After several days of relentless rain, the sky finally cleared. The temperature around the castle dropped sharply, signaling the quiet arrival of winter in Scotland.
In the dormitory, Fred hummed a tune as he stood by the window, watering the sprouting garlic shoots in a flowerpot with a small watering can.
The garlic, carefully tended by everyone, had finally sprouted tender shoots and now stood thumb-high.
"I really don't understand," George muttered as he pulled on a hand-knitted sweater. "Why didn't we think of planting garlic in a flowerpot from the start?"
"Don't overwater or overfertilize it, or you'll kill it," Albert warned as he buttoned his robe. "Today's a rare clear day—don't forget to take the pot outside for some sunlight. Plants can't survive long without it."
The weather had grown steadily colder. October had been marked by intermittent rain, and clear days were few and far between. The garlic had barely had a chance to sunbathe; since sprouting, it had only been taken outside a handful of times.
"What are you doing?"
The group was stopped in the Entrance Hall by Filch.
"Hogwarts doesn't forbid potted plants, does it?" Fred asked, pointing to the flowerpot. "This shouldn't break any rules."
"This is grass? Do you take me for blind?" Filch snapped, glaring at the garlic shoots.
"Ahem, before garlic was discovered to be edible, it was just a weed," Albert pointed out calmly. "And this isn't dangerous."
"Hmph. You'd better not be up to tricks behind my back." Filch scowled, clutching his cat, and stalked away.
"That man is insufferable," George muttered, making a rude gesture at Filch's retreating back.
"You could give him a few cloves once it's grown. Cats hate the smell of garlic," Albert said, his expression turning mischievous.
At mealtime, older students were abuzz with talk of Hogsmeade. Charlie had even paused his usual weekend "devil training" to give the Quidditch team a break. Percy sat nearby, chattering endlessly about the village's charms.
No one knew Albert and his friends had already snuck into Hogsmeade through a secret passage.
By nine o'clock, students bound for Hogsmeade gathered in the Entrance Hall. Filch stood at the main doors, clutching a long list and checking names one by one. His wrinkled face strained as he read, and after each name he scrutinized the student's face suspiciously, wary of younger pupils trying to slip past.
The four returned to the common room, now mostly empty except for first- and second-years. They relished the comfort of having the best seats to themselves. A few older students remained, clearly unimpressed by Hogsmeade after many visits.
"Are we continuing with homework?" George asked. "My Transfiguration essay is still an inch short."
"I'm done," Albert said, patting his shoulder. "You keep at it. I'm going for a walk and taking some photos."
He raised his camera. "Anyone want to come?"
"I'll pass," Fred sighed. He couldn't fathom how Albert managed to finish the endless homework so quickly.
The others shook their heads. Their Transfiguration essays were unfinished, and Professor McGonagall would surely assign detention if they failed to submit them. None of them had mastered the Levitation Charm either, and they needed practice.
"Alright then, I'll go alone." Albert wasn't surprised.
"Lend us your homework to copy—uh, for reference!" Lee Jordan called after him.
"Don't even think about it. Do you really believe Professor McGonagall wouldn't notice? She'd give you detention." Albert waved and disappeared through the entrance.
The castle was quiet. Most older students had gone to Hogsmeade, leaving the younger ones to enjoy the common room.
For Albert, it was the perfect opportunity. He climbed to the eighth floor, where the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being beaten by trolls hung. He snapped a photo of it, then, after ensuring no one was nearby, closed his eyes and paced before the blank wall opposite:
I need a place to hide things… I need a place to hide things… I need a place to hide things…
On his third pass, the outline of a door appeared. The Room of Requirement had opened once again.
After confirming the corridor was empty, Albert pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was vast, as spacious as the Great Hall. Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating towering piles of discarded furniture—items left behind by generations of students and professors.
"Success." Albert raised his fist in triumph. Even though he had known he could find the place, actually entering the Room of Hidden Things filled him with excitement.
Somewhere in this labyrinth lay Lord Voldemort's Horcrux.
Finding Ravenclaw's diadem was the reason Albert had come.
Every protagonist in Harry Potter fanfiction seemed to enter the Room of Requirement to search for Voldemort's Horcrux, taking it upon themselves to fulfill the grand task of destroying the Dark Lord.
Even the fanfiction characters Albert had written in his previous life had done the same.
But Albert had no intention of adopting such noble sentiments. Fighting to the death with "No-Nose," whose intelligence was questionable at best, was not something a rational person would do.
Defeating Voldemort was Harry Potter's job.
Stealing the protagonist's thunder would be dishonorable.
Besides, Potter had the protection of the protagonist's halo. He was destined to face danger and survive it. He wasn't called The Boy Who Lived for nothing.
Still, Voldemort was a problem that had to be dealt with.
In Albert's eyes, the Dark Lord was just an obstacle. He didn't mind helping from the shadows, fanning the flames to make "No-Nose" die a little faster.
The condition was simple: Voldemort's death had to bring Albert sufficient benefit.
And Albert had no doubt it would.
After all, Voldemort was the ultimate boss. Defeating him would yield immense rewards through the system panel.