For the remainder of the journey, the little compartment was less a space for resting students and more the clandestine headquarters of a burgeoning magical conglomerate.
The four boys—Albert, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan—were completely absorbed, huddled over Albert's notebook, which was rapidly filling with scribbled notes, flowcharts, and crude drawings of potential card symbols. The scent of Chocolate Frogs and entrepreneurial ambition hung heavy in the air.
"Okay, so a basic spell card, like Wingardium Leviosa, gives you a low-level utility effect—say, allowing you to draw one card, or swap one card in your hand with the top card of the discard pile," Albert dictated, illustrating the concept with a rapid pen stroke.
"But a Transfiguration Specialist, like Dumbledore, would have a massive attack value and an 'Ultimate Effect' based on his legendary power. Maybe the Dumbledore card allows you to transfigure the opponent's next creature card into a weaker, random animal card."
"Wait, wait, wait," Fred interrupted, his brow furrowed in concentration. "If we include Dark Wizards, they need to have equally powerful but purely destructive effects. Grindelwald's card should just instantly destroy two random cards on the opponent's side. No defense possible."
"And what about the infamous ones?" George chimed in, snatching the notebook to draw a terrible, stick-figure representation of a house-elf. "Like Baron Bloodsworth, the Baroness who ran the most corrupt cauldron shop in 17th Century Diagon Alley! His card should have a low attack, but a persistent effect: 'Force the opponent to pay 1 Galleon of real-world currency to the Baron at the end of every turn.'"
Lee Jordan slapped his knee, roaring with laughter. "Yes! A tax collector card! And my Lee Jordan Co-Founder card has to be a defensive shield against all monetary penalties! This is going to be brilliant, Albert. The layers of complexity are already better than Exploding Snap. This is intellectual and fun."
Albert smiled faintly, pleased with their engagement. The true genius of the idea wasn't just the mechanics, but the collectibility and the engagement with history. It was the perfect blend of a Muggle trading card game and magical lore, filling a colossal void in the magical recreation market.
He shook the rapidly filling notebook gently. "This, gentlemen, is the founding document of a global industry. Now tell me again, if the Wizard Cards become as universally famous as Quidditch, how many Galleons do you think this original, handwritten rulebook will be worth in twenty years?"
Lee Jordan, now completely invested in the legacy, was immediately serious. "You absolutely cannot sell that. This notebook will become a legendary artifact, passed down through the history of the game. It'll be priceless, like the original text of Advanced Potion-Making."
They were buzzing, riding the high of creation, all previous concerns about Ministry trouble and Quidditch tryouts temporarily forgotten. The magical world was desperately starved of high-quality, mentally engaging entertainment. They knew, instinctively, that Albert had just handed them a gold mine, far more accessible than the Forbidden Forest.
Their feverish planning session was abruptly halted by a deep, grinding screech—the brakes of the Hogwarts Express engaging for the final stop.
"Hogsmeade! We're here!" Fred shouted, jolting them back to reality.
The four scrambled to pull on their outer school robes, the heavy wool offering minimal protection against the weather they already heard roaring outside.
As they stepped out into the tight, bustling corridor, the full force of the weather was immediately apparent. It wasn't just rain; it was a deluge. Water was streaming down the windows, turning the world outside into a blurred, cold mess.
Lee Jordan pulled a large, serviceable umbrella from his own trunk, opening it with a snap. He looked at Albert, puzzled. "You, Mr. Prepared-for-Everything, didn't bring an umbrella? That's highly irregular for you."
Albert, unperturbed, simply smiled. He raised his wand. With practiced ease and a clear, resonant voice that cut through the train's echoing din, he performed a charm. A moment later, a handsome, jet-black umbrella materialized directly over his head, shielding him instantly.
"No need," Albert said, shaking his charmed umbrella slightly. "I have this. You've forgotten that I spent the whole summer practicing my Summoning Charm. Turns out, it's quite handy for objects I don't technically possess yet."
"That's not Summoning, that's Conjuring! And it's N.E.W.T.-level magic!" Lee Jordan sputtered, trying to maintain his dignity while Fred and George pressed in close under his protection.
"Albert, mate, you're drowning us!" Fred yelled over the noise of the crowd and the storm, motioning to the cramped space under Lee's umbrella. "Can you Copy one for us?"
"Give me your wand!" Albert shouted back. The noise level was incredible as students jostled to get off the train.
Fred, trusting Albert implicitly, quickly shoved his own worn wand into Albert's outstretched hand.
Albert took Fred's wand, felt its familiar but less responsive core, and performed the Duplicating Charm (Gemino) on Lee's umbrella. With a second, clear incantation, a faithful copy of the black umbrella shimmered into existence.
