Albert closed the glossy catalog for Wiggenweld Wizard Clothing, having successfully settled on a Christmas gift for Nia. His practical eye had been caught by an exquisite, delicate silver phoenix badge.
At one Galleon, it was expensive, but the design was timeless, and the phoenix—a symbol of enduring loyalty and powerful magic—held an unspoken connection to Dumbledore's office, a fitting, subtle nod to the enduring, classic magic he aspired to master. He planned to send the order via Owl Post that evening.
He slid the catalog into his satchel and picked up the thick tome on obscure ancient charms from the table. As he walked toward the appropriate shelf, he registered a figure lurking near the restricted section—an older, slightly anxious Hufflepuff.
"Truman," Albert said, nodding in greeting. "I hear you've been keeping Filch busy lately. Well done, by the way."
Gabriel Truman, a third-year, looked surprised to be acknowledged, especially by the new Gryffindor legend. He glanced quickly around the library, then leaned in.
"I've been having a bit of trouble, yes," Truman confessed in a low voice, a flicker of genuine annoyance crossing his features.
"And thanks—you and your friends certainly handled the Slytherin nonsense perfectly." He lowered his voice even further. "Actually, I'm here looking for a particular curse. Something guaranteed to work. I'm scheduled to duel Ravenclaw Prefect Notch this weekend."
Albert, who had just slotted the book back into its slot, turned, a genuine look of surprise on his face. "A duel with the Ravenclaw Prefect? Notch is a fifth-year, isn't he? Is this a friendly skills exchange, or are you planning a rather unauthorized resolution to a conflict?"
Albert already knew the answer. "Because if it's the latter, the school will not be pleased. Also, Truman, respectfully, a fifth-year prefect will have a significant advantage in spells, speed, and mastery over you."
"I know!" Truman muttered, running a frustrated hand through his brown hair. "But Notch insists that Bridget Wenlock was a Ravenclaw! He's completely wrong!"
Albert blinked. "...The reason you are dueling is over a historical figure's House affiliation?"
Truman nodded furiously. He explained that he had been in the middle of a study group on Arithmancy, discussing the famous thirteenth-century wizard Bridget Wenlock, who was the first known person to discover the fundamental magical properties of the number seven. Notch, passing by, had loudly and condescendingly stated that Wenlock was "obviously Ravenclaw."
"She is not!" Truman hissed, indignation burning in his eyes. "She is Hufflepuff! It's common knowledge among true Arithmancy students!" He pulled a slightly battered Chocolate Frog Card from his pocket and thrust it toward Albert. "Read it! It says right there she was a Hufflepuff!"
Albert took the card. The biographical blurb confirmed it: Bridget Wenlock, Hufflepuff, born 1202, famous Arithmancer…
"Why didn't you simply show him this then and there?" Albert asked, handing the card back.
"I didn't have it at the time! And even if I did, he wouldn't admit it!" Truman insisted, his voice cracking with exasperation. "He knows he's wrong, Albert. He's a prefect, he should know his history, but he's too proud to back down, and he ended up challenging me to a duel when I called him out on it."
Albert understood perfectly. This wasn't about Bridget Wenlock; it was about public humiliation and pride. The prefect had dug a hole, and rather than admit a mistake—a weakness he couldn't afford to show to a younger student—he chose to enforce his dominance through force of magic.
It was the same toxic dynamic one saw in any argument where ego superseded truth. Dumbledore's classic observation came to mind: People can easily forgive others' mistakes, but it is difficult to forgive others' rightness. Truman, in proving the prefect wrong, had made an enemy.
"You have my sympathy," Albert said softly. "It sounds like you need advice, not a curse."
"First, let's be clear: you are not dueling," Albert stated, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the corridor for Professor Snape or Madam Pince.
"You cannot afford the trouble. A fifth-year prefect has nothing to lose in a duel, but if you fight, and you lose, you will be in solitary confinement. Don't ever use the word duel if you are caught."
Truman looked crestfallen. "But I have to teach him a lesson! For Hufflepuff honor!"
"Exactly. You are defending Hufflepuff's honor. You are defending the truth of the number seven's magical properties," Albert corrected, lending a ridiculous gravitas to the matter. "And you cannot fight for the truth if you are outmatched. We need an advantage."
Albert dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know the Disarming Charm?"
Truman looked blank. "No. That's advanced, isn't it?"
"Expelliarmus," Albert murmured, giving the incantation. "It's advanced, but simple to learn. It means: Disarm the enemy. That is the first pillar of your victory."
He motioned for Truman to follow him to a more secluded, curtained alcove, keeping a wary eye on the movement of a Slytherin student nearby.
"Here is the plan for your fight for honor," Albert began, his tone now purely tactical. "In a duel, they always count: one, two, three. When they reach one, you attack first. You cannot afford to wait for fairness. Your target is his wand hand. You must be faster, and you must hit him with Expelliarmus."
