The Trophy Display Room was a vault of glittering history, a testament to Hogwarts' long, often glorious, existence. Amidst the Quidditch cups and House point hourglasses, Albert's eye snagged on the unique, powerful relics: the ominous Triwizard Tournament Trophy, the elaborate goblet of the International Wizarding Chess Tournament, and the strangely ornate Golden Crucible of the Magic School Potions Championship. And then, there was the trophy that stood out for all the wrong reasons: Tom Riddle's Special Contribution Award, gleaming with a chilling, cold polish.
"I wish I could get a trophy and put it here," Lee Jordan sighed, his face a perfect picture of youthful envy and admiration as he gazed at the polished silver.
The twins immediately appeared, one on each of Lee's shoulders, like matching devils. "Albert might have a shot, Lee, but as for you... forget it!" Fred said with a dramatic sigh.
"Now, that's just rude," Albert countered with a casual shrug. "No one knows what the future holds for Lee. Perhaps he'll get a trophy. Or," Albert continued, dropping his voice conspiratorially, "the special contribution award is easy enough. Just have a chat with Dumbledore and donate five or ten thousand Galleons to the school. He'd definitely get one for you then."
The three Weasleys—Lee and the twins—went crimson instantly. The number was astronomical. Galleons? Five thousand? Ten thousand? They were from a poor, respectable family; the twins didn't have a single Galleon between them at the moment, and they doubted their combined family assets even reached that dizzying height. That Albert could speak of such figures so easily, and so dismissively, was shocking.
Lee Jordan pulled free of the twins' grasp. "Don't you wish for glory and recognition, Albert?"
"Actually, I'm far more curious about the amount of bonus money I can secure from any of these competitions," Albert admitted, shaking his head. "As for the glory and recognition, those are meaningless to me. Money is the most real thing."
He was unapologetically pragmatic. In his previous life, he had learned that money was power—it made things easier, smoothed friction, and, most importantly, bought confidence and freedom.
"Don't look at me like that," Albert chuckled, seeing their incredulous expressions. "I'm just being realistic." He quickly changed the subject. "Let's go. I have a feeling the Library must be on the fifth floor."
"He's right, though," Fred murmured to George as they followed. "Money is definitely a good thing. I hate poverty." The Weasley brothers, keenly aware of their family's financial struggles, couldn't deny Albert's blunt assessment.
The four boys pushed through the crowds of first-years, jostling their way up the marble steps. They soon reached the fifth floor and, after a short search, located the massive, quiet entrance of the Library. Predictably, it was still locked and closed for the early morning.
"Let's check somewhere else for now," Albert suggested, leading them further down the silent corridor.
They found a dead-end alcove and, hidden behind a towering, old-fashioned mirror that was slightly too tall and disproportionately wide, they spotted the definite outline of a disguised doorway—an entrance to what looked like another secret passage.
Just as Albert raised his hand to investigate the mirror's border, a cold, smooth voice cut through the silence.
"What are you doing here?"
Severus Snape had appeared as silently and suddenly as a shadow detaching itself from the wall. His black robes billowed slightly as he approached, his face set in a familiar sneer.
"We were looking for a shortcut, Professor," Albert replied, his voice calm and unhurried. He consciously averted his gaze, not wanting to meet Snape's eyes, knowing full well the man was an accomplished Legilimens and would try to probe his intent.
"A shortcut," Snape repeated, his voice laced with venomous skepticism, his dark eyes narrowed.
"Yes, Professor," Albert insisted, looking instead at the stone wall just past the mirror. "We think there is a shortcut to the upper floors here."
As if responding to Albert's spoken intent, the suspiciously tall mirror suddenly shuddered. With a low, grinding sound, it slowly slid down one side, revealing a dark, narrow gap—the mouth of the secret passage.
Snape frowned, his expression tightening as he saw the unexpected opening. He seemed about to launch into a scathing diatribe, but Albert interrupted him smoothly.
"By the way, Professor, before you scold us, may I take a picture?" Albert asked, raising his Muggle camera, a polite, entirely genuine smile fixed on his face. .
