Although Albert had delivered the harsh truth about the black market and the scarcity of the Snow Mushroom, the allure of the sheer value—the intoxicating promise of fifty Galleons per ounce—proved too much for the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan to resist.
Over the next few days, despite the rain and the threat of getting caught, the three of them began to frequently sneak out of the castle, covertly entering and exiting the Forbidden Forest boundary. They were armed with shovels pilfered from Hagrid's shed and a desperate, shared ambition to unearth a fortune.
Reality, however, proved to be a cruel and utterly unproductive mistress. They spent hours scraping at the frozen, muddy soil under the pine trees, finding nothing but damp roots, ancient pine cones, and a spectacular amount of mud that stained their robes beyond hope of recovery. Their futile attempts netted them precisely zero Snow Mushrooms.
Their frequent, clandestine ventures into the forest soon caught the attention of Hagrid. The gamekeeper was first deeply annoyed, then genuinely angered. He complained bitterly to Albert about their reckless disregard for the rules and their disrespect for the danger of the Forest.
"They'll be running into a bloody Niffler next, trying to bribe it to dig for them!" he grumbled to Albert one afternoon. Eventually, Hagrid's patience snapped. He caught the three culprits near a patch of ancient yew trees, dragged them back to the castle in disgrace, and promptly marched them straight to Professor McGonagall's office.
The result, as Albert had predicted, was swift and absolute: detention.
The thought of punitive measures brought a rare, terrifying smile to the perpetually sour face of Argus Filch. The caretaker, relishing the opportunity to inflict genuine misery, had spent the last few days happily tormenting the trio.
Their detention involved tasks tailor-made for maximizing boredom and physical strain: polishing every single Quidditch trophy in the dusty, cavernous Trophy Room without magic, and spending an entire evening scrubbing ancient, greasy cauldrons in the dungeons by hand.
As March arrived, bringing with it a subtle but rapid warming trend, the last patches of heavy snow in the woods began to melt into slush. The Snow Mushrooms, creatures of the deep winter cold, disappeared with the snowmelt.
After several days of fruitless, muddy labor and the resulting exhausting detentions, the Weasley brothers finally admitted defeat. They sat listlessly in the library now, too weary and dispirited even to plan their usual pranks.
"Don't look so glum, fellas; life is still beautiful, even if it's Snow Mushroom-less," Albert said, trying to lift their spirits as he patted Fred on the shoulder. He offered a genuine suggestion: "How about we ditch the homework on Saturday and try for a spot of fishing by the lake? It's supposed to be sunny."
"No, Albert, forget it," Fred grumbled, leaning back in his chair with a defeated sigh. "We don't want to invite another lecture from Hagrid. He actually handed us over to McGonagall. That's a betrayal we won't soon forget."
"Alright then," Albert conceded, returning his attention to the parchment spread before him.
"What on earth are you working on now, Albert?" Angelina asked, putting down her quill and looking up from her own essay. "I distinctly remember you finished your Transfiguration homework weeks ago."
"I'm writing a paper for Transfiguration Today," Albert explained casually, using his left hand to steady the parchment while dipping his quill in the inkwell. He was completely unaware of the bombshell his calm words had just dropped.
"Wait—you're writing for a professional magazine?" Angelina stammered, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with the others.
"Preparing to publish an academic paper in Transfiguration Today?" The realization sank in, and not just Angelina, but everyone else nearby—including Fred, George, and Lee Jordan—was momentarily stunned into silence.
"Not immediately, no," Albert corrected, as if discussing a common assignment. "The draft is submitted to Professor McGonagall first. She selects the most promising candidates, helps us revise them, and only then are they submitted to the journal for consideration."
Albert's paper, titled The Application of High-Speed Transfiguration in Dynamic Combat Scenarios, was a dense exploration of how the theory of elemental and non-living transformation could be adapted for instantaneous, defensive or offensive use in a duel—combining concepts he had seen in the future with the formal theory he had mastered. He was, in essence, exploring the techniques and skills needed to become an Auror-level duellist.
He continued, focusing on the true purpose of the assignment. "It's a field of expertise that Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall are masters of. I simply combined the advanced concepts I've encountered with the core Transfiguration theory we've covered."
Albert didn't truly expect his paper to be published. The knowledge required was immense. The real benefit, he knew, lay in the feedback loop. Once he submitted it, Professor McGonagall would read it carefully, marking up his weak theoretical points and providing her own extensive comments and evaluations at the end—a personalized, advanced lecture that allowed the Transfiguration Club students to make rapid, significant progress. Every time Albert completed this cycle of writing, revision, and feedback, his understanding of the deeper, often overlooked mechanics of transformation theory improved significantly, which was why he treated the task with such seriousness.
"I suddenly feel like Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration Club isn't just 'homework'; it's a terrifyingly high-class academic incubator," Shanna murmured, looking at Albert with a fresh wave of awe. "I wonder if they're still accepting applications?"
"It's simply not going to happen, Shanna," Arya poured cold, realistic water on her enthusiasm. "It's invitation-only. Unless you're truly exceptional in that field, Professor McGonagall would never let you in. She's too busy."
"I was just musing aloud," Shanna muttered defensively. "Professor McGonagall's regular curriculum is already difficult enough; how could I possibly find the time to tackle even more difficult advanced techniques, let alone write these mind-numbing papers?"
It was true that writing the paper was draining. Albert constantly felt the inadequacy of his current knowledge; the paper, which had taken him several days of intense focus and research, still didn't fully satisfy his own high standards. He decided he would submit the draft as is, regardless of the publication outcome.
