The dreary weather persisted on Sunday, wrapping Hogwarts in a thick, persistent curtain of grey mist and drizzle. The four first-years stood before the ornate mirror on the fifth floor, the secret entrance to the passage.
"Who's in first, then?" Fred whispered, his voice vibrating with barely contained energy, his hand already resting on the frame.
Albert stepped back, yawning broadly for the fifth time since leaving the dormitory. "Needless to ask, surely?" he said matter-of-factly. "I'm choosing one of you three! You've already traversed this route once, so you naturally possess the necessary expertise and have already confirmed the passage hasn't caved in."
"Right, logic checks out!" Fred grinned, accepting the obvious burden. He gave a sharp, almost invisible pull on the mirror frame, and a wide crack appeared, peeling away from the wall to reveal a steep, dark, dirt-lined staircase descending into silence. Fred carefully slipped down the stairs, and the other three followed immediately. With a soft, muffled grind, the mirror swung back into place, sealing the corridor and plunging them into absolute, suffocating darkness.
The air was instantly thick and heavy, smelling strongly of damp, centuries-old stone and compacted earth. The passage was extremely cramped; even the slim forms of the boys were pressed close to the rough walls. They descended slowly, guided only by the sound of their own shuffling feet on the uneven stone steps.
Albert immediately raised his wand. "Lumos!"
A pale, steady light bloomed from the tip of his redwood wand, cutting a small, sharp cone through the gloom. It wasn't strong enough to illuminate the entire cavernous space, but it was reliable, a clear contrast to the sputtering efforts of his companions the previous night.
"Oh, I hate this narrow, dark place," Lee Jordan complained softly from behind, his voice echoing unsettlingly in the confined space.
"Stop complaining and try to keep up," Fred replied, his voice strained. He was concentrating on maintaining his own, weaker Glowing Charm, casting an erratic, flickering shadow on the wall as he slowly navigated the steep descent.
The passage was so narrow that even turning sideways was a struggle. It was a long, cold descent, and Fred's wand went out three times in the space of a single minute.
"I think you need to continue practicing the Luminous Charm, Fred," Albert reminded him, holding his own wand steady. "It's one of the most basic, utility spells. It shouldn't require that much concentration."
"I hate this feeling of the magic resisting me," Fred muttered under his breath, focusing on getting his wand to cooperate again.
"After we finish this first flight of stairs, the passage is slightly wider, isn't it?" George asked, bumping into Albert in the tight space. "Let Albert lead the way, Fred. You can't maintain the light and focus on the footing at the same time. You can hold the rear."
"Fine! Albert, take point!" Fred conceded, exhausted by the effort.
After navigating the initial, twisting staircase—which felt like it went ten flights down—they came to a level, gloomy passage. The ground underfoot shifted from stone to hard, damp soil, making the footing unpredictable.
The passage was unlined, with jagged rock faces surrounding them. Occasionally, cold water dripped from the ceiling; one icy drop struck Albert square on the face, making him shiver despite himself. He quickly wiped the water off and continued, his pace deliberately slow and measured.
He was focused entirely on efficiency. Every step was calculated to avoid the slightest stumble, and his light remained a constant, unwavering beacon. No one else spoke; all their concentration was focused on dealing with the uneven, slippery ground, the constant threat of a turned ankle, or the suffocating presence of the dark.
The four of them stumbled and shuffled forward. The tunnel was winding, twisting back upon itself repeatedly. Albert mentally tracked the time and the path. He couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale of the engineering—or lack thereof—involved.
It's really strange that they didn't suffocate to death down here, he mused internally. The passage was old, deep, and had clearly not been designed with modern ventilation standards in mind.
Albert raised his wand higher, angling the light beam up the passage walls and ceiling.
"What are you looking at?" Fred asked, peering over Albert's shoulder.
"The air quality is acceptable," Albert confirmed. "Um, I think there are thin, hairline cracks or micro-vents above us, disguised by natural wear. Look closely, just where the rock shifts texture."
