The Hogwarts Express, like a great red beast waking from a brief slumber, gave a heavy, rumbling lurch. The pistons hissed, steam shot past the windows, and with a slow, grinding squeal of steel on steel, the journey north began.
The four boys sat in a temporary, strange silence. The implications of Albert's earlier conversation with Hector Dagworth—the sheer audacity of demanding a personal apology from a Ministry Director—had rendered them speechless. Albert's logical framework, though unnerving, was undeniably flawless. He had assessed the political cost of the gold card and pegged it to the only thing Dagworth truly valued: his freedom from embarrassment.
"Honestly, I wouldn't work for the Ministry of Magic if they paid me a thousand Galleons a year," Albert declared, finally breaking the quiet, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "They are slow, corruptible, and fundamentally incompetent. This whole episode just solidifies that conviction."
"Percy would sell his soul to work there," Fred muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically, before brightening immediately. "But you, Lee, you're not thinking of going Ministry, are you?"
Lee Jordan ran a hand through his dark hair. "Me? No way. Commentating Quidditch games, perhaps, or maybe even opening a joke shop with these two loons, but dealing with that lot? Never. My father always warned me away from government work."
Fred and George exchanged a look of rare, focused sincerity. "We're serious about the shop, Albert. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," George declared, his voice imbued with a genuine, entrepreneurial spark.
Albert looked at them for a long moment, a slow, appraising grin spreading across his face. "That's a brilliant idea. A great name, too. And when you're ready, come to me. I'll provide the initial capital investment."
The effect of his words was immediate and startling. The twins and Lee Jordan stared at him, their expressions a mix of disbelief, sudden greed, and absolute conviction. The strangest thing about the moment was that not one of them doubted his ability to provide that capital.
"Don't look at me like that," Albert said calmly, picking up a stray crumb from the seat. "Making money, especially in the magical world, is laughably easy once you understand the basic mechanisms. It's less about hard work and more about identifying undervalued assets and monopolizing skills."
"Such as?" Fred prompted, leaning forward, his eyes suddenly sharp with genuine interest.
"For example, the venom secreted by the Eight-Eyed Giant Spider—the Acromantula," Albert explained, maintaining a steady, instructional tone. "It's a highly valuable potion ingredient, a restricted substance. A single pint can fetch up to a hundred Galleons on the black market, easily."
The compartment suddenly felt cold. The very mention of the monstrous spiders brought back the visceral memory of their harrowing venture into the Forbidden Forest months prior.
"You… you mean… they're just bags of gold, waiting to be popped?" George whispered, the image simultaneously horrifying and intoxicating.
"Essentially, yes. The Forbidden Forest is the most valuable and untapped natural resource in all of Britain," Albert confirmed. "It's a treasure trove of rare ingredients, beast by-products, and forgotten magic. Hunting one or two Acromantulas, or even a few lesser but still profitable dark creatures, would net you a massive sum in Galleons. If you possess the strength and the nerve, the money is practically laying on the forest floor."
Fred and George visibly shivered, yet their eyes were wide with the raw, terrifying possibility. They remembered Albert's brutal efficiency in their encounter—for him, those spiders weren't terrifying beasts; they were indeed just obstacles between him and profit.
"And that's just one example," Albert continued, gesturing vaguely. "Think about snow mushrooms. We ate them growing up. If you could figure out a way to process, preserve, and market them to the wizarding world as a delicacy, you'd have a corner on an entirely new market. Innovation and risk are the two secret ingredients to wealth."
"And this one," he added, pulling the custom-made Protective Bracelet from his wrist, the leather worn smooth from use. He held it up for them to inspect. "Most Ministry wizards can't even cast a proper Protego spell to save their lives. There is a massive demand for reliable defensive enchantments. If I can refine this into a user-friendly, reliable charm, selling them for ten Galleons each wouldn't be a problem. It's accessible, it's stylish, and it works."
"Ten Galleons!" Lee Jordan choked on his pumpkin juice. "For a bracelet?"
