The corridors of Hogwarts always felt a bit colder after Halloween, as if the castle itself were holding its breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop. Albert navigated the stone halls with his usual measured gait, his mind tracing the ripples he'd sent out. He wasn't surprised when he caught sight of Hermione standing near the archway, her brow furrowed in that familiar, studious way.
"You've got a knack for finding interesting company, haven't you?" Albert said, his voice dropping just enough to be heard.
Hermione jumped, spinning around to find him watching her. She looked at him with an expression that was hard to pin down—a mix of suspicion, curiosity, and something that looked suspiciously like awe.
Ron, who had been lingering a few feet away, caught up just as Albert drifted past. "What's that all about?" he asked, eyeing the retreating back of their housemate. "He always sounds like he's reading from a script you don't know the lines to."
Hermione didn't answer immediately. Her mind was caught in a loop. You won't be alone anymore before winter comes. He'd said that weeks ago, back when she was still struggling to find her footing in a world that felt both magical and isolating. It had seemed like a throwaway comment then—a bit of vague, self-important posturing—but now, standing here with Harry and Ron, the words felt heavy.
"Do you really think he... sees things?" Hermione asked, looking at the boys. "Like a prophecy?"
Harry laughed, a short, sharp sound of disbelief. "Anderson? Please. He just likes to keep people guessing. It's his favorite game, Hermione. He says something vague, and when it happens to match up with reality, he lets everyone else do the work of calling it a prophecy."
"Exactly," Ron agreed, leaning against the cold wall. "My brothers think he's a genius, but they're also the ones who bought half his prank inventory. They're biased. People love to think there's some grand wizard behind the curtain, but I reckon he's just a clever bloke with a lot of free time."
Hermione hesitated. "But what about the warning? The one about Quidditch? He told Harry to be careful, and look at the atmosphere around the team. Everyone's on edge."
"Wood is on edge," Ron corrected. "Because Wood thinks Slytherin is out to sabotage the entire season. That's not a prophecy; that's just common sense regarding Slytherin."
The conversation was interrupted by the quick, purposeful footsteps of Angelina Johnson, who happened to be passing by. She caught the tail end of the name 'Anderson.'
"You're talking about Albert?" she asked, stopping in her tracks. Her expression turned uncharacteristically serious. "Listen, Harry, whatever he told you, take it to heart. Fred and George don't just worship him for nothing. If he said there's trouble coming for the team, you'd better start watching your back. It's not about being superstitious; it's about acknowledging that the man usually has a point."
She walked away, leaving Harry staring after her, his confusion deepening.
"See?" Ron whispered, leaning in close. "He's got everyone convinced. It's just like that business with Snape."
"What business?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.
"Fred and George were going on about it this morning," Ron said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "They swear Albert told Snape on Halloween eve that he was going to bleed. The very next day, Snape comes limping into the Hall, looking like he'd been chewed up by a mountain troll."
Harry's eyes lit up. The image of Snape—the man who seemed to relish every opportunity to make their lives miserable—limping and in pain was the best news he'd heard all term. "You don't think he really... hexed him, do you?"
"I think he knew," Ron said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "I think he saw it coming."
Before they could delve deeper, a cold, raspy voice cut through the air like a knife. "What is that in your hand, Potter?"
Harry jumped, nearly dropping the book he'd been carrying. Snape stood a few feet away, his black robes billowing, his eyes fixed on the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. He looked tired, his face sallow, and there was a distinct, uneven quality to his step that made it clear the rumors were true.
"It's just... it's a book, Professor," Harry said, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Snape leaned in, his gaze dropping to the edge of the cover, where a few stray biscuit crumbs had gathered. "A library book is a sanctuary for knowledge, not a plate for your gluttony. Five points from Gryffindor."
He turned to limp away, his movements stiff and pained.
"Did you see that?" Harry whispered as soon as Snape was out of earshot. "He's really limping! It's incredible."
"It has to be that big dog," Hermione said, her voice tight. "The one in the restricted corridor. I'm telling you, it's guarding something. And if Snape was up there on Halloween, he was trying to get past it."
Harry's mind raced. The pieces were starting to slot together, forming a picture he wasn't sure he liked. "Think about it, Hermione! The troll wasn't a coincidence. It was a diversion. Snape lets the troll in to get the staff away from their posts, and he makes a run for the fourth floor to steal whatever is hidden under that dog. It's perfect."
Hermione shook her head, though her confidence was starting to crack. "It doesn't make sense. Why would he do it so openly? He's not stupid. He knows Dumbledore is watching him."
"Maybe he thinks he's smarter than Dumbledore," Ron countered. "Or maybe he's just desperate. Either way, look at him! He's failing, and he's clearly paying the price."
"It's not just about Snape," Hermione argued, her voice taking on that sharp, logical edge that signaled she was trying to talk herself out of the terrifying conclusion. "Why would Dumbledore put something so valuable in a school full of children if he didn't have a way to keep it safe? You're suggesting the entire school is a giant vault, and that doesn't seem like the Dumbledore we know."
"Maybe the precautions failed," Harry suggested. "Or maybe the thief is better than we thought."
They stood in the corridor, the weight of the mystery pressing down on them. They were three students who had stumbled upon a secret that felt too big, too dangerous, and far too real.
Down the hallway, Albert stood in the shadows of a stone alcove, watching them. He didn't need to hear the specifics of their conversation to know exactly what they were deciding. He had nudged the door open just enough for them to peek inside, and now they were rushing headlong into the trap.
He pulled a small pocket watch from his robe, checked the time, and smiled. Everything was moving exactly according to plan. The boy who lived, the girl who knew everything, and the boy who was always there—they were doing exactly what the story required, and he was the only one in the room who knew how the story ended.
"Keep thinking, Harry," Albert whispered to the empty air. "The truth is a lot more complicated than a dog bite, but I suppose that's a start."
He turned and melted into the crowd, leaving the trio to their theories. The castle was a labyrinth, and they were finally, truly lost in the middle of it.