The stretch of the winter break was, as always, a profound balm for both the body and the mind. For Albert, who had mastered the delicate art of procrastination by eliminating the need for it entirely, the Christmas holidays were blissfully devoid of the gnawing anxiety that plagued his peers.
While most Hogwarts students were desperately trying to wade through their mountainous parchment assignments, Albert had already cleared his desk before the Hogwarts Express even pulled out of Hogsmeade Station.
A holiday without the suffocating obligation of looming deadlines was pure, uninterrupted luxury. Albert established a deeply pleasant routine: sleeping late enough to enjoy the quietude of the morning, savoring an expansive, leisurely breakfast with his family, and then retiring to the plush sofa.
There, he could indulge in watching the occasional Muggle television program, play with the increasingly portly Tom—a task that mostly involved attempting to prevent the cat from scaling the Christmas tree—or lose himself in a book beside the cozy, crackling fireplace.
Sometimes, he'd engage in a high-stakes, dramatic game of Wizard Chess with his father, Herb, only to be interrupted by Nia demanding attention or his mother, Daisy, providing a fresh bowl of snacks.
It was during this intellectual vacation that Albert's restless curiosity zeroed in on his next great academic pursuit: the Ancient Runes.
The motivation was intensely pragmatic. Shortly after Christmas Day, Albert had spent several concentrated hours with a textbook he had purchased before the end of term: An Easy Introduction to Ancient Magic Runes. Despite the book's deceptive title and the meticulous effort he had invested in consuming its contents, the desired notification remained absent. The Skill Panel did not register any new aptitude for "Ancient Runes," much less the practical skill of Rune Casting he envisioned.
This lack of progress felt eerily similar to his early struggle with Alchemy—a subject requiring a foundational, integrated understanding before the true skill would manifest. The problem wasn't the book; the problem was the depth. The current textbook provided a survey, not a mastery.
Albert decided there was no time to wait for the third-year elective class, a requirement nearly two and a half years away. The Skill Panel was his acceleration ramp, and once the basic knowledge triggered the latent ability, the subsequent issues of application and theory would become exponentially simpler to solve using his accumulated experience pool.
His first step was to seek knowledge outside the magical curriculum. After the local town library reopened, Albert spent the better part of two afternoons there, meticulously sifting through Muggle texts, particularly those focused on history, archaeology, and Germanic mythology.
The library's collection on runic alphabets was scarce and mostly speculative, but it provided a crucial historical anchor. He learned that the Runes, or runic alphabets, were intrinsically linked to Germanic mythology, specifically the deity Odin, the Allfather.
The legends were captivating, recounting how Odin, in a selfless act of cosmic sacrifice, exchanged one of his eyes for the profound knowledge and mastery of the runes. This established their ancient, sacred, and profoundly powerful origin.
This led to a linguistic puzzle that immediately caught Albert's critical attention. Runes belonged to the ancient Germanic language family. Yet, the vast majority of magical spell incantations used in the wizarding world—the foundation of modern Hogwarts magic—were based on Latin, a completely separate, Romance language.
Albert, never considering himself a linguist or archaeologist, still possessed the inherent drive of a researcher. He felt compelled to log this discrepancy, trusting that the deeper he delved into runic theory, the more obvious the answer would become.
A few more hours of searching finally provided the necessary historical context. After the decline of the runic alphabet, the Germanic languages gradually began incorporating elements of the Latin alphabet. This explained the seemingly contradictory modern linguistic map, where countries like Germany and Britain, whose linguistic roots were firmly Germanic, utilized the Latin script for their everyday communication.
This exploration into the history of linguistic change provided the missing piece of the puzzle and solidified why Ancient Runes was a mandatory course for those pursuing advanced magical theory.
Albert understood why a specific, advanced elective existed at Hogwarts: the historical trail of the runes was directly connected to the deep past of the magical world, a past that Muggles had long forgotten or dismissed as mere mythology.
His research led him to discover that Germanic mythology originated in Scandinavia, the region encompassing modern-day Sweden. The languages of Denmark, Norway, and Iceland—all neighbours—evolved from the same root, belonging to the North Germanic language family.
Crucially, Old English was a branch of the West Germanic family, utilizing a form of the runic alphabet known as the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc (or Phrygian script). Albert deduced that the massive influx of Latin letters came primarily due to religious and administrative reasons following the rise of Christianity.
This systematic adoption of the Latin alphabet across Europe was likely one of the major, non-magical reasons for the runic alphabet's complete disappearance from the Muggle world—a cultural amnesia that effectively severed the Muggle connection to latent magical power.
However, one fundamental fact could not be ignored: runes possess magic. Ancient, powerful magical artifacts, scrolls, and structures were invariably engraved with these ancient characters, using them as a structural framework to enhance and channel magical power.
Albert suspected this enduring magical efficacy stemmed from the intrinsic connection the runes held to the esoteric, elemental forces documented in the magical world.
Albert soon hit the hard ceiling of Muggle knowledge. The records available in the town library concerning the magical applications and deeper symbolic meanings of the runes were limited, often mixing historical fact with speculative fiction.