He was well aware that his current mastery of Transfiguration was already sufficient to handle the next few years of courses with ease. Unless a related System Task was triggered, he had no intention of investing more of his limited experience in the field for the time being. To some extent, over-investing in one area was inefficient.
"You've finished it already?" Arya exclaimed, watching him roll up the parchment. "Your writing speed is as astonishing as ever."
"It only took several days, not several hours, but yes, the draft is ready."
"Do you mind if I take a quick look?" Arya asked, shifting the subject slightly.
Albert didn't refuse and slid the parchment across the table. Just as he expected, Arya returned the document a short while later, her expression blank. Without specialized knowledge, the text, detailing concepts like the Gamp's Law exceptions and complex runic matrices for energy redirection, was virtually incomprehensible to a first-year student.
"Diving deep into the intricacies of magic is immensely difficult," Albert explained, nodding at her expression. "Most students only learn and master the most basic, functional spells. Whether to pursue that further is a personal choice. Once Hogwarts students graduate, very few ever manage to train their core spells to even Level 2 proficiency on an academic scale."
"You look exhausted," Shanna whispered, noting the faint shadows under his eyes.
"This paper is merely 'acceptable,' despite the effort it required," Albert sighed, stretching. "I can only conclude that my current theoretical understanding hasn't reached the required level of originality yet." He began packing up his books, eager for a respite. "I'm heading to the kitchens for some afternoon tea to decompress. Hopefully, there's some cake left."
"If your work is only 'acceptable,' then what level are the rest of us operating at?" Lee Jordan muttered gloomily.
Albert ignored the rhetorical question and asked, "Is anyone joining me for the kitchens?"
"Me!" Fred immediately jumped to his feet, ready for a distraction.
"Oh no, you don't," George interjected cruelly, pulling Fred back down by the collar of his robes. "You still haven't finished that dreadful Herbology homework. Let's finish it now while we're all here. Who knows how long it will take later."
Fred sat down dejectedly, glaring at his twin but returning to his essay.
"See you later, then."
Leaving the library, Albert navigated the corridors, took the massive, shifting marble staircase down to the first floor, and walked past the main foyer. Filch, who was aggressively mopping the floor with a scowl, stared at Albert with a long, suspicious intensity.
Albert merely nodded politely and continued, entirely unconcerned, heading straight for the portrait of the fruit bowl, which concealed the entrance to the kitchens located directly below the Great Hall.
Albert was, by now, a frequent and favored visitor to the kitchens. The dozens of Hogwarts house-elves knew him well and would greet him with genuine warmth, instantly offering him the finest milk tea and freshly baked pies, usually a soft raspberry variety that melted on the tongue.
"Thank you so much," Albert said with a genuine smile as a house-elf placed the treats on a small, clean crate set up for him. His polite and sincere thanks always made the house-elves flutter with uneasy pleasure; they were creatures used to orders, not courtesy, but they nonetheless enjoyed hearing the words.
"Are you all preparing the evening meal already?" Albert asked curiously, watching a whirlwind of synchronized activity around massive copper pots.
"Yes, Sir," the small house-elf replied, bobbing its head enthusiastically.
"Would you mind chatting with me for a moment?" Albert took a large, satisfying bite of pie, sipped his creamy milk tea, let out a deep sigh of relief, and looked up at the house-elf. "I'm incredibly interested in how things work here, including you, my hardworking little friend."
"It would be my pleasure, Sir," the elf said, twisting its tea towel apron nervously.
"Have a seat, please," Albert offered gently, gesturing to a smaller, overturned crate beside him. "What is your name?"
"Kara, Sir," the house-elf squeaked.
Kara politely but firmly refused to sit, explaining that it was simply not done. Albert didn't press the matter, instead changing the subject to a topic that had long fascinated him.
"Kara, your magic is very special. I can tell it's fundamentally different from the incantation-based magic that we, the students, use."
"Yes, Sir, we use a very old, different kind of magic," Kara hesitated, seeming reluctant to discuss the core of its being.
"Can a house-elf use our kind of magic—with a wand, with words?" Albert watched the house-elf shake its head repeatedly, refusing to elaborate further. He decided to shift to a truly important matter. "Alright, let's change the subject then. I have a pressing culinary question. Can you make garlic scrambled eggs?"
"Garlic… scrambled eggs?" Kara repeated, thoroughly confused, the words sounding foreign and strange in its vocabulary.
"Garlic scrambled eggs is a masterpiece of Muggle breakfast cuisine," Albert began, launching into a detailed explanation of the recipe with a clear intent to corrupt the house-elves' traditional, often bland, large-scale cooking.
"It requires large quantities of freshly chopped garlic, mixed into beaten eggs with a touch of salt, pepper, and crucially, butter. Not lard, not oil, but soft, melting butter. You cook it gently, stirring only occasionally, until the garlic is caramelized and the eggs are light and fluffy. A final sprinkle of chives or fresh parsley really brings out the flavor."
He saw the tiny elf's eyes widen as it absorbed the specific, non-traditional instructions—the emphasis on fresh herbs, the specific fat (butter), and the strange mixing of savory garlic into breakfast eggs.
"It is a dish that requires finesse, Kara, not just bulk," Albert finished, leaning forward. "Do you think you could manage to prepare such an elaborate and delicious Muggle treat for the Great Hall?" The question was loaded: he was challenging the house-elves' tradition with a new, potentially superior culinary technique.