The trek back from Hogsmeade felt significantly longer than the walk there, mostly because Hagrid was looming over them like a giant, shaggy prison warden. Fred and George, ever the optimists, had tried to pivot the situation. They'd spent a good ten minutes trying to convince Hagrid that since they were already "out and about," a quick detour to his hut to visit Fluffy, the three-headed monstrosity, was only logical.
Hagrid's rejection had been loud, firm, and punctuated by a large, calloused hand pointing directly toward the castle gates. To ensure no "accidental" disappearances occurred, he marched them right up to the heavy oak doors of Hogwarts.
"I'm serious this time," Hagrid grunted, his breath misting in the freezing air. "If I see so much as a red hair near Hogsmeade before the next official visit, McGonagall's going to hear all about your little black-market field trip. And believe me, she's got a much longer memory than I do."
"Tough crowd," Lee Jordan muttered as they watched Hagrid's massive silhouette retreat into the gathering dusk. He shivered, pulling his scarf tighter. "Hey, Albert, do you think we could pull off a group Disillusionment Charm next time? You know, just turn into a four-man invisible blob?"
Lee's voice lacked its usual bravado. He knew the Disillusionment Charm was a beast—advanced magic that most sixth years struggled to hold for more than a few minutes. Looking at Albert, who didn't even seem to be shivering despite the wind, Lee felt a familiar pang of envy mixed with motivation. Albert wasn't just moving faster than them; he was playing a different game entirely.
"It's a solid theory," George said with a wistful sigh. "Hogsmeade is wasted on the law-abiding. We barely scratched the surface of the candy shop."
"We've got bigger problems," Fred said, shifting the heavy barrel of salt he was carrying. His arms were clearly starting to ache. "Namely, where are we stashing this? It's not exactly the kind of thing you keep under your bed. One spill and the dorm smells like a curing shed for a month."
"The Room of Requirement," Albert replied simply. "It's the only place that won't ask questions."
"Should've guessed," Fred grinned.
Albert reached into his pocket and pulled out the shrunken barrel of butterbeer he'd bought for a Galleon. He handed it to Fred with a warning look. "Take this to the common room. And don't try to open it yet. It's still under a high-pressure shrinking hex. You open that without the proper counter-spell, and you'll turn the Gryffindor tower into a giant foam party."
"I don't even know the counter-spell," Fred admitted, shaking the tiny wooden barrel curiously.
"Which is why you'll wait for me. Go to the kitchens first. See if the elves have anything we can cook over the fire. I'll meet you in the common room once I've dropped off the salt."
"What if the kitchens are bare?" Lee asked. "Saturdays are busy for the elves."
"Then go to the Black Lake and summon a few fish," Albert said, half-distracted as he pulled out the Marauder's Map.
"Fish?" Fred looked horrified. "In November? And since when do we eat lake fish?"
Albert paused, realizing the cultural gap. "Oh, right. I keep forgetting the British have a weird aversion to freshwater fish. Too many bones for knives and forks, I suppose."
"It's not 'weird,' it's civilized!" George laughed. "But if you're volunteering to de-bone them with your wand, we'll see what we can do."
Albert watched them head toward the basement, a faint smile on his face. He shook his head. To a man who could navigate a set of chopsticks, a few fish bones were a minor inconvenience, but in Britain, where resources were historically plentiful, people could afford to be picky. If the population tripled and the meat ran out, they'd be fighting over those same lake fish in a heartbeat.
He turned his attention to the Marauder's Map as he climbed toward the eighth floor. Most of the castle was empty, with students still lingering in Hogsmeade or hiding in their dorms. But as he neared the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he froze.
A small dot was hovering right in front of the Room of Requirement.
Professor Rowena Smith.
Albert tucked himself behind a suit of armor, his mind racing. Was it a coincidence? Or did she know?
"Professor Brood knew about it last year," Albert whispered to himself. "And both of them are Ravenclaws. High-achieving, secret-hunting Ravenclaws."
