As soon as Christmas passed, Albert devoted nearly all his time to mastering the Unlocking Charm. He was determined to finish his first year at Hogwarts having completed not one, but two levels of the spell. In the final days of the holiday, he finally reached the official completion of the first level—an achievement closely tied to his long-term plans. Whether it was breaking Dumbledore's Age Line Charm on the Goblet of Fire in the future or preparing for the potential return of Voldemort, this spell would be crucial. He envisioned a time when he'd need to cast a powerful protective barrier around the Ministry's chamber—one so strong that no one, not even Voldemort, could breach it. There, a battle between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord would take place.
With all this in mind, Albert was determined to master the charm as quickly as possible.
On the last day of the holiday, Albert bid farewell to a reluctant Kreacher and returned to school aboard the Hogwarts Express with Hermione.
"Thank you for the gifts," said Hermione warmly. "They were wonderful and really useful."
"And thank you for yours as well," Albert replied with a smile.
Upon returning to Hogwarts, Albert learned from Ron that Harry had spent the last three days staring into a magical mirror—one that induced hallucinations. Hermione, exasperated by Harry's reckless behavior, said, "What if Filch had caught you?"
Albert added, more seriously, "Getting caught by the caretaker would've been the least of your worries. Prolonged exposure to that kind of illusion can make it harder and harder to tell what's real. Eventually, it can drive someone mad."
Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement, and Harry, seeing the concern in their eyes, solemnly promised never to seek out the mirror again.
The days that followed slipped into a routine of study and classes. It was during Potions that Albert realized something surprising—he had made significant progress. His handling of ingredients, control of heat, and general brewing technique had all improved. To his astonishment, Snape even awarded him an "Acceptable" mark on a potion—an uncommon occurrence for a Gryffindor. It dawned on Albert that the process of magical brewing was not unlike preparing herbal medicine, something he used to do under the guidance of his uncle, a doctor, in his past life. That practical experience, it seemed, had finally begun to pay off.
This was good news. Gryffindors rarely fared well under Snape's scrutiny, and Albert had long worried about how Snape might sabotage his final grades.
Though things were going well for Ron and Hermione, the same couldn't be said for Albert and Harry. The Quidditch season was fast approaching, and Wood had become more demanding than ever. Even through the dreary rain following the heavy snowfall, practice continued relentlessly. Every evening, as Hermione studied in the common room, she'd see exhausted Quidditch players stumbling in—muddy, soaked, and barely able to keep their eyes open.
One evening, while everyone was doing homework in the common room, Harry suddenly stormed in and slumped next to Ron. Albert followed, taking a seat across from them.
"Give me a sec," said Ron. "Let me finish this paragraph and we can talk."
Then he glanced up at Harry's face. "What happened to you? You look awful."
Harry's expression was grim.
"Don't tell me Snape's the new Seeker or something," Ron joked uneasily.
"Worse," Harry muttered. "He's going to referee the next match."
"What? Why? Where's Madam Hooch?" Ron blurted.
"She's on leave," Albert replied calmly.
"Just say you're sick and can't play," Ron suggested.
"Yeah, break your leg or something," Hermione added helpfully. "Madam Pomfrey can fix it overnight."
"I don't think we need to panic," said Albert reassuringly. "I'll be on the field with you. Besides, the entire school will be watching, and all the teachers will be present. Even if Snape wanted to do something, he wouldn't dare."
Harry nodded. He had no choice anyway—there was no substitute Seeker. If he didn't play, Gryffindor would forfeit.
Albert smiled faintly, relieved Harry had come to his senses.
As they were talking, Neville tumbled through the portrait hole, his legs bound tightly together. No one could quite understand how he'd made it up the stairs—he must've hopped like a rabbit all the way to the common room.
Everyone laughed—everyone except Albert and Hermione.
Albert stepped forward and lifted the curse. Neville's legs sprang apart, and Hermione rushed over to help him up. He was shaking.
"What happened?" she asked, guiding him to a seat beside Harry.
Neville's voice trembled. "It was Malfoy. I ran into him outside the library. He said he was practicing leg-locking charms. But thanks to Albert's earlier warning about Slytherins targeting Gryffindors, I sprayed that cologne you gave me right in his face. Then I ran while he was busy trying to wash it off."
"You could report him!" Hermione said indignantly.
Neville shook his head. "I don't want any more trouble," he mumbled. "Anyway, I'm okay this time."
"But he might come after you again," she insisted. "You should tell Professor McGonagall."
Neville gave a weak smile but said nothing more.
In the days that followed, everyone returned to their routines of study and training. Then, one evening, Hermione appeared with a large, ancient book. She gathered the others around excitedly.
"I found him," she said. "I found Nicolas Flamel."
The others leaned in, eyes fixed on the page she had opened:
Nicolas Flamel, the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone. Ancient alchemy spoke of creating the Philosopher's Stone, a magical substance with astonishing powers. It can transform any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life, granting immortality to the drinker. Over the centuries, many have claimed to possess the Stone, but the only confirmed example belongs to the famous alchemist and opera lover, Mr. Nicolas Flamel. He celebrated his 665th birthday last year and currently resides in Devon with his wife, Perenelle, aged 658.
"It's not much different from what I found before," Albert noted. "But this confirms it—what's hidden in the school is definitely the Philosopher's Stone."
"No wonder Snape wants it," Harry muttered. "Who wouldn't want something that makes you rich and immortal?"
"You can't suspect Snape just because he doesn't like you," Hermione said.
"Maybe Quirrell wants it," Albert suggested casually. "He could use it to brew a potion for his stutter."
"But Snape's a more immediate threat," Ron said. "Especially with the match coming up."
Harry sighed heavily. The idea of playing with Snape as referee filled him with dread. He wasn't even sure he'd leave th
e pitch alive.
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