"Sir?" Gabriel Truman's voice cut through the quiet of the Charlie Street park, sharp and indignant. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he faced Nat Li, the Ministry official. "You're just leaving like that?"
Nat Li turned, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Is there a problem?"
"So, I'm in the clear?" Truman pressed, his tone icy. "No consequences?"
"Yes, it was a mistake on our part," Nat Li replied, his voice clipped and formal, as if eager to move on.
Truman glanced at Albert, emboldened by the younger boy's earlier advice. "I deserve an apology, sir. Do you have any idea how much that letter shook me? I was expelled for something I didn't do, and now you're brushing it off like it's nothing. Do you think kids are easy to push around?"
His voice grew steadier, fueled by Albert's coaching moments earlier. The memory of nearly losing his place at Hogwarts stoked his anger. "The Ministry made this mess—it has nothing to do with me. I want a formal apology and compensation for the emotional distress. One hundred Galleons."
Nat Li's expression froze, and even Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a mix of surprise and amusement. "Pardon me?" Nat Li said, leaning forward. "I didn't catch that."
"An apology and compensation," Truman repeated, clenching his fists. "One hundred Galleons for the trauma."
"I'm sorry for the trouble, young man," Nat Li said, his tone strained. "But compensation for emotional distress? There's no precedent for that."
"Your apology doesn't sound sincere," Truman shot back. "You're dismissing me because I'm a kid, aren't you?"
Nat Li and Dumbledore exchanged a glance, the air thick with tension. Albert, unfazed, stepped forward, his voice calm but pointed.
"I was there, gentlemen. Truman was so upset after reading that letter, I thought he'd lost it. He rushed at me, and it took a while to calm him down. I suggested he write to Headmaster Dumbledore to sort this out."
He met their eyes without flinching, his lawyerly upbringing shining through. "A mistake this big deserves a proper apology, don't you think? Just walking away feels… irresponsible."
Nat Li's face darkened, clearly unaccustomed to being challenged by children. Dumbledore's expression remained unreadable, though a faint smile played at his lips.
"You could ignore us because we're kids," Albert continued, his tone deceptively light. He patted Truman's shoulder. "Some adults are like that. Don't let it bother you too much, Gabriel. I'll write to you via owl—we can talk about magic later."
Nat Li stormed off, his robes flapping, while Dumbledore nodded politely. "Goodbye, Mr. Andersson, Mr. Truman. Thank you for resolving this." With a final glance, he Disapparated, leaving the boys in the park.
"Those guys are infuriating," Truman muttered, punching the air. "What kind of attitude is that? I wanted to deck him."
Albert grinned. "So, ready to write to the Daily Prophet?"
Truman's eyes lit up. "Absolutely. Let's expose them."
"Half the reward's mine," Albert reminded him, his interface pinging with a new mission: Truman's Dissatisfaction, offering 3,000 experience points and 25 Galleons. "I'll draft the letter."
Truman hesitated, then asked, "Are your family really all lawyers?"
"Yep," Albert said with a smirk. "Mom, Dad, even my grandparents have dabbled in law. I know how to play this game. We're in the right here, and people love a story about the little guy sticking it to the system. We'll make sure our names stay out of it, and we keep that Ministry letter as proof."
In London, at the Daily Prophet's headquarters, Rita Skeeter sat at her cluttered desk, her quill poised over a blank parchment. The news cycle had been painfully dull, and she was desperate for a scoop to captivate her readers.
Sensationalism sold papers, whether the story was entirely true or artfully embellished. As her assistant dumped a pile of letters on her desk, Rita sifted through them—most were complaints or mundane tips, but one envelope caught her eye.
It contained a detailed account of a Ministry blunder, complete with a photograph of the offending letter and a scathing narrative from two young boys.
Rita's lips curled into a predatory smile. This was gold—a chance to expose the Ministry's incompetence and stir up public outrage. She set to work, her enchanted quill flying across the page, weaving a tale of bureaucratic negligence and a wronged student's plight.
Days later, the Daily Prophet hit the stands with a blistering headline: Ministry Mishap: Innocent Student Nearly Expelled Over Magical Misunderstanding. Rita's article painted the Improper Use of Magic Office as a bumbling institution that terrorized a young wizard with an erroneous expulsion notice.
Nat Li, the unfortunate official, was singled out as the face of this fiasco, his dismissive attitude toward a child lambasted in vivid detail. The piece ended with a call for accountability: "The victim questions the Ministry's trustworthiness and demands a mere 50 Galleons for the distress caused—a sum the Ministry refuses to pay, along with a sincere apology owed to this young wizard."
The wizarding community erupted. Owls flooded the Ministry with letters of complaint, and Nat Li, overwhelmed by the backlash, was forced to take a temporary leave.
Rita Skeeter reveled in the chaos, her quill a weapon that turned Albert and Truman's words into a public relations nightmare for the Ministry. The inclusion of the original expulsion letter made the story undeniable, shielding her from accusations of fabrication.
Truman, meanwhile, was overjoyed. The Ministry, eager to quell the scandal, sent him 50 Galleons as compensation. He promptly sent 25 to Albert via owl, along with a note of gratitude. The sum was a fortune for a boy his age, and he marveled at Albert's audacity in orchestrating the outcome.
Albert was equally pleased. His mission completed, he gained 3,000 experience points, boosting his pool significantly, and the 25 Galleons added a satisfying weight to his coin pouch. More importantly, he'd earned Truman's friendship.
Over the summer, they exchanged letters via owl, Truman sharing tips about Hogwarts and basic spellwork, while Albert offered insights from his self-study. Their unlikely alliance, forged in a park misunderstanding, promised to be a valuable connection as Albert prepared for his first year.
Back at Charlie Street, Luke and Sansa listened with amusement as Albert recounted the saga over dinner. Luke, who'd once been shunned by his wizarding family, took particular delight in the Ministry's embarrassment.
"You've got a sharp mind, Albert," he said, chuckling. "Reminds me of your mother when she argues a case."
Nia, still smarting from her own magical shortcomings, piped up. "You should've asked for more Galleons, Albert. A hundred!"
Albert laughed, ruffling her hair. "Next time, Nia. We'll take them for all they've got." As he leaned back, his interface pinged softly, logging the mission's success and Truman's gratitude.
The magical world was proving to be a labyrinth of challenges, but Albert was ready to navigate it with his wits, his wand, and a knack for turning mishaps into victories.