He waited, watching the map. The dot didn't move. He walked closer, maintaining a silence that would have made a cat jealous, but as he reached the corridor, he found the wall blank. He tried to pace in front of it, focusing on the "Room for Stashing Salt," but the door refused to manifest.
"Occupied," Albert realized.
The Room of Requirement could accommodate multiple needs, but if someone had entered a specific 'instance' of the room with a strong intent for privacy, it often locked others out. What was Smith doing in there? Was there a Ravenclaw knowledge vault hidden within the castle's architecture? A secret library that required more than just intelligence to enter?
"You going in or staying out? I don't have all day."
Albert jumped slightly, realizing he was standing right in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. She was looking at him with a mixture of boredom and irritation.
"Sorry," Albert said, shaking off his thoughts. "Treacle Tart."
The portrait swung open, and Albert was immediately hit by a wave of warmth and the chaotic energy of the Gryffindor common room. Only the underclassmen were here—the ones too young to experience the 'joys' of a Hogsmeade winter. They were scattered across the rugs, some struggling with transfiguration essays, others engaged in heated games of Exploding Snap.
He slipped upstairs to stow the salt in his trunk temporarily, then returned to find the twins and Lee had been successful. They had commandeered a prime spot by the fireplace. On the table sat a pile of sausages, meat pies, and a small, precious jar of sliced beef they'd managed to charm away from a friendly House-elf.
Albert pulled out his wand. With a fluid motion, he tapped the tiny barrel of butterbeer. It groaned and creaked, expanding until it was a full-sized keg sitting heavily on the table.
"Where on earth did you get a whole keg?" Sanna asked, looking up from her book. She and Angelina Johnson had been watching the boys with growing curiosity.
"We have a very high-quality connection in the village," Fred said, winking. "Care for a glass, ladies?"
"Is it even legal for you to have that in here?" Angelina asked, though she was already reaching for a glass.
"Everything's legal until Percy Weasley walks through that door," Lee joked, pouring the golden, frothy liquid.
Albert handed a glass to Sanna. "Think of it as medicinal. It prevents frostbite."
Sanna took a sip and made a face. "It's... thick. I think I still prefer the fizzy stuff from the Muggle world. This is like drinking liquid bread."
"You get used to it," Albert said, clinking his glass against hers. He turned his attention to the fire. "Skewers, if you please."
He waved his wand at a pile of bamboo sticks, doubling them instantly. The group fell into a rhythm, threading sausages and beef onto the sticks. Soon, the common room was filled with the mouth-watering scent of roasting meat. The younger students began to drift closer, their eyes wide and stomachs rumbling, but Fred and George stood like twin sentinels over the food.
"Eating barbecue in the winter," Albert mused, taking a bite of a perfectly charred sausage. "There's something primal about it. Though, I have to say, the House-elves are a bit light on the spices. We need some proper chili powder."
"Always complaining," George grunted, his mouth full of meat pie. "This is a five-star meal compared to the porridge we had this morning."
"Can you heat the beer, Albert?" Fred asked, shivering slightly as he leaned toward the fire. "Cold beer in a cold room feels wrong."
Albert rolled his eyes. "I'm a wizard, Fred, not a microwave. Heating beer is a delicate process. If I do it wrong, the alcohol evaporates and we're left with warm sugar water."
"So you can do it," Fred grinned. "You just don't want to."
Albert didn't answer. He leaned back in his armchair, the warmth of the fire soaking into his bones. He looked at the Marauder's Map, which he had left open on his lap. Professor Smith's dot was still inside the Room of Requirement.
The meat was good, the butterbeer was flowing, and his friends were laughing. But in the back of his mind, Albert was already planning his next move. He needed to know what was behind that wall. If there was a vault of Ravenclaw knowledge, he wasn't going to let Professor Smith have it all to herself.
"Necessity," Albert whispered to himself, taking another sip of his drink. "If I need that room more than she does, the castle will provide."
"What was that?" Lee asked.
"Nothing," Albert smiled, raising his glass. "Just thinking about how much salt we have."