To breach this ceiling, he reached out to the one person he knew had deep knowledge of magical texts and history: Truman. He penned a discreet letter, explaining his self-study initiative.
Truman, always impressed by Albert's ambition, responded quickly with a short, helpful missive, advising him to purchase two crucial references from Flourish and Blotts: the Magic Phonetic Table and the Magic Dictionary of Runic Symbols.
Compared to the limited Muggle sources, the magical world's understanding of runes was centuries ahead, treating them not as a dead language, but as a living system of mystical energy. Albert devoured the new books, spending the rest of his vacation hunched over them, mapping the complex, interwoven systems of sound, symbol, and magic.
His efforts were difficult, demanding a high level of concentration and lateral thinking, but they were rewarded with the moment he had been waiting for. After hours of intense, focused study, a new entry finally materialized on his translucent Skill Panel:
Skill Gained: Magic Runes (Level 0)
The satisfaction was immense—the validation of his method. He immediately directed a substantial portion of his hard-earned experience points into the skill, prioritizing its rapid development. With the first expenditure, he achieved Level 1. At this basic level, he found he could reliably identify the core set of runes and understand the basic phonetic sounds and literal meanings assigned to them. It was a functional, foundational understanding.
He pushed further, spending more experience to reach Level 2.
Magic Runes (Level 2)
The difference was transformative. At Level 2, Albert could now read and fluently understand the majority of ancient runes without constantly cross-referencing the external tables or dictionary. It was a beautiful, intuitive feeling, a subtle hum of understanding that flowed from the symbols.
More fascinatingly, as his panel-driven knowledge became absolute, he started spotting discrepancies in the very reference books that had helped him acquire the skill. His internal, flawless understanding allowed him to find errors in the human-authored Magic Phonetic Table and Magic Dictionary.
Written language, especially when trying to map complex, esoteric concepts like magic and religion onto a phonetic chart, often fails to convey the full, nuanced meaning. Errors were inevitable. Albert discovered that the most significant biases appeared in runes with strong religious or cultural connotations.
He realized that a single rune could possess multiple, intersecting interpretations: a symbolic meaning, a distinct magical application, a divination interpretation, and a pure phonetic value. When these separate layers were carelessly blended by less-experienced scholars, the final interpretation became biased or plainly inaccurate.
Mastering this distinction became Albert's new obsession. He started an ambitious, meticulously detailed side-project, filling an entire notebook with Corrections and Clarifications to Common Runic Errors, a document that, if published, would revolutionize the field of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.
Before long, his intellectual curiosity turned toward practical application. The subject of the long-forgotten garlic amulets resurfaced. Now armed with a functional, powerful knowledge of runic script, he planned to design an intricate, specialized rune set to etch onto the small wooden crosses—a magical overlay that would significantly enhance the warding properties of the garlic's natural compounds.
However, before he could finalize the complex runic design and begin the practical application, the brief, intense tranquility of the Christmas holidays had reached its close.
Albert took the express train back to Hogwarts the day before the new term began, his mind still buzzing with runic theory and amulet schematics. He found the twins and Lee Jordan already settled in a compartment, looking considerably less rested than he felt.
The first thing Albert saw upon entering the compartment was an alarming, voluminous pile of goods piled haphazardly in the luggage rack: garlic. Large, white, pungent bulbs of garlic, far exceeding any reasonable cooking or consumption amount.
Fred and George had each managed to pilfer substantial, suspiciously bulging sacks from the Burrow's pantry, and Lee Jordan's haul was only slightly smaller.
Albert's eyelids performed a rapid, involuntary twitch. He had assumed, given their waning enthusiasm before the holidays, that the entire garlic cross project had faded into the background.
"I see you managed to secure the raw materials," Albert observed dryly, trying to keep the horror out of his voice as he looked at the sheer volume of pungent bulbous roots.
"Well, we didn't forget that part," Fred declared, leaning back smugly.
"We may have run into some procurement issues with the… the necessary solvents for the final stage," George added, their eyes flashing conspiratorially. "But we have enough garlic now to make amulets for the entire House, if needed."
Albert immediately changed the subject. He needed distance from the Great Garlic Hoard. "Have you finished your holiday homework?"
Lee Jordan, who was currently chewing a pumpkin pasty with great concentration, paused. "Oh, there's just one small thing left. I need to get to the library immediately when we arrive at the castle. A quick consultation with a historical text, and I'll be able to finish the final section of Professor Binns' essay on the Goblin Rebellions."
"We're entirely sorted," the twins announced simultaneously, beaming with the confidence of men who had achieved peak efficiency.
Albert gave them a sharp, knowing look that needed no translation. "Let me guess. This 'sorted' status involves comparing notes, cross-referencing ideas, and perhaps borrowing intellectual property from a close acquaintance?"
Fred threw his arm around his brother's shoulder with a theatrical flourish. "We prefer the term collaborative learning," he stated grandly.
Lee Jordan simply snorted disdainfully, took another massive bite of his pumpkin pasty, and watched the vast quantity of garlic rattle in the overhead rack.