves.
Even though it's just talk, don't put all the blame on Percy, Albert thought, shaking his head slightly. He's your brother, not a designated whipping boy. He reminded himself to mentally filter all 'Percy said' statements