The unexpected blessing of the first day of term falling on a Saturday meant a soft, gentle start to the school year—at least for those who had finished their summer assignments.
Albert woke up to the sound of torrential rain still lashing against the dormitory windows. He stretched, fighting the urge to surrender to the warmth of the four-poster, but discipline won out. He dressed swiftly, observing his roommates still sprawled out like fallen heroes.
Always raining on the first day, he mused, quietly pulling two heavy, bound volumes from his trunk. They were books borrowed from the library, now due for immediate return. He calculated with satisfaction: seventeen down, eighty-three to go in the required reading list he'd set himself for the year.
The Gryffindor Common Room presented an utterly bizarre spectacle. Instead of the usual chaos of returning students, it was strangely subdued. Every sofa, armchair, and footstool was occupied. Gryffindors—from third-years to seventh-years—were frantically scribbling away, their faces pale with panic and stained with ink. They were, almost without exception, attempting to complete their summer homework.
The classic student procrastination model is still highly efficient, Albert thought, suppressing a laugh.
"Good morning, Albert!" Shanna called out, descending the girls' staircase, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She stopped dead when she saw the common room. "By the beard of Merlin! Did someone cast an Imperius on these people? Why is everyone working on a weekend?"
"They're performing the traditional 'Last-Minute-Cram' ritual," Albert replied drily, heading for the portrait hole. "I believe most of them discovered, sometime around midnight, that Transfiguration homework requires more than five minutes to complete. A few are probably trying to Copy their essays, only to realize the charm doesn't work that way."
Shanna followed him out. "Speaking of the Copying Charm, you promised to show me. But why did you say copied objects have no 'added value'?"
"Because the Duplicating Charm, Gemino, only replicates the physical substance, not the innate magical properties or monetary worth of rare materials," Albert explained patiently as they walked toward the Great Hall, side-stepping a trio of panicked second-years.
"If you copy a solid silver spoon, the copy is physically a spoon, but the silver is inert—it's magically useless, and its value is zilch. It's an imitation, a placeholder. It works on an umbrella, but not on a priceless gold card or a potent potion."
Shanna nodded, her expression serious. "So, no copying Galleons, then."
"Precisely. If it were that easy, Gringotts would have collapsed centuries ago," he confirmed.
They were about to enter the Great Hall when they ran into Charlie Weasley and Oliver Wood near the entrance, deep in conversation about Quidditch tryouts.
Albert offered a quick greeting, intending to slip away, but Charlie's large, muscled arm shot out and clapped him firmly on the shoulder.
"Albert! Just the man I wanted to see. The tryouts are next Wednesday. You will, of course, be there." Charlie's tone brooked no argument.
Albert winced, rubbing his arm. "Wednesday? Charlie, I'm not sure. I've already committed to the Transfiguration Club, and I have… several other projects. Perhaps I could serve as a non-roster reserve? For emergencies?"
Charlie's eyes narrowed, but a shrewd, understanding look quickly replaced the annoyance. "Enough with the excuses, Seeker. You need a broom—order the newest Nimbus 1700 immediately; that's your only task."
"And what about you?" Albert asked, genuinely surprised by the direct financial advice and lack of protest.
Charlie smiled, a wolfish, knowing grin. "My job is to secure the team's best assets before I leave. Look, I'm promoting Wood to Captain next year. I know you're too busy for weekly practice. So, I'll tell you this: I'll play Chaser this year, and I'll put my foot down for you. You are the Seeker. Your attendance at practice is technically optional. Just show up for the games and catch the Snitch."
Albert paused, realizing Charlie had calculated the exact minimum effort required to keep the best player on the team. It was a pragmatic, brilliant piece of captaincy. "That… is a very bad precedent, Charlie."
"It's a necessary strategic concession," Charlie countered dismissively. "Go eat. I've solved this problem. Be at tryouts Wednesday, or I'll drag you there."
As Albert and Shanna walked away, Wood looked concerned. "Is that really wise, Charlie? Setting that kind of precedent?"
Charlie watched Albert disappear into the Great Hall before turning back to Wood. "Wood, think strategically. Finding Beaters and Chasers? Easy. Finding a Seeker with Albert's talent, speed, and focus? Impossible. When I graduate, you need a stable team. By making this concession now, I secure you the best Seeker for the next four years. A Seeker's job is isolation—find the Snitch. Team cooperation is secondary. He catches the Snitch, we win. End of story. We lose him, we'll be crushed, year after year."
Albert quickly joined the twins and Lee Jordan at the Gryffindor table. He had only just sat down when he heard a clink sound as an elegant white owl descended, landing neatly in front of him.
Shera, despite the dreadful weather, was impeccably dry and delivered her package with practiced precision.
"You earned this," Albert murmured, pulling an Owl Treat from his robe pocket and placing it before her.
"What is it?" Shanna asked, looking at the curiously heavy, thick, metallic-sounding envelope Albert immediately placed in his inner pocket.
"A piece of gold," Albert replied instantly, without looking up from his plate. He had no intention of opening Hector Dagworth's golden card in front of an entire hall of students.
Shanna frowned, not knowing whether to believe him. "A piece of gold? Seriously?"
"Relax. It's just a piece of metal, a membership card I needed returned," Albert corrected, offering a playful wink before finishing his breakfast and excusing himself.
He knew exactly what to do with the gold card. He had to make it unreachable, yet recoverable. It needed to be where Dumbledore could find it, but Dagworth couldn't simply summon it back.
