"I'm leaving," Albert said calmly.
He picked up a small, square box from the table, its surface etched with faint silver runes. With one hand, he pushed open the heavy wooden door that led out into the wilderness beyond the Castle. The night air drifted in, cool and sharp, carrying the scent of grass and distant rain.
Albert turned back and looked at Harry, his expression composed as always.
"Work hard," he said. "If you don't understand something, ask Mr. Lucifer."
"Yes, Uncle Albert," Harry replied immediately, nodding with seriousness that far exceeded his age.
Albert gave a faint smile, then stepped through the doorway. The door closed behind him with a deep, hollow thud, and just like that, the Castle was quiet again.
Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the door. Only after several seconds did he turn his attention to the massive stone fireplace in the living room.
"Mr. Lucifer," Harry asked, breaking the silence, "where is Uncle Albert going?"
The flames shifted lazily, and the large black cat lying atop the fireplace opened one golden eye.
"He's probably going to hide the Castle," Mr. Lucifer replied in a slow, indifferent tone. "So others don't discover it. I saw him take a box of silver chalk."
Harry tilted his head. "Silver chalk?"
"It's chalk mixed with silver powder and a special binding agent," Mr. Lucifer explained, sounding unusually patient. "Silver has excellent magical conductivity. It's commonly used for drawing temporary magic arrays—seals, barriers, and concealment spells."
Harry absorbed this with wide-eyed interest, then glanced around the living room.
The place was… chaotic.
Books were piled on chairs, the floor, and even on the windowsill. Loose parchment littered the tables. Strange objects—some shiny, some cracked, some faintly glowing—were scattered everywhere. Dust hung in the air like a second layer of fog.
Mr. Lucifer followed Harry's gaze.
"So," the cat said suddenly, "how do you plan to clean up this mess?"
Harry blinked, then scratched his head thoughtfully.
"First, I'll stack all the books together," he said after a moment. "Then I'll clear the clutter and sort everything. After that, I'll throw away whatever isn't useful anymore."
Mr. Lucifer nodded approvingly.
"Reasonable."
Then, as if recalling something important, he added, "Oh, right. You have a colleague."
"A colleague?" Harry repeated, confused.
Before he could ask more, a sudden rustling noise came from near the door.
The broom that had been leaning against the wall suddenly twitched. Then, to Harry's astonishment, it stood upright—on its own broom head—and began moving.
It scurried across the floor like a startled animal. When it reached the small steps near the entrance, it actually jumped, landing smoothly on the other side.
"What is that?!" Harry exclaimed, though he was surprised to find that he wasn't as shocked as he should have been.
After everything he'd seen since coming to the Castle, a walking broom felt… oddly reasonable.
"It's a flying broom," Mr. Lucifer said.
"A flying broom?!" Harry's eyes widened.
The broom was covered in dust, its bristles tangled with cobwebs. If not for the way it moved, it looked no different from the battered broom back at the Dursleys' house.
"That's right," Mr. Lucifer continued. "It was a gift Albert acquired during one of his… encounters. He rarely uses it, so when it's idle, he lets it sweep the floors."
Harry couldn't help reaching out to touch it.
The broom immediately twisted away, dodging his hand with impressive agility.
"It sweeps on its own," Mr. Lucifer added. "You can throw trash on the floor. It'll collect everything and burn it in one go."
Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Okay!"
He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
As Harry began cleaning, Mr. Lucifer slowly narrowed his eyes.
In his long life, his favorite pastimes had always been sleeping, robbing, and burning things. Recently, he hadn't had the opportunity to do the latter two, so sleeping had become his primary occupation.
But before he could drift off again, Harry's voice rang out.
"Mr. Lucifer, what is this? Can I throw it away?"
Harry was holding a stack of parchment papers. Every page was covered in dense writing, strange symbols, half-finished magic arrays, and chaotic doodles that made no sense to him.
Mr. Lucifer glanced at them. "Those are Albert's manuscripts. Put them together and leave them for him."
Harry nodded and carefully placed the papers in a neat pile.
Moments later—
"What about this?"
Harry held up a dried leaf that had been pressed flat under a book.
"That's a potion ingredient," Mr. Lucifer said. "Throw it away."
"And this?"
"What is this one?"
Harry picked up a palm-sized stone pendant. It was hollow in the center, with two eye-sized holes drilled straight through it.
Mr. Lucifer sighed. "That's a Manifestation Stone. It goes with the book to your left—Arthur Spadewick's Illustrated Guide: How to Enter the Fantasy World Around You."
Harry stiffened slightly. "What does it do?"
"In theory, it allows you to glimpse hidden worlds overlapping with reality," Mr. Lucifer replied lazily. "What you'd see in this world, I can't say. Albert picked it up during a previous adventure."
Harry swallowed and carefully set the stone aside, deciding not to test it.
As the hours passed, Harry continued asking questions. Mr. Lucifer answered them all, his tone lazy but never dismissive. It was clear that, despite appearances, the cat possessed a deep well of patience.
That patience finally ran thin when Harry picked up a thick magic book bound in what was unmistakably human skin.
Harry froze.
His curiosity evaporated instantly.
Mr. Lucifer finally enjoyed a few moments of peace.
What Harry couldn't understand was how Uncle Albert—who always seemed so solemn and dignified—could live in such chaos.
Didn't he know any household magic?
If Albert could hear Harry's thoughts, he would probably shrug helplessly and say, There really isn't any.
Time passed unnoticed.
When Mr. Lucifer opened his eyes again, Harry was mopping the floor. The living room looked entirely different.
Dozens of massive books were stacked neatly by size in one corner. Sundries were arranged carefully on the table. The dishes in the dining room had been washed clean, and the sofa cushions were tumbling inside the washing machine.
Two large bags of trash sat by the door.
"Ah," Mr. Lucifer sighed contentedly, shifting atop the firewood beneath him. "Much better."
Then he chuckled.
"Albert used to complain that Hal was a lazy dog. Who would've thought he'd eventually become exactly what he once despised?"
Hearing Mr. Lucifer speak, Harry turned around.
"Mr. Lucifer," he asked, "what is this Castle called?"
"A name…" Mr. Lucifer paused.
In truth, the Castle had never had one.
"There isn't one," he said at last. "But when we were in the Caribbean Sea, it wasn't a Castle. It was a ship. Back then, it was called Moonlight Queen. You can call this place Moonlight Fortress."
"Moonlight Queen?" Harry frowned. "That sounds strange. Not very cool."
Shouldn't ships be named Victory or Sovereign?
Mr. Lucifer laughed softly. "Those are royal names. Pirates don't use names like that. Pirate ships were called things like Black Pearl, Queen Anne's Revenge, or Silent Mary."
"Oh," Harry said, nodding. "I see."
By evening, Albert returned.
After dinner, he took a stack of books and went down to the basement. Harry continued working—clearing coal ash, chopping firewood, dusting forgotten corners.
It took a long time, but at last, the living room was spotless.
Albert emerged from the basement, holding a book. He checked a golden pocket watch.
"9:10 PM," he said. "No time for magic today. You need to go home."
Harry felt a flicker of disappointment, but no resentment.
He had enjoyed every moment.
The books, the artifacts, the secrets hidden within Moonlight Fortress—it all felt like the doorway to a new world.
One day, he would uncover them all.
But first, he would do his job properly.
And no matter what, this was a thousand times better than being a servant in the Dursley household.
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