THE ALCHEMIST OF HARRY POTTER

As the clock neared noon, the once-silent halls of Hogwarts Castle stirred to life. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the overcast sky outside, where a light drizzle pattered against the tall, narrow windows. House-elves in the kitchens below bustled to prepare the midday meal, filling the corridors with the faint aroma of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

Albert occasionally encountered other students wandering the halls—some still groggy from sleep, others engaged in hushed conversations about Quidditch or the latest mischief of Peeves the poltergeist. It was simply human nature to enjoy a lie-in, especially on weekends. Without the urgency of morning classes, many preferred the warmth of their four-poster beds in their respective house dormitories beneath the castle's many turrets and towers.

The rain outside discouraged outdoor activity, leaving most students gathered in the Great Hall, where enchanted torches flickered along the walls. Some chatted lazily at their House tables, while a few unfortunate souls, having neglected their homework, hunched over rolls of parchment, hastily copying last-minute essays on the properties of moonstone or the uses of bezoars in antidotes.

While exploring the castle, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan had trailed behind Albert, cracking jokes and speculating about the best secret passageways Filch hadn't discovered. Eventually, they lost interest and turned back, likely drawn by the scent of breakfast or an impromptu game of wizard chess.

Albert, however, remained undeterred. With his Muggle camera slung over his shoulder, he wandered through the shifting staircases, ducked into hidden corridors behind tapestries, and even managed to snap a photo of the Fat Lady's portrait when she wasn't paying attention. By the time he made his way back to the Great Hall, a dull ache had settled in his calves from climbing so many flights of stairs.

His efforts had paid off—his mental map of Hogwarts had expanded considerably. He sketched out a rough outline on parchment, marking spots of interest: the vanishing step on the Grand Staircase, the shortcut through the third-floor tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and even a suspiciously locked door on the fourth floor that refused to yield, no matter what spell he tried.

Though he had overheard older students mentioning that some staircases changed positions every Friday, that was a problem for next week. For now, Albert saw no reason to worry.

His internal quest tracker, a habit he had developed from years of strategy games, informed him that his "Exploring Hogwarts" progress had reached 26.7%.

"Why are you alone? Where are your friends?" Angelina Johnson, flanked by Alia Spinnet, slid into the seat across from him, glancing at his parchment.

"They gave up halfway," Albert replied, picking up a slice of toast from the platter. "Probably found something more interesting to do. Pass me the blueberry jam, will you?"

Angelina handed over the jar while eyeing his crude map. "Is that Hogwarts? Mind if I take a look?"

"I still think exploring on your own is part of the fun," Albert said, passing her the parchment while he smeared jam on his toast.

Alia leaned in, examining the rough sketch. "You even marked secret passages?" She squinted at the tiny notes, her finger tracing a line near the Charms corridor. "Is this the trick staircase?"

"Yeah. If you step on the third one from the bottom, you'll sink right in," Albert confirmed.

"Speaking of which, here's our timetable." He copied two additional schedules with a quick tap of his wand and handed them over.

Angelina raised an eyebrow. "What spell was that?"

"Doubling Charm," Alia answered before Albert could. Having grown up in a wizarding family, she recognized it instantly.

Not every wizarding household was as chaotic as the Weasleys'. Alia, having been raised with a structured magical education, was ahead of most first-years in theory.

"A useful trick, isn't it?" Albert smirked. "No need to take notes—just 'borrow' someone else's."

Alia gave him an odd look, as if trying to figure out his way of thinking.

"Can you make me a copy of the map? Might save me from getting lost," she asked.

"Aren't you worried it's inaccurate?" Albert countered.

"I'll confirm it myself, obviously."

Albert turned to Angelina. "Want one?"

"Sure, thanks," she said with a smile.

Hogwarts was massive, and first-years often got lost. With Albert's map, at least they had a rough guide to help navigate the labyrinth of corridors and ever-shifting staircases.

Being late on the first day would not make a good impression.

"By the way, aren't you Muggle-born?" Alia asked as she folded the map. "How do you already know so many spells? I'd bet most first-years barely know the basics."

"I practiced before school started," Albert replied, biting into his jam-covered toast. "Most spells are simple enough once you get the hang of them."

"Simple?" Angelina and Alia exchanged glances, suddenly feeling an odd sense of pressure.

Like most incoming students, they had excitedly tested a few spells after receiving their wands. However, their success rate had been nowhere near Albert's, who spoke about magic as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

After finishing his toast, Albert assembled a sandwich.

British lunches were never particularly exciting, and Hogwarts was no exception—bread and potatoes seemed to be staples.

His plate held slices of bread, boiled potatoes, fresh vegetable salad, and salted ham. A goblet of pumpkin juice sat nearby, though he preferred the large teapot of milk tea.

As he bit into his sandwich, he noticed that his three wayward companions were still missing.

"Probably off causing trouble," he muttered under his breath.

He sighed as he picked up a potato, peeling away the skin with his fork.

"I really miss rice and pasta," Albert murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

"Pasta is great," Angelina agreed. "I've had it a few times—always hits the spot."

"British food is so bland," Albert lamented. "The variety is there, but nobody puts in the effort to cook properly." He sipped his milk tea. "The other day, I had fish baked in a sea-salt herb crust—absolutely delicious."

Angelina and Alia exchanged amused looks, listening to Albert complain about British cuisine. He detailed his father's love for French fry sandwiches and his grandmother's obsession with Marmite, which the rest of the family avoided like the plague.

Albert still vividly remembered his first taste of Marmite—it had been an unforgettable disaster.

If he had to describe it, he'd say it was like soy sauce mixed with body odor.

Since that day, he had steered clear of it.

"If either of you are feeling adventurous, I can send you a jar for Christmas," he offered with a mischievous grin.

Alia nearly choked on her pumpkin juice. "No, thanks! I'd rather keep my appetite intact."

With lunch finished, Albert leaned back, flipping through the photos he had taken earlier. He had captured suits of armor, grand staircases, enchanted portraits, and even an absurdly exaggerated sculpture of a wizard with an impossibly long beard.

Angelina watched him with an amused expression.

"You know," she said, shaking her head, "you don't act like a student starting school—you act like a tourist visiting Hogwarts."