"I think so, too. It's a mission of necessity," Albert agreed, his lips twitching into a wide, calculating smile. The enthusiasm of the twins was infectious, transforming what should have been a daunting break-in into an exciting challenge.
As they walked past the Ravenclaw table, Albert caught the shimmer of a passing ghost. He raised his hand and offered a cheerful greeting. "Good morning, Sir Nicholas."
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington paused mid-float, drifting over to their table. "Good morning, kiddo. Always up early, aren't we? What can this venerable spirit do for you?"
"Sir, would you indulge me for a moment and allow me to take your picture?" Albert asked, holding up his Muggle camera—a simple, sturdy device that captured instant, fixed images.
Nick looked intrigued, smoothing his ruff. "A picture? Oh, alright! It's been decades since I was properly photographed. Do you require me to strike a particular pose?"
"No, a natural pose is perfect. Just look here, if you please," Albert instructed, adjusting the camera angle. He waited a beat, framed the nearly-headless ghost against the distant archway, and pressed the shutter. The camera whirred, and a small, blank, white square slid out.
"Was that all right?" Nick asked, curious.
"That's perfect, thank you, Sir Nicholas," Albert confirmed, putting the camera away. He examined the resulting blank image. "I'll be leaving now!" Nick said, floating away quickly, seemingly quite pleased to have participated in the modern wonder of Muggle photography.
Angelina Johnson, who had been watching the exchange, leaned over to see the result. "Did it work? Let me see the ghost!"
Albert peeled the thick, card-backed photo from the machine. It was completely blank—just the faint background details of the Great Hall, but no shimmering, ghostly figure.
"It seems that Muggle cameras can't capture ghosts," Albert mused, scribbling a notation on the back: "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, September 1991." . "Perhaps a proper wizard's camera with moving pictures is necessary."
"It's incredible that you can remember his full, ridiculous name," Angelina said, genuinely impressed. It was certainly more than she could manage.
"It's not the camera's fault, it's the lack of proper development," a cool, precise voice corrected them.
They all turned. A beautiful, serious-looking red-haired girl from the Ravenclaw table was walking past, heading toward the doors. She noticed the four Gryffindors staring and paused to elaborate, clearly compelled by the opportunity to share information.
"The film needs to be developed with the correct chemical reagents to properly fix the image and allow movement. Furthermore, ghosts are purely spectral residues—they can't be registered by standard Muggle photographic film," she explained concisely, offering the information as if reading from a textbook. She then continued her walk toward the exit, without needing any acknowledgment.
"Wow, worthy of being a Ravenclaw. She knows so much," George said, mimicking a tone of exaggerated awe.
"That really is impressive," Albert agreed, noting the girl's casual knowledge. He looked at Angelina and invited her, "Now that you're done eating, would you like to come tour the castle with us? We're mapping out the classrooms."
"Ah, forget it," Angelina said, hesitating only briefly before firmly refusing. "I have an appointment with Katie and Alicia. We need to go practice passing the Quaffle in the courtyard."
"That's a pity," Albert responded smoothly. He picked up a piece of fruit—an apple—and began eating it, his mind already spinning. Chemical reagents and correct development... that means I need to find the specific formula, the proper ingredients, and the processing instructions. That sounds like a Potions project or a library search.
The auditorium was now beginning to fill rapidly, mostly with excited first-years eager to explore their new environment. The older students were indeed sleeping in. After exchanging final goodbyes with Angelina, the four boys walked out of the hall, chatting about Quidditch tryouts and Beater strategy.
As they passed through the Entrance Hall, their chatter died abruptly.
Filch stood right by his office door, still holding Mrs. Norris, whose eyes were still fixed on them with unblinking vigilance. The caretaker's face was a mask of sullen suspicion. He didn't speak, but his entire posture radiated bitter hatred and anticipation.
Albert stopped dead, a strange, low thrumming sensation starting in his mind. The game is on.
As he watched Filch's sour, waiting face, his Panel flashed with a sudden, new notification:
QUEST ALERT!
Malice from the Administrator
You have been targeted by Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker. His intense, unfounded suspicion threatens your freedom of movement and future plans. It's time to fight back and establish dominance.
Objective: During your exploratory night walks, successfully evade and confound Filch's pursuit for three consecutive nights, ensuring he cannot obtain any evidence or clues regarding your activities. Reward: 1,000 Experience Points.
Albert suppressed the urge to twitch his mouth. He really thinks he can stop me. He noted that the environment of Hogwarts—full of danger, secrets, and antagonists—was rapidly accelerating the frequency of his task triggers. It was a good sign for rapid skill growth, but a bad sign for an easy school year.
"What's wrong, Albert?" Fred asked, turning back, noticing Albert's sudden halt.
"Nothing at all," Albert replied, quickly catching up. As the four boys crossed the wide, wind-swept stone viaduct, he abruptly brought up the subject that had been occupying his mind. "Tell me, do you two know the spell for the Disillusionment Charm?"
"The what?" George asked, baffled.
"It's said to be a powerful form of invisibility magic," Albert explained, leaning against the cold stone railing of the viaduct. "I read in a Muggle book that covered advanced magical theory that this invisibility spell can make the disguised person or object appear like a chameleon—they perfectly blend into the background, becoming almost entirely unnoticeable."
