The Great Hall was still buzzing with the aftershocks of the werewolf drama, but beneath the frantic whispers about silver-tipped arrows and midnight hunts, a different kind of fever was taking hold. The "Werewolf Incident" had inadvertently provided the perfect backdrop for Albert's latest venture—after all, when the forest is full of monsters and the professors are on a warpath, there's no better way to kill time than a high-stakes card game in the safety of the castle.
Rumors were flying faster than Golden Snitches. Some students swore they'd seen Minister Fudge himself shaking a fist at the treeline; others claimed the professors were currently performing a "Great Cleansing" of the Forbidden Forest, enchanting every bush to scream if a lycanthrope stepped on it. It was nonsense, of course, but it was entertaining nonsense.
Yet, despite the crowd of spectators being nearly double the size of the previous session, Albert couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of annoyance. His "Small Event" system quest was still sitting there, stubbornly incomplete. Apparently, the System had a much higher definition of a "memorable event" than a few dozen kids huddling over pieces of enchanted parchment.
"Tough crowd," Albert muttered to himself, adjusting his collar.
But as he looked around, he realized that even if the System wasn't impressed, the school definitely was. The Wizarding Card Game was finally evolving past its "experimental" phase. At the nearby tables, students who wouldn't normally give a Gryffindor the time of day were leaning in, their faces illuminated by the soft, magical glow of the cards.
Unlike Exploding Snap, which usually ended with someone losing their eyebrows or a singed table, the Wizard Card Game was quiet. It was tense. It was intellectual. It had a weight to it that appealed to the "thinking" crowd—specifically the Ravenclaws.
"Wait, where do these even come from?" a Ravenclaw third-year asked, his eyes darting between a card depicting a mountain troll and the intricate runic backing. "I've checked every shop in Hogsmeade. No one sells these."
His friend, a Hufflepuff who had been a beta-tester for the twins, simply pointed to a sign Albert had enchanted to hover nearby. It read: SILENCE IS GOLDEN. STRATEGY IS PLATINUM. PLEASE OBSERVE QUIETLY.
"It's a local phenomenon," the Hufflepuff whispered. "You don't buy them. You earn them."
The hushed atmosphere was suddenly broken by the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of sensible heels on stone. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Professor McGonagall marched into the hall. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto the largest cluster of students, her lips thinning into a line of professional curiosity.
She didn't say anything at first. She just stood at the edge of the circle, watching as Truman carefully played a "Shield Charm" card to counter a "Mandrake Cry" from his opponent.
"Mr. Anderson," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "I assume you are the architect of this... gathering?"
Albert looked up, offering a respectful, if slightly cheeky, incline of his head. "Professor. Is there a problem? We aren't blocking the thoroughfares, are we?"
"Easter is nearly here," McGonagall said, her gaze shifting from the cards to Albert's face. "The Headmaster has requested that all students stay well away from the Forbidden Forest. There has been... an incident. It is not yet certain that the area is entirely clear of external threats."
"The werewolves," Albert said, voicing the word everyone else was too scared to say aloud.
"Indeed," she nodded gravely. "A bite is not something you recover from, Mr. Anderson. It is a life sentence. Do not let your curiosity lead you into a tragedy."
"I think we're quite safe here, Professor," Albert said, gesturing to the table. "The only thing getting bitten here is our pride when we lose a match."
McGonagall's eyes dropped back to the cards. She leaned in slightly, noticing the way the images moved with a fluidity that surpassed standard Chocolate Frog cards. "And what exactly is this? I don't recall seeing 'Card Game Organizer' on your extracurricular list."
"It's a project of mine," Albert explained. "A way to bridge the gap between simple games and magical theory. We call them Wizard Cards. Actually, we've been meaning to expand the set. If you'd permit it, I'd love to commission a portrait for a 'Transfiguration Master' card. A rare holographic edition, perhaps?"
He gave her a subtle wink. McGonagall paused. For a fleeting second, the stern Professor vanished, replaced by a woman who clearly liked the idea of being a "rare holographic edition."
"I shall take that under advisement," she said softly, though her eyes were already scanning the cards for technical flaws. "I can see you've applied some rather advanced Transfiguration here, Mr. Anderson. Some of these charms are seventh-year level. The way the card surface maintains its integrity despite the constant magical friction... it's quite impressive. Even if the finish is a bit rough around the edges."
"I'm still refining the process," Albert admitted.
"Do so," she said, turning to leave. "And come see me when you've 'refined' it. I'd like to see if your theory holds up under closer inspection."
She swept out of the hall, neither banning the game nor explicitly endorsing it—which, in the world of Hogwarts, was basically a royal blessing.
The game resumed with renewed vigor. The knockout rounds were becoming brutal. The players who had made it past the first heat weren't just throwing cards down anymore; they were calculating. They were baiting. Sanna, who had spent the last week practically living in the library with Albert, was playing with a cold, surgical precision that was honestly a bit terrifying to watch. Angelina, on the other hand, was winning through a combination of sheer luck and aggressive "Quidditch-style" tactics.
"I think we're looking at our final four," Albert noted, checking his pocket watch. "But we'll have to call it for today. The house elves will start throwing plates if we don't clear the tables for lunch."
As the crowd dispersed, a small group of students lingered, hovering around Albert with a look that bordered on worship. He knew that look. It was the look of people who wanted in.
"Fourteen new interests," Lee Jordan reported later that day, looking like he'd just survived a three-hour interrogation. He slumped into his seat at the Gryffindor table, rubbing his temples. "Seven Ravenclaws—who, by the way, have about a thousand questions each about the runic coding—three Hufflepuffs, and four from our own house. They want to know when the next 'expansion pack' is coming out. They want to know the rules for triple-decking. They won't stop talking, Albert!"
"That's great news, Lee," Albert said, casually buttering a roll. "The club is growing."
"It's great for you," Lee grumbled, his eyes flashing with resentment. "You just slipped away! I was stuck there for an hour explaining the difference between a 'Global Effect' card and a 'Single Target' spell. I'm a commentator, not a tutor!"
"Think of it as practice," Fred said, dropping into the seat next to him and clapping a heavy hand on Lee's shoulder.
"Invaluable experience," George added, appearing on Lee's other side. "Think about the future, buddy. The second tournament, the third, the world championships! Someone has to be the Face of the League. You've got the voice. You've got the hair. You just need to stop complaining."
Lee looked between the three of them, his expression shifting from annoyance to a sort of dazed confusion. "World championships? We're playing in the Great Hall, not the Ministry."
"Not yet," Albert said with a grin. "But every legend has to start somewhere. I'm thinking of starting an Official Album. A leather-bound record that stays with the club's president. It'll have the photos of every champion, the history of every major match... a legacy."
The twins nodded enthusiastically. "A legacy," Fred echoed. "That sounds expensive. I like it."
"It's not about the money, Fred," Albert said, though his mind was already calculating the potential 'membership fees' for the premium album. "It's about making the Wizard Card Club a part of Hogwarts history. If we do this right, a hundred years from now, students will be looking at our names and wondering how we managed to be so brilliant."