He immediately handed the wand and the new umbrella back to Fred. "It works, but it's definitely not as powerful as mine," Albert muttered, more to himself. "The replication is less precise, and the magical conduit—the wand—is noticeably weaker."
"What was that?" Lee asked, handing the copied umbrella to the twins, who immediately separated, their faces radiating relief.
"Nothing," Albert replied, a knowing smirk in place. "Just confirming that quality hardware matters. Now, let's go before we get swept away."
The four of them joined the orderly trickle of students leaving the station, the newly copied umbrella holding up admirably against the torrent. Those without umbrellas were a miserable, soaking mess, hunching their shoulders and running blindly toward the covered carriages.
A booming, familiar voice cut through the downpour. "Firs' years! Over here! Firs' years!" Hagrid, lantern bobbing in the gloom, waved his massive hands toward the dock where the traditional boat crossing would take place.
Albert and his group, dry and comfortable, deliberately took their time, observing the miserable students.
"It's amazing how few people think to check the weather forecast before a seven-hour train ride," George commented, shaking his head with mock sympathy.
"You two are just annoyed you didn't have enough foresight to pack umbrellas yourselves," Lee Jordan retorted, giving them a friendly jab.
Following the main crowd, they soon reached the carriage line. The carriages stood, silent and imposing, pulled by the skeletal, winged forms of the Thestrals, visible only to those, like Albert, who had witnessed death.
As they climbed into a carriage, Albert caught sight of Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet sharing a small umbrella with Shanna. Shanna looked over and caught Albert's eye.
"That copying spell was incredible, Albert! Can you really teach me that?" she called out before they departed.
"I can teach you if I have the time, Shanna!" Albert called back, nodding reassuringly. "It's about focus, not just power."
"Time to roll!" Fred announced, pulling the door shut just as the carriage gave a violent jolt. The long, shadowy convoy of carriages began to move, splashing muddy water onto the road.
Albert leaned against the window, the heavy jolting a familiar sensation of the start of the year. He gazed out, feeling the incredible speed as the invisible Thestrals devoured the distance to the castle.
They rattled through the famous gates, past the statue of the winged boar, and finally pulled to a stop at the foot of the enormous stone steps. The students ahead were already scurrying up, anxious to escape the downpour and the cold.
Albert and his friends, leisurely deploying their umbrellas, joined the ascent. As they reached the doors, Albert instinctively glanced toward the Black Lake. Through the gloom and the constant rain curtain, he could just make out the small, bobbing lantern lights of the boats, ferrying the miserable, soaked first-years across the water.
"Let's go, Albert!" George insisted, already pulling him toward the warmth of the entrance hall.
Albert finally turned away, passing through the massive oak doors and into the welcoming, torchlit Entrance Hall.
The Great Hall was already beginning to fill up. The ceiling, magically enchanted to mirror the outside weather, showed the black, cloud-choked sky, with torrential, realistic rain battering down just inches above their heads.
Albert quickly spotted the high table. There, seated next to Professor Flitwick, was the new face. Rowena Smith. She was striking—composed, with sharp, intelligent eyes that scanned the hall.
Albert offered a near-imperceptible nod in her direction, a silent greeting to his summer contact, before making his way to the Gryffindor table. Lee Jordan had already reserved a prime spot for him.
He greeted Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, who drifted past, complaining about the dampness affecting his partially severed neck, and then settled in, greeting his classmates with a genuine smile.
"You're absolutely bronzed!" Shanna exclaimed, leaning across the table, inspecting him closely. "Basque Country? That sounds divine. I had the most tedious summer, stuck at home doing nothing."
"The food alone made the trip worthwhile," Albert confirmed, his mind already drifting to the pastries.
"Boring is right," Fred muttered, already piling his plate high. "At least you two have something interesting to talk about. We just played Quidditch until Mum nearly had a fit."
"At least you can play Quidditch," Lee Jordan countered, grabbing a handful of roast potatoes.
Their chatter subsided as Professor McGonagall entered with the entire, visibly bedraggled class of first-year students. A sudden, tense silence fell over the massive hall. McGonagall placed the patched Sorting Hat onto the stool, and after a moment of stillness, the Hat burst into song—a new song, detailing the history of the Founders and the reasons for their choices.
As the Sorting began, Albert, like everyone else, watched with detached curiosity, occasionally offering commentary.
His eyes scanned the remaining nervous students. He was particularly interested in a girl standing near the back. Cho Chang. The name was familiar from the future. She was, as expected, petite and pretty, with distinctively Asian features that stood out slightly from the mostly European crowd. She was quickly sorted into Ravenclaw.
Albert also took note of another name: Zachary Smith. The name meant little to him, but the surname caught his attention, given the new DADA professor. Zachary Smith was sorted into Hufflepuff.