"Sounds incredibly useful," George said, his eyes widening with interest. "If we could master that, we wouldn't have to worry about getting caught when we go out at night. We could walk right past the teachers."
"That's exactly my thinking," Albert nodded, gazing out over the misty, rain-damp grounds. . "It completely negates the threat of Filch and Mrs. Norris. It's the perfect countermeasure to our new 'Malice from the Administrator' task. I plan to master the Disillusionment Charm before our next night tour."
"But how are we supposed to get the spell?" Fred said, deflating slightly. "Dad might know it, being in the Ministry, but he definitely won't tell us, especially not for night wandering."
"How about asking Professor Flitwick?" Lee Jordan suggested tentatively. "He teaches Charms."
"For now, the Library is our only option," Albert stated firmly. "It will be in a book somewhere, likely in the Restricted Section, meaning we need a plan to get in there, too. And if we can't find it there, then we can think about asking the Charms Professor. But I doubt he'd willingly teach an invisibility spell to a first-year."
They exchanged looks of helpless frustration. Mastering such complex magic would solve so many of their immediate strategic problems.
Albert placed his hands on the heavy stone railing of the viaduct, looking down at the immense drop to the swirling river far below. He still remembered that, in the book, Harry Potter had broken the Elder Wand—a true artifact—right here and tossed the pieces off this very bridge.
That prodigal, reckless idiot, Albert thought with a sigh. The Elder Wand is a truly unique magical construct. Even if you don't want to use it, you hide it in an unknown vault or a high-security storage, you don't just destroy a piece of history because you've become tired of it. That was the real artifact of the Harry Potter novels. The other was the Philosopher's Stone, which was also destroyed. Wasteful.
"Anyway, the Library is our next destination," Albert announced, pushing off the railing. "If we're going to break into Filch's Office, we need to know the entire castle layout, and we need the Disillusionment Charm."
"Even if we find the book, we probably won't be able to learn it immediately," Lee said, sounding discouraged. He was still struggling with basic levitation.
"Don't say such depressing things, Lee," Albert chided lightly, casting a look that was half-contemptuous and half-challenging. "How do you think I mastered my other spells?"
"How did you do that?" the twins asked, suddenly curious, instantly forgetting Lee's pessimism.
"It requires immense, focused repetition and practice," Albert said, not revealing his golden finger. "You cannot expect to pick up a wand and master complex magic in one go. You have to put in the time. The ability is there, but you have to force it out through sheer will and effort."
They discussed the tedious nature of practice as they walked. They wandered the first floor for a long time, locating several empty, unused classrooms filled with dusty miscellaneous items, and one location that seemed to have the signs of a secret passage—a faded tapestry covering a suspicious bulge. However, no amount of pushing or tugging would open it, which left the three Weasleys thoroughly depressed.
"Most secret passages require specific passwords or tapping a special rhythm," Albert explained, guiding them up a flight of stairs. "If we want to find them, we can only rely on sheer luck, or ask someone who knows the secrets, but I guarantee they won't tell us easily."
They found the Transfiguration classroom on the ground floor—a large, imposing room where Professor McGonagall taught.
"History of Magic is on the second floor, isn't it?" George asked.
They quickly found the correct, dusty classroom for History of Magic on the second floor. The corridors here were quieter, lined with older portraits and stone statues. Behind one particularly stern statue, Lee Jordan noticed a recessed area.
"Look! There's a wooden door here! I think it must be a secret passage!" Lee whispered excitedly, pointing to the dark, ancient door hidden from view by the statue.
"Looks locked," Fred confirmed, pushing against the heavy wood.
Albert immediately drew his wand. "Stand back. If it's just a simple lock, Alaho!" he intoned confidently, pointing his wand at the keyhole.
Nothing happened. The lock remained stubbornly fixed.
"Your spell is broken," Fred teased, reaching out and giving the handle a frustrated twist. Still sealed tight.
"Must be a password-protected mechanism," Albert muttered, running his hand over the worn surface of the door.
"What do you think the password usually is?" Lee Jordan asked, breathless with anticipation.
"How on earth would I know the password for a random corridor in a thousand-year-old castle?" Albert rolled his eyes, but then paused, thinking. "Hmm. The most famous secret door password in the Muggle world, from the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, is 'Open Sesame.'"
As he spoke the phrase, Albert, still holding his wand, absentmindedly knocked on the wooden door—a double rap, a gesture of impatient thought.
KRAAAKKK!
The result was instantaneous, explosive, and terrifying.
The door didn't simply unlatch or slide. With a tremendous, splintering roar that echoed deafeningly through the silent corridor, the entire wooden structure was ripped violently off its iron hinges. The planks didn't unlock—they shattered, tearing away from the door frame in a cascade of splinters, nearly crumbling into a pile of smoking firewood. The force was so immense that a small section of the stone molding around the door frame was chipped away.
The four boys stood paralyzed, their mouths agape, their eyes wide with incomprehension and pure, unadulterated panic. They stared at the cloud of dust and the wreckage, unable to fathom the magnitude of the accidental, powerful magic that had just occurred.