Not only did Snape freeze, but the three Weasleys did too. The air went thick with astonishment. Asking Snape for a photo was not audacious—it was an act of profound, suicidal cheek.
Snape stared at Albert, his face pale with cold fury. Albert simply maintained his serene, unwavering smile, completely ignoring the infamous death glare.
"Sir, is that not possible?" Albert asked again, his voice sweetly innocent.
"If you boys have this much free time to hang about—" Snape began, the words dripping with ice.
"No, sir, we are not 'hanging around'," Albert countered, his tone serious and utterly respectful, interrupting the Professor again. "We are simply utilizing our free time to quickly ascertain the complete layout of the castle's classrooms and key access points. This is absolutely necessary for any incoming freshman. After all, Hogwarts doesn't provide us with maps, does it? Locating shortcuts can actively prevent freshmen from accidentally being late for your classes, Professor."
Albert's confident, rational defense completely derailed Snape. He had used logic to turn the accusation back on the school's flawed system, making their "wandering" seem like responsible preparation. Even Snape, the master of unreasonable deductions, couldn't immediately formulate a counter-argument that didn't sound absurd.
Snape's lips trembled slightly, and he fixed Albert with the coldest stare he could muster. "If you possess so much available time, Mr. Anderson, why don't you apply it to reading Magical Drafts and Potions a few more times? Next week in class, I will be questioning you first. Now, get out of my sight. Immediately."
"Then we shall see you on Friday, Professor," Albert said, giving a small, cheerful wave. He nudged the stunned twins and Lee, quickly rounding the corner and disappearing from the fifth-floor corridor before Snape could recover.
"Wow, Albert! You tried to take a picture of Snape!" Fred burst out, once they were safely out of earshot.
"And you actually dared to confront him head-on!" George gave Albert a vigorous thumbs-up. "Do you not know? He's notoriously..."
"I wasn't confronting him; I was stating the truth," Albert corrected, not admitting to the sheer brazenness of the move. He had simply used unassailable logic.
"Yes, it was the truth, though," George conceded, and even the three of them had to admit Albert was right. Their exploration was necessary due to the lack of a map.
"So, what's he famously known for?" Albert asked, changing the subject.
"...He's famously unreasonable," George finished, grinning now. "But, his expression when you asked for a photo was truly priceless."
"Where do you think that passage leads?" Lee Jordan asked, his curiosity about the secret door quickly overriding his fear of Snape.
"I don't know yet. I'll check it out this afternoon when the library opens," Albert replied. His Panel chose that moment to flash again, the adrenaline spike of the Snape encounter triggering a new notification:
QUEST UPDATE!
A Master of Seeking Death
Severus Snape is one of the most infamously unpopular professors at Hogwarts. You have successfully teased him and escaped his immediate wrath once. Why not continue this feat? Audacity is rewarded.
Objective: Successfully provoke/tease Professor Snape and evade punishment four more times. Mission Completion Rate: 1/5. Reward: 2,000 Experience Points.
A Master of Seeking Death, Albert thought, the irony not lost on him. It was a perfect encapsulation of his early Hogwarts career.
"By the way, Albert," Lee Jordan suddenly piped up, his voice tinged with fresh anxiety. "Um... what are you going to do about the questions? The Potions class next Friday?"
"That?" Albert asked, feigning confusion. "What questions?"
"The questions Snape said he would ask you first in class!" Lee reminded him.
"Oh, that's nothing," Albert dismissed it easily. "They're just questions. As long as the knowledge doesn't exceed the first-year textbook, Magical Drafts and Potions, there won't be any big problem. I'm fairly confident."
The three boys exchanged looks, remembering the quiet genius in front of them, the student who had mastered advanced charms and repairing spells before classes even began. Answering questions from a first-year textbook would indeed be trivial for Albert.
"I'm suddenly looking forward to Potions class next Friday," George mused, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"If you get all the answers right, will Snape actually give you extra House points?" Fred whispered hopefully.
"Definitely not," Albert stated with certainty.
"I think so too," George said. "But the look on his face when he can't fault you will be worth more than ten points."
Albert smiled, knowing that the real challenge wouldn't be answering the questions, but surviving the intense, personal grudge that Snape was now sure to harbor. The game was truly on