Finally, Katie Bell—the future Gryffindor Chaser and a key component of the 'Three Chasers'—was sorted to loud applause from their table.
"Is that her? Rowena Smith?" Fred asked, nodding toward the high table, already halfway through a pork chop.
"That's her," Albert confirmed, cutting into his steak. "Looks like we actually might learn something useful in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."
Angelina Johnson, seated opposite, seized the opportunity. "Albert, you didn't buy a broom? Fred told me. You have to! Oliver is furious."
"I told them I didn't have the time to commit to the team," Albert explained.
"What about the rest of you?" Angelina demanded of the twins.
"Seven Stars No. 5!" they cheered in unison.
"Albert's got the right idea," Oliver Wood interjected, already involved in the tactics of the new season. "Try before you buy, Angelina. The Comet series is reliable, but slow now. The Seven Stars Sweep series is great value; the new No. 6 is fantastic for a Chaser. Whatever you do, avoid anything pre-1980."
While the Quidditch discussion raged, the last of the first-years was sorted. Professor McGonagall collected the hat and the stool, and Dumbledore rose, his silver beard gleaming in the candlelight.
"Welcome, once again, to a new school year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling as he surveyed the hall. "I am delighted to officially welcome Professor Smith to our staff this year, who will be taking up the challenging post of Defense Against the Dark Arts."
A respectful, if slightly tepid, round of applause followed as Professor Smith offered a small, curt nod.
"Excellent. Now that the pleasantries are concluded, I imagine you are all quite hungry. Let the feast begin!" Dumbledore lifted his spoon and tapped his goblet.
The moment he did, the hall erupted in a glorious, stomach-growling pop of sound as the platters on every table instantly filled with steaming, glorious food.
Albert loaded his plate, favoring the smoked salmon and roasted vegetables. He caught the eye of Nearly Headless Nick, who was sadly contemplating a tray of rich, steaming beef stew.
"Tell me, Nick," Albert asked, lowering his voice. "If ghosts can't truly eat, why do they bother having feasts?"
Nick sighed dramatically. "We don't truly eat, young Albert. We appreciate the aroma, the essence of the food. Our feasts are usually just rotten food, you see. The smell… it's the only way we can experience it."
"Ah, I see," Albert said, nodding sagely as he carefully sliced his steak. "So they let it rot so you can appreciate the taste better."
Nick looked simultaneously offended and strangely impressed, and the surrounding students just rolled their eyes, accustomed to Albert's peculiar observations.
After the feast—the desserts being, as always, outrageously good—Dumbledore rose one last time. The hubbub died down immediately.
"Very well!" Dumbledore beamed. "Now that everyone is well-fed and watered, I have a few final announcements."
"Firstly, I must inform you, by request of Mr. Filch, our caretaker, that students are henceforth forbidden from bringing any garlic or related garlic products into the castle grounds this year."
A wave of suppressed laughter swept across the hall. Everyone knew exactly why. It was a direct response to the massive garlic prank played on Filch last term. Fred and George nearly choked, having to clamp their hands over their mouths. Albert gave them a quiet, firm kick under the table to stop them from bursting into loud, incriminating guffaws.
"And finally, the Forbidden Forest is, as always, strictly forbidden to all students," Dumbledore concluded, before sending them off to bed.
"I cannot believe he actually banned garlic!" Fred finally burst out laughing as they left the Hall, nearly collapsing in the Entrance Hall.
"What a tragedy. Garlic omelets were genuinely a culinary highlight of my first year," Lee Jordan lamented with mock seriousness, earning another snort of laughter from the twins.
Albert merely smiled, leading them toward the Gryffindor Tower.
Up the winding, familiar spiral staircase, they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"The password?" she demanded.
"Nonsense," Percy, ever the dutiful Prefect, announced ahead of them.
The portrait swung open, and the students flooded into the circular Gryffindor Common Room, where a huge, roaring fire was already burning in the hearth, chasing away the chill of the storm.
The boys bounded up the next spiral staircase toward their dormitory. The room was exactly as they had left it: four-poster beds with dark-red velvet curtains, trunks placed neatly at the foot of each.
"Good night," Fred mumbled, already pulling off his robes, exhausted and full. He threw himself under the covers.
"Good night," Albert replied, changing into his pajamas. The bed was deliciously warm, thanks to the constant heat of the common room fire below.
Lying comfortably in the soft, thick sheets, listening to the heavy, rhythmic drumming of the rain outside, Albert closed his eyes. It was good to be back at Hogwarts. The year was starting with a high-stakes political chess game, a promising business venture, and a new, powerful Professor Smith on the staff. Life, as always, was anything but boring.