"And here's the kicker, the true value for people like us who live outside their strict control," Albert said, his voice dropping again, conspiratorial and utterly serious.
"When you use a powerful magical item, especially one that absorbs and redirects incoming energy like this, the Ministry's Trace detection system often mistakes it for background magical noise, or completely misses the intent behind the spell. I suspect that's why my own use of this bracelet to block Hector's Accio didn't immediately set off a third violation trace on my name."
The compartment was utterly silent. This was not merely a discussion about money; it was a revelation about the operational limits of wizarding law enforcement. Albert was showing them the secret loopholes used by powerful witches and wizards—the ability to utilize complex magic without alerting the Ministry.
"So you're saying you used the bracelet to intercept his Summoning Charm, and the Ministry's Trace couldn't tell the difference between your defensive item and his powerful spell?" Lee breathed, the implications terrifying and exhilarating.
"Exactly. When I saw the card shimmering in the Opera House, I knew someone was using magic nearby to summon it. I correctly surmised that if the owner was nearby, the Ministry's faulty Trace would simply pin the largest source of magic on the nearest underage wizard—me. That's why I took the card, held it, and waited for the official warning letter to arrive. It's self-preservation, lads. And now, that golden card is worth far more than the gold it's made of."
Lee Jordan shook his head, a genuine smile of admiration. "Your absence from Ravenclaw is a greater loss to that house than they can ever truly appreciate."
"Right, Albert. Enough with the scary spiders and the complicated politics," Fred said, a sudden look of purpose on his face. "If you ever decide to get into any of those schemes, you have to take us with you. We're in, no questions asked."
The four of them shared a laugh, acknowledging the absurdity of their conversation. To any other observer, they were just four boys talking nonsense; to them, they were strategizing their magical and financial future.
The train plunged further north, the outside world dissolving into a blur of soaking fields and torrential rain. The lights in the compartment provided a warm, enclosed glow against the blackness and the drumming of the raindrops.
A cheerful witch pushing a small, well-stocked trolley rattled down the corridor. Albert and Lee bought an assortment of snacks, including Pumpkin Juice and a few Chocolate Frogs, settling back in their seats.
"Actually, you can make a lot of money without going anywhere near a giant spider," Lee Jordan quipped, taking a satisfied gulp of juice. "You should just enter the Daily Prophet's Grand Galleon Prize Competition. Since you're so incredibly lucky, you might as well win the big one."
"We've always maintained that Albert is unnaturally lucky," George murmured, nudging Fred. "He'd win the lottery."
"The probability is vanishingly small," Albert countered, ever the pragmatist. "If people were truly that lucky, they wouldn't need jobs; they'd just buy scratch cards and wait for a rogue gold mine to appear in their backyard."
Albert looked at George, tilting his head slightly in a way that made the twin shift uncomfortably. "Why are you looking at me like that?" George asked anxiously.
Albert's eyes seemed distant, focused on something the others couldn't see, a flash of knowledge that unsettled them all. "It's fine. Just a sudden, fleeting thought," he said, shaking his head slightly as if clearing cobwebs. "However, I have a strange intuition that your family will win a very large prize from the Daily Prophet in the future. It's worth writing down a reminder to play, George. There's no harm in trying, is there?"
George stared, completely dumbfounded. "You think… my family… the Galleon Prize?"
"No way! Albert is clearly messing with you, George! Don't tell Mum!" Fred immediately dismissed it, though his own curiosity was clearly piqued.
"Write it down, George, write it down quickly!" Lee Jordan laughed, slapping George's arm. "I'm genuinely curious now. Albert's guesses are usually more accurate than the Ministry's Trace."
"It was just a silly thought," Albert said, shrugging off the subject completely, turning his attention to the window. "Why does it always rain like this when we leave? It feels like autumn already."
"It's tradition," Fred supplied. He ripped the wrapper off a Chocolate Frog, revealing the familiar, edible amphibian and the collectible card inside. "Anyone want Dumbledore? I've got about eight of him."
