As summer vacation drew to a close, the end of August loomed, signaling the imminent start of Albert's first year at Hogwarts. Despite his anticipation for the magical school, a part of him longed to linger at home, indulging in lazy days of reading and lounging. But time, as always, marched on relentlessly.
Albert knew that exploring magic alone was like groping in the dark—his self-study, while fruitful, left gaps that only formal instruction could fill. He'd devoured every book he'd purchased in Diagon Alley, from The Standard Book of Spells to A History of Magic, yet the intricacies of the wizarding world remained tantalizingly out of reach.
His pen-pal correspondence with Gabriel Truman, the Hufflepuff student he'd helped clear of an erroneous expulsion, provided some insight. Truman wrote every few days, sharing tidbits about Hogwarts life, but his knowledge was limited.
As a second-year with average grades, he'd exhausted his store of useful information quickly. In one letter, he speculated that Albert's thirst for magical knowledge might land him in Ravenclaw, the house known for its scholars.
Albert, however, was indifferent to house placement. His only preference was to avoid Slytherin, where Muggle-born wizards like him were notoriously unwelcome. Given his background, he doubted the Sorting Hat would even consider it.
"You've earned a rest, Shira," Albert said, patting his snowy owl's head as she returned from delivering a letter. He sprinkled owl nuts into her cage, pleased with her reliability.
After repeated requests, Shira had stopped bringing back dead mice, sparing Daisy the horror of finding rodent carcasses in the house. Shira hooted wearily, nibbling her food before settling into her cage, ignoring Tom's bared teeth from the floor below.
"Enough, Tom," Albert scolded, scooping up the tabby and heading downstairs for breakfast. The cat squirmed, clearly unimpressed by the owl's presence.
In the kitchen, Herbert, home for the day, was engrossed in a copy of the Daily Prophet. The newspaper's moving images—wizards waving from photographs, headlines shifting like living marquees—had captivated him.
Daisy, too, had taken to reading it, hoping to glean more about the wizarding world her son was entering. She set a steaming bowl of corn soup before Albert, her smile warm. "Made your favorite this morning."
"Thanks, Mom," Albert said, savoring the rich aroma. Corn soup was a rare treat, one he'd loved since childhood.
"Does this mean I don't have to drink milk?" Nia asked, her eyes lighting up with hope. She loathed her daily glass of milk, a ritual Daisy enforced with ironclad consistency.
"No such luck," Daisy said, placing a glass in front of her daughter. "Drink up."
Nia groaned, then tried to shift the conversation. "Has Albert learned any new spells?" She shot him a sly glance, planning to slip her milk into Tom's bowl when Daisy wasn't looking.
Daisy appeared behind her, hands on hips. "Nia."
"I'm just getting Tom's breakfast!" Nia said quickly. "He loves milk."
Daisy wasn't fooled. She poured another glass and set it before Nia. "Drink it all."
"I hate milk," Nia muttered, glaring at the glass. "Why does Albert never complain?"
"Albert's not picky," Daisy said. "He eats everything, even things he doesn't love."
"Like cheese," Herbert added, glancing up from the Prophet. "He used to avoid strong cheeses, but he eats them now without a fuss."
"Liar," Nia said, unconvinced, eyeing Albert's potato pancake loaded with cheese and ham.
"It's true," Herbert insisted. "Albert's never been fussy. Kids who eat everything grow tall."
"Why do I need to be tall?" Nia shot back.
"Taller people are prettier," Albert said, winking. "Look at Mom."
Daisy beamed, clearly pleased. Nia rolled her eyes. "Flatterer." Under her mother's watchful gaze, she grudgingly drank her milk, then slid half the glass to Albert. "Drink more—you'll be as handsome as Dad."
Herbert and Daisy, both tall and polished from years in the legal profession, laughed. Their youthful energy and sharp appearances were a point of pride, and Albert's flattery hit the mark.
Originally, Herbert had planned a family trip to the zoo, a last outing before Albert's departure for Hogwarts. But Albert, uninterested in traipsing through crowded enclosures, declined, and Nia quickly agreed, calling the zoo boring. Instead, the family settled in the living room, the television murmuring in the background as they chatted and relaxed.
Nia, ever restless, begged to ride her toy broom, a gift from Luke that hovered a foot off the ground. Herbert firmly refused. "You nearly crashed into the TV last time," he said. "The living room's too small, and we can't risk you flying outside where someone might see."
The broom, a source of endless fascination for Nia, was now locked in a cupboard, much to her dismay. Albert had tried it once, feeling foolish as he wobbled on the low-flying contraption.
It reminded him of a childish fantasy, like something out of a fever dream, and he'd abandoned it after one go. For Nia, though, the broom represented the magic she couldn't wield, and its confinement only fueled her longing.
Daisy emerged from the kitchen with a tray of black tea and a Victoria sponge cake, its layers glistening with jam and cream. The family gathered around, joined by Tom, who curled up on a cushion, eyeing the cake suspiciously.
They opened The Tales of Beedle the Bard, a wizarding storybook Albert had picked up in Diagon Alley. The tales, unlike Muggle fairy tales, were steeped in magical oddities. They took turns reading, starting with a retelling of Sleeping Beauty.
In the wizarding version, a jealous banshee cursed a princess with Living Hell Decoction, smeared on a spindle, causing an eternal slumber. A wizard prince, armed with an Exhilaration Draught on his lips, kissed her awake.
The story lacked the romantic charm of its Muggle counterpart, but the Anderssons were enthralled by its strangeness, laughing at the absurdity of magical potions replacing spinning wheels and true love's kiss.
"What's Living Hell Decoction?" Nia asked, wrinkling her nose.
"No idea," Albert admitted, flipping through his potion book. "Sounds nasty, though."
They moved on to The Tale of the Three Brothers, a story about magical artifacts bestowed by Death. Each family member read a passage, their voices weaving the eerie narrative. Nia, wide-eyed, asked, "Is there really a stone that brings people back to life?"
Albert's interface pinged softly, registering a new mission: Explore the Deathly Hallows, with a vague promise of rewards. He kept it to himself, answering thoughtfully. "Probably not. The story says the second brother's lover didn't truly return—just a shadow of her. Fairy tales often exaggerate."
Herbert nodded. "There's no such thing as bringing people back, Nia. It's just a story."
"But Nicolas Flamel's still alive with the Philosopher's Stone," Nia countered, her imagination alight. "Maybe it's possible."
"Fairy tales are mostly lies," Albert said with a grin, closing the book. "But they're fun lies."
As the family laughed, Albert felt a twinge of excitement. Hogwarts was days away, a world of mysteries waiting to be unraveled. His interface, his spells, and his growing friendship with Truman were just the beginning. Summer had been a whirlwind, but the real adventure was about to start.