Truman's eyes widened with excitement and a touch of trepidation. "A sneak attack?"
"It's a pre-emptive strike in a conflict of honor," Albert countered smoothly. "Once his wand is disarmed, you have two seconds of pure chaos where he is stunned and reaching for his weapon. In that moment, you hit him with the Full Body-Bind Curse. You know that one, right?"
"Petrificus Totalus! Yes, I know how to cast that," Truman nodded, his confidence returning slightly.
"Excellent. Once he is rigid and helpless on the ground—disarmed, silenced, and humiliated—what do you do next?" Albert prompted, a challenging glint in his eye.
Truman hesitated, then swallowed hard. "I… I win? I let Madam Hooch break it up?"
Albert shook his head slowly. "No. You walk up to him, look down at his perfectly bound form, and beat him until he realizes he is wrong." Albert drove the point home with a tight, decisive clench of his fist.
Truman stared, utterly bewildered. "With… with my fists? Muggle-style?"
"There is an old saying, Truman, that applies to situations just like this: The truth lies in the fist," Albert explained, his logic cold and precise.
"You can argue with him all day about Arithmancy, but he will not concede. He wants to use magic—something he knows more about—to crush you and silence the truth. You must remove his weapon and force him to admit reality using the most base form of communication."
Albert leaned back, folding his arms. "Let's list the facts: He is two years your senior. He knows more spells. He refused to admit his mistake. He challenged you to a potentially dangerous duel, showing disregard for your safety. He deserves the humiliation, and he deserves the physical discomfort. Don't forget who the true bully is here. You are not fighting for a grade, you are fighting for the historical honor of your House. You will not be punished if you use your fists instead of a curse—it's a simple brawl, not a duel."
Albert paused, his gaze sweeping across the corridor again, settling briefly on a red-haired girl from Ravenclaw who was looking their way.
"You know Isobel, don't you?"
"I've seen her around," Truman said, momentarily distracted by the Ravenclaw prefect.
"Good. Pay attention," Albert continued, ensuring their alcove was still private.
"You can never wake up someone who is pretending to be asleep. The best way to wake him up is to make the consequences of his arrogance hurt. You beat him until he cries out for a teacher, and then you explain to Professor Sprout—your Head of House—that you were defending Bridget Wenlock's name and that the arrogant fifth-year was going to hex you."
Truman felt a sudden, exhilarating rush of comprehension. "It's brilliant! It's not a duel; it's a spontaneous defense of House honor! Professor Sprout will support me!"
"Exactly," Albert affirmed. "Now, your problem is you don't know Expelliarmus."
"I do now! But I don't know how to cast it reliably by the weekend!" Truman exclaimed.
"Then you must practice it. You'll need a study guide on self-defense spells—I can find you a good one," Albert said, walking back toward the shelves. "But you need someone to practice with. I don't have the time. Find a trustworthy, strong friend in Hufflepuff who can take a few disarming attempts."
"Right! Right, I will!" Truman's face was alight with renewed purpose. "Thank you, Albert. Truly. This is much better than a curse. Remember to come and watch this weekend! Black Lake lawn, just after lunch."
"I'll be there," Albert promised, watching Truman stride away, already muttering the incantation to himself.
Albert turned and leaned against the bookshelf, feeling the familiar, low-level thrum of validation from his personal system. He checked the task panel in his mind's eye:
1. Enthusiastic Help
Your friend Gabriel Truman seems to be in some trouble, and as the first wizard friend you have ever met, you should help him solve his problem as much as possible.
Reward: 100 Experience Points, Gabriel Truman's Favorability +10.
2. Distant Victory
Your friend does not have any advantage in the upcoming duel. As a friend, you should find a way to help him turn defeat into victory.
Reward: 1,000 Experience Points, A random skill from the quest target, Gabriel Truman's Favorability +10.
Albert's attention fixed on the second, far more lucrative task. 1,000 experience points was substantial, but the possibility of gaining a random skill from Gabriel Truman was intriguing. Truman's known skills included Arithmancy and Herbology.
Either one would be a valuable, foundational addition to Albert's toolkit. The necessity of his victory was now cemented not just by friendship, but by self-interest.
He quickly retrieved a thin textbook on defensive charms for Truman and returned to his seat. Shanna, who had finished her essay on the properties of mooncalf dung, looked up curiously.
"What was all that hushed talking about?" she asked, gathering her scrolls.
"Nothing much," Albert murmured, quickly putting away his own finished homework and glancing toward Madam Pince to ensure silence. "Just met a friend who needed advice on a highly important historical argument."
Albert has secured a guaranteed victory for his friend and put a plan in motion to earn a significant experience boost and a new skill. What do you think is more likely to happen next: will Truman successfully practice the spells in time for the weekend fight, or will the Ravenclaw prefect's friends get wind of the ambush plan?