"No thanks, we're all Dumbledored out," Lee yawned.
"Let me see the card," Albert requested, holding out his hand. He took the stiff, glossy card, turning over the portrait of the wizard.
As he examined the picture of the great headmaster, a sudden, powerful idea struck him. It was a thought so elegant, so encompassing, and so profitable that it made the idea of spider venom collection seem tedious and messy by comparison.
"Actually," Albert muttered, more to himself than to them, "we could develop a truly great Wizard Card Game."
The three others looked at him blankly. "What kind of thing is that?" George asked.
"It's a Muggle concept, but infinitely applicable here," Albert explained, his excitement building as he connected the pieces. "It's not like Exploding Snap, where it's just chance. This would be a game of strategy, historical knowledge, and magic."
"Imagine this," Albert began, his voice taking on the tone of a passionate entrepreneur. "We take the figures from these Chocolate Frog cards—Merlin, Dumbledore, Morgana. We create card 'backgrounds' based on famous artifacts, historical events, and complex spells. We give them specific attack values, defensive properties, and special 'effect' functions tied directly to their legend or historical achievement."
He quickly began sketching rudimentary card layouts and design ideas in a fresh notebook, explaining the mechanics of deck building, turn order, and resource management.
"We can't just rely on Dumbledore," Albert continued, his mind racing. "We need all the famous, complex wizards: the Founders of Hogwarts, the great curse-breakers, the infamous Dark Wizards. George, you mentioned getting confused between Uric the Oddball and Emeric the Evil? Well, if they are cards with distinct abilities and stats, you won't forget which is which. The game teaches history while you play!"
Lee Jordan was the first to fully grasp the scale of the concept. His eyes gleamed with mercenary fervor. "That is… that is genius! It's far more engaging than Gobstones, and it requires mental effort! We can easily promote this in different countries! Every single magical society has its own famous wizards and history! It becomes a global phenomenon!"
"We need to write this down, immediately," Albert instructed, handing the notebook to Fred. "Let's start designing the rules of engagement. This is going to be big."
"I think it's easier to remember the people this way than studying Magic History," George conceded, utterly converted. "At least I won't confuse Uric the Oddball with Emeric the Evil if Uric's card has the special ability, 'Randomly transform all items in play into jellied eels,' and Emeric's says, 'Target one opponent and force them to make a potentially self-destructive choice.'"
Lee Jordan was already drafting his own future card. He puffed out his chest and grinned. "When this explodes, I want my own card in the first expansion set. I'll call it: Lee Jordan: Co-Founder of Wizard Cards. And the effect? 'Lee Jordan uses his considerable charm to compel the opponent to skip their next turn and draw three additional cards.'"
Albert burst into laughter, tapping the notebook he'd handed Fred. "You've already planned your vanity card! Perfect! So, what should my own founder card be? Something modest, perhaps, like the 'Architect of Strategy'?"
"No way!" Fred and George said simultaneously.
"Your card should be the Four Giants, an action card created by the four founders of the deck!" Fred proposed.
"Why just draw three cards, Albert?" George asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Why not four?"
"Because the two of you, dear twins, count as a single, beautifully synchronized entity," Albert declared, grinning.
In that small, rattling compartment, as the rain hammered against the windows, the foundations of the future of collectible wizarding games were being meticulously laid. The Wizard Cards, which would eventually sweep across the magical world and become an indispensable part of its culture, began right there, on the floor of the Hogwarts Express.
Years later, Lee Jordan, in an exclusive interview with the Daily Prophet about the genesis of the billion-Galleon industry, would recall that moment with profound clarity:
"We believed, right from that instant, that this game would be adored by wizards everywhere. It wasn't just about victory; it was about honoring our history and exercising our minds. It was a way to ensure that the wizards who made great sacrifices—and those Dark Wizards who brought great harm—were remembered not as dry names in a textbook, but as dynamic forces that shaped our world."
The game, Albert knew, would be far more than just a diversion; it would be a legacy.