It was late, and the fire in the hearth had burned down to a dull, glowing orange. Albert was buried in the heavy, leather-bound volume he'd retrieved from the Restricted Section, his quill scratching occasional notes onto a piece of parchment. Nearby, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were supposed to be finishing their Charms essays, but the scratching of their quills had long since stopped.
"You know, Albert..." Fred started, looking up with a faraway glaze in his eyes. "I've been thinking. That seasoning you made? It's a goldmine. But it's a bit... temporary. I think I've got a better idea."
Albert didn't look up from his book. "If your idea involves the word 'explosive' or 'permanent,' I'm not interested."
"Actually, I'm calling it the 'Fat Tongue Toffee,'" Fred said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. He popped an Every Flavor Bean into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "The 'Fat Lip' effect was great, but it's too easy to hide. Now, imagine a candy that makes your tongue expand until it's sticking out like a giant, pink rug."
"Zero points for originality," Lee Jordan chimed in, not looking up from his half-finished doodle of a Snitch. "That's basically just a localized Engorgement Charm in sugar form."
"Let me finish!" Fred snapped, throwing a crumpled bit of parchment at Lee. "It's about the delivery. Since you proved we can stabilize Swelling Solution in food, why can't we use an actual Expansion Agent? Or better yet, bake the Expansion Magic directly into the confection?"
Albert finally closed his book with a soft thud. He looked at the twins, his expression a mix of academic curiosity and mild exasperation. "Expansion Magic isn't something you just 'bake' into a Toffee, Fred. Even for me, enchanting an organic substance to retain a specific, delayed-trigger transfiguration is N.E.W.T. level work. For you two? You'd probably end up turning someone's stomach into a hot-air balloon."
Fred and George exchanged a sheepish glance. "Well... that's why we were hoping you'd handle the 'boring' part of the enchanting," George admitted.
"No," Albert said flatly, returning to his reading. "If you guys actually want to open that joke shop you keep dreaming about, you need to be the inventors, not just the salesmen. If I do the magic for you, it's not your shop—it's mine. Turn your own theories into reality, or your business will be out of stock before it opens."
Fred slumped back into his chair, looking dejected. "He's right, George. We're being lazy."
"But," George added, leaning forward again, "just hypothetically... what if the candy made the whole person inflate? Like a giant human blueberry?"
"Now you're just quoting Muggle stories," Albert muttered. "Besides, think about the liability. A swollen lip is a joke. A tongue that chokes you or a body that loses its skeletal integrity because it's being stretched like rubber? That's a visit from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"Adults can dispel that stuff in two seconds," Fred argued. "As long as it stays within the school and doesn't end up in the hands of some poor Muggle who thinks he's eating a normal caramel, what's the harm?"
Albert looked at the fire, reflecting on the arrogance of wizards. For someone like Fred, magic was a toy. For the Ministry, it was a volatile substance that needed constant policing. This was exactly why the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery existed. In a wizarding home, a parent could fix a botched prank. In the Muggle world, a 'Fat Tongue Toffee' was a death sentence and a breach of the Statute of Secrecy.
"That 'Fat Lip' stuff... that was you lot, wasn't it?"
The voice came from the side. Angelina Johnson was leaning over the back of the sofa, looking at the boys with deep suspicion. She had been playing a game of Wizard Cards with Sanna and Alicia, but their conversation had clearly carried over.
Albert kept his face perfectly neutral, flipping a page in his book. "I'm just a student studying for my O.W.L.s, Angelina. I don't have time for seasoning-based subversion."
"Liars," Angelina laughed. "By the way, did you hear? The price of Detumescent Potion on the black market just hit five Sickles a vial. Someone's making a killing."
"The black market?" Fred's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly glowing with the light of a man who had missed a golden opportunity. "We could have been rich! George, why are we so stupid? We invented the problem and forgot to sell the solution!"
"Forget it," Sanna said, rolling her eyes as she shuffled her deck. "No one would buy a potion from you two. They'd be too afraid your 'cure' would turn their ears into wings or make them sprout feathers. You failed your last Potions assignment, remember? Snape almost used your 'Draught of Living Death' as a floor cleaner."