"Where?" The three of them looked up simultaneously, their untrained eyes failing to discern the subtle breaks in the stone that Albert's focused scrutiny had detected.
"Just where we just walked," Albert dismissed, knowing they wouldn't see it without intense focus. He filed the information away: Air supply exists, but is clearly relying on natural fissures in the rock. The inefficiency was staggering, yet it worked.
After what felt like an eternity—precisely 1 hour and 20 minutes, according to Albert's internal clock—the passage began to angle sharply upwards. This welcome change meant the exit was very close. The four boys, who were all slightly out of breath and thoroughly exhausted by the dark, began to speed up their pace, spurred on by the promise of the outside world.
Five minutes later, they could all feel the unmistakable blast of cold, clean wind blowing in, a rushing sound that replaced the dead air of the tunnel.
The passage entrance was ingenious—it opened under the overhanging shelter of a massive, ancient oak root structure, completely concealed from any casual observer. The exit hole itself was incredibly narrow; Albert noted clinically that anyone even moderately overweight would likely get stuck.
Albert pushed out first, taking a deep, restorative breath of the rainy air. It was still raining outside, a soft, soaking drizzle. He took out his foldable Muggle umbrella and instantly deployed it, holding it over his head.
The three Weasleys scrambled out behind him. They stood blinking in the light, immediately squeezing in under Albert's umbrella.
"You didn't bring an umbrella," Albert stated, deadpan.
"No," the three of them shook their heads simultaneously, still recovering from the physical strain.
Albert rolled his eyes with exasperated affection. He pointed his wand at his own umbrella and muttered the Cloning Charm once more. Three identical, brand-new foldable umbrellas instantly detached and floated gently into the waiting hands of the twins and Lee Jordan.
"You're still as reliable as ever, Albert," the three praised shamelessly, already finding the umbrella far superior to anything magical for simple rain protection.
"By the way, this umbrella is so strange!" Lee Jordan exclaimed, twisting the handle. "It can actually extend and retract at a touch? What kind of magic is this?"
"This isn't magic, it's Muggle ingenuity," Albert explained, folding his own umbrella once he had cast an Invulnerability Charm—a simple waterproofing spell—on himself. He ensured his clothes and, crucially, his boots would remain perfectly dry when crossing the lush, wet grassland that separated them from the village.
"Watch out!" He heard George exclaim. He turned just in time to see Lee Jordan, who had momentarily lost his footing on the slick, rain-soaked grass, sprawl full-length on the ground. He was now entirely soaked, the Invulnerability Charm having failed to cover his robes in time.
"Are you okay, Lee?" Fred quickly reached out and pulled his friend up, his face a mix of concern and suppressed laughter.
"What terrible luck! My clothes are drenched," Lee Jordan complained miserably, shivering violently as the cold water penetrated his robes.
The twins immediately turned and looked at Albert, their expression clearly asking the unspoken question: Fix this.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Albert asked, genuinely puzzled by the expectation. "I didn't cause him to fall."
"Have you, um, have you mastered the Drying Charm?" Fred asked hopefully.
"What makes you think I know this kind of rudimentary, common-household magic?" Albert asked back, affecting a slightly offended air. It's true I know it, but admitting it ruins the aesthetic of being the aloof intellectual who only studies high-level combat spells, he thought. Plus, a little discomfort is good for building character.
"Ahem, we were just asking casually," Fred coughed dryly, attempting to smooth over the awkward atmosphere. "We always feel like you know absolutely every single piece of magic in existence."
"Hey, you three, can we please get moving?" Lee Jordan pleaded, his teeth chattering uncontrollably now. "I hate the rain the most."
They began the final, short walk across the field towards the cluster of crooked, chimney-stacked buildings visible in the distance—the village of Hogsmeade.
The rain and the early hour had left the streets of Hogsmeade deserted. Lee Jordan, utterly miserable and visibly shaking, suggested heading straight to the Three Broomsticks pub. He desperately needed a cup of Butterbeer to warm himself up and, crucially, a massive fire to dry his sodden robes. The others, cold and tired from the passage, readily agreed.
