"You know that girl… Angelina," George muttered, looking after Field's departing figure with a complex mix of curiosity and reluctant respect. Field, the skilled student from the Transfiguration Club, moved with an air of determined focus, clearly already pursuing a path far beyond their mischievous pranks.
"A friend from the Transfiguration Club," Albert confirmed, his focus still on his own complex runic diagrams. "Field is remarkably gifted at Transfiguration; I've heard she's already published a particularly sharp analysis of animate-to-inanimate transformation in Transfiguration Today."
Albert explained that publishing in the magazine was a significant benchmark. Professor McGonagall personally vetted the students selected for the Transfiguration Club, and those who managed to publish even a small article in the magazine's dedicated student section were considered future leaders in the field. "She'll undoubtedly secure a top position in whatever field she chooses after graduation, perhaps even in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or as a high-level specialist."
"Do you know what kind of job people who excel at Transfiguration tend to pursue? Maybe becoming professors?" Lee Jordan suddenly interjected, keen on mapping out future possibilities.
"I have no idea of the full spectrum," Albert admitted.
"In truth, girls generally don't stay in the workforce for very long after they graduate," Fred said in a low, casual tone, expressing the common, traditional mindset of the pure-blood wizarding world. "They marry, and then they need to manage the estate and, of course, raise a family. That's generally the expectation, though naturally, there are always exceptions who dedicate themselves to a professional career."
"Is that still the prevailing structure here?" Albert blinked, genuinely interested. He wasn't intimately familiar with the social dynamics of the magical community, which seemed oddly anachronistic in some ways. He knew that in Muggle Britain, being a full-time, professional mother was highly respected, but it was rarely a default expectation that precluded a career.
"Yes, absolutely," George confirmed with a nod. "That's definitely the standard situation back at the Burrow, for example."
Shanna, Albert's study partner, who had been listening quietly after finishing her own homework, nodded. "That's the situation in my family too. My mother had a job with the Ministry, but she took a step back after I was born."
Albert recognized the efficiency of their current arrangement. Now, whenever they had large homework assignments requiring historical or theoretical research, they made it a habit to go to the library together, search for information as a group, and share their findings. This system, which Albert had initiated simply to save himself time, had inadvertently fostered a cooperative, studious atmosphere among them.
"What about your family, Albert?" Shanna asked curiously. "With both your parents being solicitors, who looks after your affairs and you?"
"They are both lawyers, yes, corporate law," Albert replied.
"But who takes care of you?" Shanna pressed, the question rooted in the traditional expectation of constant supervision.
Albert shrugged, his reply utterly matter-of-fact and slightly jarring to his magical peers: "I can manage my own affairs perfectly well."
The group exchanged a look of astonishment. Yet, considering his composure, his self-sufficiency, and his entire demeanor, Albert certainly didn't seem like the type of boy who required constant parental oversight. He was, to all appearances, entirely self-contained.
Shanna quickly changed the subject, pointing to the runic symbols covering Albert's parchment. "These things you're drawing—do they really work, or are you just sketching random magical symbols?"
"Ah, this particular sequence," Albert said, carefully tracing a pattern of symbols with his quill, "is the runic word 'Gibuauja.' It literally means 'gift of fortune' or 'good luck.' Ancient Germanic wizards would engrave this sequence onto small tokens—amulets, or 'lucky stones'—to actively draw good fortune to themselves."
"You have enough luck, Albert," Shanna muttered under her breath.
"I think he cornered the market on luck the day he won that 100 Galleons," Fred muttered in agreement.
"No one would ever object to having more capital or more fortune at their disposal," Albert said casually, focusing on the meticulous detail of the inscription. "It's a form of asset diversification."
"Is this thing actually useful, though?" Shanna persisted, glancing at the symbols with heightened interest, clearly influenced by the older student, Field, who had seemed so intrigued.
"The validity of ancient magic often depends on the user's belief and the purity of the execution," Albert noted, deciding to offer a controlled experiment. "I'm not certain of the final efficacy of this particular sequence in a modern context, but why don't you try it yourself?"
"How would we go about testing it?" Shanna asked, leaning closer.
Albert leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially, adding a theatrical gravitas to the process to make the twins listen. "The process must be precise. You need to carve this symbol sequence deep onto a material—a piece of oak, a smooth stone, or perhaps even bone. But here is the critical, often forgotten step that binds the magic: once the carving is complete, you must drip your own blood onto the mark for the charm to take root and bond with the owner's essence."
He gave her a deliberate wink. "If you succeed, and if the charm proves effective in attracting wealth or luck, remember to let me know. Then, I'll begin selling all manner of custom amulets here at Hogwarts and make a proper fortune."
"Remember to cut me in on the sales commission," George instantly chimed in, completely bypassing the blood sacrifice detail and jumping straight to the business opportunity.
The others couldn't help but roll their eyes at George's immediate greed. They knew Albert was half-joking about the enterprise, but the instructions—the blood, the carving—made the potential magic feel startlingly real.
"You haven't even tried this intense method yourself?" Fred asked, his voice betraying a hint of mock disappointment. "I never expected you to suggest a dangerous experiment you haven't perfected."