Taking a secretive route, Albert ascended to the seventh floor. He passed the tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy and his unfortunate attempts to teach trolls ballet. He paced back and forth three times, focusing his intent: I need a place to hide a valuable, sensitive object that no one but me or the Headmaster could find.
A door materialized silently in the wall.
He stepped into the Room of Requirement. It appeared as a massive, echoing chamber of discarded objects. Albert walked straight to a spot where, during his previous exploration, he knew Ravenclaw's lost diadem—a powerful, dark artifact—lay concealed within a crumbling stone statue.
He placed the letter containing Dagworth's golden card directly beside the statue. Perfect. When he eventually "finds" the diadem for Dumbledore, he'll have the perfect cover story: "While looking for the golden card, I stumbled upon this old, dusty crown." The gold card was now safe, untouchable by Dagworth's future efforts.
Hertock Dagworth, Albert realized, would now have to deal with the permanent loss of his most prestigious prize—a unique gold card that the Extraordinary Pharmacists Guild wouldn't replace. To get it back, he would have to humble himself and deal with Albert directly, which was the entire point of the strategic ultimatum.
Satisfied, Albert made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. The chaos of the summer homework scramble had cleared, replaced by the normal lazy chatter of a weekend.
Up in the boys' dormitory, Lee Jordan was sitting on the edge of his bed, reviewing his (completed) homework.
"How?" Albert asked, gesturing to the lack of panic in the room.
"I'm an exception. Unlike the rest of the Common Room, I actually remembered my assignments," Lee replied, then jumped up excitedly. "Right, enough of that rubbish. When do we start designing the Wizard Cards? I'm itching to make my co-founder card real."
Fred and George, freshly showered and dressed, immediately gathered around as Albert pulled out his notebook and a blank piece of parchment.
"We start now," Albert declared, taking a quill. "We will start with the Hogwarts Card Set, focusing on students and professors. This first run will be purely for testing mechanics."
Albert began to draw the template, dividing the parchment into sections: Card Name, Faction (Gryffindor, etc.), Cost (Action Points), Attack, Health, and Effect Text.
"We need to group them logically," Albert explained. "Each House will form a primary faction, each with unique strengths—Gryffindor might focus on aggressive attacks, Ravenclaw on drawing cards and strategy, Slytherin on control and sabotage, and Hufflepuff on defense and resource generation."
"Brilliant! House synergy!" George exclaimed.
Albert then began filling in the details for the first batch of creature cards—the players.
"Starting with the core units," Albert said, writing quickly:
Card Name: Fred Weasley
Faction: Gryffindor
Cost: 1 Action Point
Attack: 1
Health: 1
Effect: Twin Synergy: When George Weasley is not on the field, instantly summon George Weasley from your Deck or Discard Pile. When the Weasley Twins are simultaneously on the field, both gain +1 Attack.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Fred protested, leaning over Albert's shoulder. "Our attack power is only one point? We're Beaters! We hit Bludgers!"
"And Lee Jordan's?" George demanded, pointing to the next card.
Card Name: Lee Jordan
Faction: Gryffindor
Cost: 1 Action Point
Attack: 1
Health: 1
Effect: The Voice: As one of the Four Founders of Wizard Cards, draw a card for free upon summoning.
"Yes! The Voice! I love it!" Lee Jordan crowed, ignoring the twins' annoyance. "Mine's perfect!"
"Our card is all about synergy," Albert patiently lectured the twins. "Individually, you're cheap, low-level units. But together, you gain an extra attack point, making the pair of you worth four stats for the cost of two. It's balanced and thematic. You're useless apart, unstoppable together."
"Fine, fine," Fred grumbled. "But what about your card, Mr. Founder and Architect?"
Albert picked up a clean piece of parchment and, with a flourish, filled in his own profile:
Card Name: Albert Anderson
Faction: Ravenclaw (Strategic)
Cost: 2 Action Points
Attack: 3
Health: 2
Effect: The Premeditated Move: Upon summoning, instantly draw one Armor Charm spell card and one Disarming Charm spell card from your Deck. When a Copying Charm is used, this card gains +1 Attack until the end of the turn.
"No way! Look at that!" George exploded, pointing at the numbers. "Three Attack and two Health? That's five stats for two points! We're stuck with two stats for one point!"
"And you can immediately pull spell cards?" Fred whined, sounding thoroughly cheated.
"Because I am genuinely better than you, and I can execute those spells with unmatched precision," Albert explained, without a hint of arrogance. "The game must reflect reality, or it's not fun. I'm a high-value, high-risk card. If you take me out, the opponent loses a huge advantage. Plus, these cards aren't fixed. In the future, we can incorporate transformation charms into the manufacturing process to allow for easy card updates and 'patches' when the game inevitably gets unbalanced."
"That's… actually genius," Lee Jordan admitted, thoroughly distracted by the promise of magic-infused card patches.
"Hurry up and design Charlie and Percy!" Fred urged, now excited again. "Charlie needs to be a high-attack Chaser card. And Percy… give him a 'Bureaucracy' effect that slows the opponent down."
"Right," Albert agreed, returning to the notebook. "We need thirty cards for a playable deck minimum right now. And to prevent abuse, no more than three copies of any single card in the deck."
The afternoon passed in a blur of creation, arguing over the stat lines of the Gryffindor Quidditch players, and deciding whether Professor McGonagall should be an 'Attack' card focused on Transfiguration, or a 'Control' card focused on discipline. The Wizard Card Game was officially in its alpha testing phase.