They walked along the main street for a few minutes and easily located the pub. Its identification was obvious: three wooden brooms were indeed hung over the doorway, arranged in a crude triangle.
What made Albert want to pause and complain was the architecture. The pointed, triangular roof above the door was distinctly crooked . It's completely disregarding the laws of Muggle physics and universal visual aesthetics, he thought with a slight groan. Only a wizard would build a house that looks perpetually on the verge of collapsing.
A charming, if slightly skewed, sign proclaimed the pub's name: The Three Broomsticks.
The interior of the pub was pleasantly warm and bright, a welcome haven from the damp outside. A huge, roaring fire crackled cheerfully in a stone fireplace, filling the space with comforting heat and the smoky scent of burning wood.
There were few patrons today. When Albert entered, he saw only a single, large wizard sitting on a stool at the counter, engaged in a low, intense conversation with the proprietress.
Lee Jordan made a beeline for the heat, shrugging off his wet outer robe and laying it directly beside the hearth to steam. The twins sat opposite him, holding their hands out to the flames.
"I'll go order the drinks," Albert said, walking toward the counter.
"Four bottles of Butterbeer, warm, please," Albert requested, placing his order.
The lone wizard at the counter, a man with a wild, dark beard and a large, stained cloak, seemed instantly unhappy at being interrupted. He turned on his stool and glared at Albert.
Albert met the glare with an expressionless, steady gaze. He ignored the man and found an empty stool next to him, sitting down to wait.
"Where did this little ghost come from?" the wizard muttered under his breath, clearly referring to Albert's student status. However, a sharp, imperious glare from the proprietress of the Three Broomsticks immediately silenced him.
Madam Rosmerta was a beautiful woman with a shrewd, competent air. She looked at the four young wizards who had just entered with a knowing surprise. "Are you students from Hogwarts? It's a miracle you lot managed to sneak out without the Headmaster knowing."
"How much for the order?" Albert asked, cutting directly to the transaction.
"Eight Sickles," Madam Rosmerta replied, her curiosity momentarily suspended by the need for business. She went into the back room to retrieve their order and heat the Butterbeer to a comforting temperature.
Albert used his waiting time to conduct a brief survey of the establishment. Honestly, this place was infinitely better than the dingy, chaotic Leaky Cauldron in London. The bar lobby was clean, the tables were neatly arranged, and there was no overpowering smell of stale beer, just woodsmoke and warmth. The heavy, dark wood furnishings gave it the atmosphere of a medieval tavern from a Muggle history book or a fantasy game.
After waiting for exactly five minutes, Madam Rosmerta returned, placing four steaming pewter mugs filled with creamy Butterbeer in front of Albert.
"Eight Sickles," she repeated. Albert counted out the coins, placed them on the table, and carefully picked up two mugs, then waited for the twins to collect the others. He walked back to the fireplace and sat down.
The Butterbeer exuded a strong, comforting aroma of caramelized sugar and warm butter. Albert took a cautious sip. It was smooth, creamy, and surprisingly low in alcoholic content—more of a rich, non-carbonated soft drink than a true beer. It reminded him of a less sickeningly sweet butterscotch candy.
"Well?" The three boys looked at Albert in unison, their faces expectant. This was the legendary Wizarding drink, and they wanted his authoritative review.
"It's... just an ordinary beverage," Albert said, looking at the three of them and blinking slowly. "It's like drinking a Muggle soda or a fancy milkshake. It's comforting and warm, but ultimately unexciting. It's difficult to get used to the richness, though."
The three of them looked at each other, then burst into relieved laughter, as if they had fully expected their cerebral, hyper-critical friend to deliver exactly this kind of anti-climactic critique. He couldn't even allow a magical beverage to be truly extraordinary.
They raised their mugs in a silent toast to their successful, illicit journey, and drank deeply. The warmth of the Butterbeer and the roar of the fire began to melt away the memory of the long, cold, dark crawl.