"I assure you, it's still under deep research," Albert countered smoothly. He was, in fact, still focused on the theoretical integration of the runes. He hadn't tested the binding process because he wanted to design a far more efficient, low-cost charm sequence before committing to a final production model.
"So you're planning to ditch the simple garlic cross and replace it with a proper runic amulet?" George asked, recognizing the progression from the previously forgotten anti-vampire charm.
"No, I'll be redesigning the core concept," Albert corrected, shaking his head. He knew the others viewed the runes with skepticism, but he ignored their doubts. His intuition, the subtle magical resonance he felt at Level 2 of Magic Runes, was guiding him. He needed to figure out the active method of channeling intent and unlocking the rune's mystique—a process that went beyond mere academic reading.
All Albert could do for now was meticulously record his research process on parchment—the failed combinations, the historical origins, the flawed translations, and his own corrected runic sequences. He was mapping out a curriculum of discovery. This process gave him a profound, satisfying sense of being a genuine magical scholar, tracing the footsteps of forgotten sorcerers.
If I manage to succeed in this, he mused internally, I could collect all these parchments into a single, cohesive volume. A scholarly work on Ancient Runes. He imagined the volume: Runes and the Rebirth of Ancient Magic: Notes of the Sorcerer A.W.
The thought expanded, weaving a compelling narrative of legacy. Perhaps, one day, a future Hogwarts student might stumble upon the mystery I've left behind, finding the hidden 'treasure' of my research. Or better yet, I could formally compile it into a textbook, a lasting contribution to the magical world.
Just as the idea of compiling the material into a formal, authoritative textbook for the school solidified in his mind—the notion of displacing the current, flawed standard text—the Skill Panel immediately and violently reacted, flashing a new notification:
New Legendary Quest Triggered: Magic Rune Expert You have surpassed the foundational knowledge of your peers in the field of Ancient Runes. To solidify your authority and prove your mastery, you are tasked with making a permanent, fundamental contribution to the magical curriculum.
Goal: Write a comprehensive, authoritative book on Ancient Runes and successfully integrate it as the official textbook for the Ancient Runes class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Rewards: 10,000 Experience Points, 1 Skill Point, Title: Magic Rune Expert, Magic World Reputation +300.
Albert was momentarily stunned. He wondered if this was the secret mechanism of his Skill Panel: that any time he formulated a definitive, high-level goal focused on becoming an expert or an authority in a specific field, a corresponding, monumental task would be triggered.
He immediately attempted to replicate the effect, focusing intensely on his desire to become the world's foremost expert on Charms. The panel remained stubbornly silent. His initial guess, it seemed, was only partially correct. The Rune task was unique, a rare, profound opportunity that solidified his path.
Though the task seemed impossible now—a first-year replacing a Hogwarts textbook with his own work—the very existence of the goal meant it was achievable, perhaps not immediately, but definitely in the future. He had a focus now: to become the recognized authority on Ancient Runes.
Albert realized he had been sitting in profound silence for several minutes. He quickly rolled up his parchment, preparing to leave.
"What are you thinking about? Let's go, we're going to miss dinner if we don't hurry," Fred called out, stopping just around the corner, beckoning Albert to follow.
"It's nothing," Albert replied, catching up with them. "I was just considering a very early night, for a change." He paused, realizing he needed to give the twins a subtle, coded warning about the late-night plan without announcing it to the whole Common Room. "After all, if one intends to get up early tonight…"
He stopped dead. Fred had given a subtle, immediate flick of his eyes to the far end of the corridor. Before Albert could fully process the nonverbal warning, a dry, reedy voice—a voice he knew too well—sliced through the air.
"Getting up early tonight, you say? And what exactly would you be doing that requires rising before dawn, Mr. Anderson?"
Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, was standing not twenty feet away, his back pressed against the shadow of a trophy case, peering at them with his usual, intensely suspicious glare. He had clearly heard Albert's careless, leading remark. Filch straightened up, moving closer, his breath smelling faintly of vinegar and old dust.
"You'd better not let me find out that you are wandering the corridors in the middle of the night, Mr. Anderson. Because if I do, I assure you, your little 'luck' will not save you from a very severe detention."
Albert looked at his two horrified conspirators and rolled his eyes, a look of profound, theatrical exasperation on his face. He'd given away his intentions with a single, strategically catastrophic phrase.
"A rather unfortunate timing, wouldn't you say?" Albert muttered, waiting until Filch had stomped off around the bend.
"Unfortunate?" Fred barely managed to stifle a burst of hysterical laughter. "Filch must think you were actively flirting with the idea of detention! You practically threw down a challenge."
"It was just a tiny, tiny accident," Albert insisted, looking completely innocent and mildly annoyed at the universe's poor comedic timing. "I truly did not mean to invite the school caretaker to monitor my nocturnal activities."
"Of course you didn't," the three chorused back at him, their voices thick with utterly unconvincing sincerity, already planning how they would now have to adjust their entire Restricted Section strategy due to Albert's accidental taunt.
Albert has a new Legendary Quest. To achieve it, he needs unparalleled knowledge. His plan to visit the Restricted Section is now complicated by Filch's surveillance.