"My brewing is adequate!" Fred retorted, though he sounded unconvinced.
"Is it even possible to poison someone with a Detumescent Potion?" Alicia asked, looking genuinely curious. "It's a relatively simple brew."
"In the hands of an idiot, any potion is a poison," Albert said, his voice taking on that 'Professor' tone that usually signaled a coming truth. "If you overheat the dragon liver or miscount the turns of the stir, the neutralizing agent becomes a toxin. I'd bet my last Galleon that some unlucky student is going to try and save a few Sickles by brewing their own and end up in a worse state than the sausage-lips."
"Don't say it, Albert," Lee Jordan groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Every time you predict a disaster, it's like you're signing a warrant. Your mouth is a jinx."
"I'm just observing trends, Lee," Albert shrugged.
But as usual, Albert's "observations" were terrifyingly accurate.
The next afternoon, the school was abuzz with a new rumor. A third-year Hufflepuff had been rushed to the Hospital Wing, not because of Peeves, but because he'd tried to brew a 'Quick-Fix De-Sweller' in a discarded cauldron in the girl's bathroom. He'd botched the recipe so badly that his skin had turned a vibrant shade of lime green and he'd begun vomiting slugs.
Snape was reportedly so livid that the steam from his anger could have powered the Hogwarts Express. He had declared that the student had "sullied the noble art of Potioneering with his staggering incompetence" and promised him a month of detention scrubbing the dungeon floors with a toothbrush.
"I told you so," Fred whispered to Angelina in the Great Hall, his voice filled with a mix of awe and terror. "He did it again. He hit the bullseye."
"It's not a jinx," Angelina said, looking at Albert, who was calmly eating his lunch. "It's just creepy. Albert, you should start predicting that Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup. Help us out a bit."
"I don't think you guys can win," Albert said simply, not looking up.
"Shut up!" Fred and George lunged across the table, one covering Albert's mouth and the other trying to retract his statement for him. "Don't you dare! If we lose to Ravenclaw, it's officially your fault! You'll be banned from the common room!"
Albert muffled a laugh, prying George's hand away. "Fine, fine. I'll keep my mouth shut about Quidditch. But honestly, you lot should stop worrying about the black market. The 'Sausage-Lip' craze is already peaking. The supply is finally catching up with the demand."
"How much is a bottle going for now?" Lee Jordan asked.
"Three Sickles," Alicia said, pulling a small, elegant glass vial from her pocket. It was perfectly clear, with a professional-looking cork. "Everyone's carrying them now. It's like a fashion accessory. Look at the bottom."
Lee took the bottle and turned it over. Small, neatly etched initials were visible in the glass: A.A.
The table went silent. Six pairs of eyes slowly turned toward Albert.
"A.A.?" Fred whispered. "Albert Anderson?"
"I had a surplus," Albert said, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather. "I brewed a large cauldron of high-grade Detumescent Potion during my free period. I kept a bottle for myself, gave a few to some friends in Ravenclaw, and... well, word got around. A few older students offered to distribute the rest for a small commission."
"You... you monster!" George gasped, though he was grinning. "You pranked us with the seasoning, watched us suffer, then sold the cure to the rest of the school? You've monetized our misery!"
"I didn't prank 'the school,' Peeves did," Albert corrected, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I just provided a high-quality pharmaceutical alternative to Snape's sludge or the green-vomit-inducing homebrews. And for the record, the glass vials were a result of a very productive Transfiguration session and a few Duplication Charms. Very cost-effective."
"The black market," Fred breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. "He's a mogul. He's the King of the Underground."
The Hogwarts black market was an open secret. It was the place where you could find forbidden Zonko's products, illicit Potion ingredients, and the occasional "Exam Aid" that promised to boost your memory (and usually just gave you a headache). Albert had managed to tap into it with the grace of a professional, carving out a niche while the twins were still struggling with their homework.
"Don't look at me like that," Albert said, gathering his books. "I'm just a student trying to make ends meet. Besides, it's good practice for when we eventually talk about that joke shop. You need to know your audience."