Albert was stunned; of course, he knew who Mog MacDougal was.
A close friend of Bard Brood, Mog was a renowned master of magic in his time, said to rival Adalbert Waffling, the celebrated author of Magical Theory.
Yet the man before him was not quite what Albert had imagined.
"What's wrong?" Mog MacDougal noticed Albert's momentary shock and asked, puzzled. "Is there something on my face?"
"I thought… you'd be younger," Albert admitted hesitantly, then added quickly, "My apologies. I spoke out of turn."
"Younger? Haha, no need to apologize. I am indeed no longer young." Mog smiled warmly and gestured toward the sofa. "Come in. Bard should be back very soon."
Albert sat stiffly opposite him, his eyes drawn to the parchment on the table, covered entirely in runes.
"It seems Bard was right—you do have a high level of attainment in this area." Mog sipped his tea, nodding with satisfaction.
Albert noticed the way Mog looked at him: gentle, but with a familiarity that felt strangely personal.
"I originally thought Isabelle's talent was already remarkable," Mog said softly. "She is one of the most outstanding children I have ever seen."
"Isabelle?" Albert asked, curious.
"My distant niece." Mog nodded toward the parchment of runes. "Bard and I are preparing to compile a book on Ancient Runes. Would you be interested in participating?"
"Me?" Albert blinked. The idea of a child being invited to compile a book seemed absurd.
"You are the one to compile it, not us."
At that moment, Professor Brood entered, smiling. "You arrived earlier than I expected. What would you like to drink?"
"Milk tea," Albert replied instinctively.
Brood waved his wand, and a steaming cup appeared before him.
"I can see your talent in Ancient Runes, so I recommended you to Morg. Of course, the main work is Morg's—we're just assisting."
"It's incredible," Albert admitted. "But if word got out, it would sound like the funniest joke of the century."
"Don't say that. You're very special—even more brilliant than Isabelle," Mog said kindly. "I think you'll be useful. Do you mind?"
"I don't mind."
"You'll learn a great deal in the process," Mog promised. "Let's reintroduce ourselves: Mog MacDougal."
"Albert Anderson. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacDougal." Albert shook his hand, feeling as though he had just met someone extraordinary.
"Are you compiling a textbook, or…?" Albert asked.
"No, something more advanced. Not for students, but deeper research into Ancient Runes," Mog explained. "Perhaps you haven't touched that field yet, but runes contain special power. Some ancient spells use them. If Dumbledore helps, our progress will be faster."
"Few truly know how to use Ancient Runes," Brood added. "Morg is an expert."
"No, Bard, I have one right here." Mog smiled, lightly tapping Albert's wooden bracelet. "The craftsmanship is rough, but undeniably, this is a prototype. May I see it?"
Albert removed the bracelet and handed it over.
"If it were me, I'd use yew wood. Guardian tree has effects, but it doesn't fully unleash the runes' power." Mog examined the carvings. "It's a pity you haven't mastered how to use it yet."
Albert's eyes lit up. Perhaps Mog could resolve his doubts about runes.
"Don't rush. You're already far ahead of most. Bard doesn't understand these things," Mog said.
"I haven't researched this area," Brood admitted easily. "But in practical application, you're far behind me."
"We each have our strengths," Mog replied without awkwardness. He turned to the parchment. "Alright, let's focus on work."
"May I ask," Albert said, picking up a sheet, "where did these runes come from?"
"This is one of Ravenclaw's legacies," Brood answered directly.
"Legacy?" Albert was surprised, but quickly composed himself.
"Yes, Ravenclaw's wisdom," Mog explained. "I plan to summarize it into a book so others can interpret it. One day, people will realize the magical power contained in Ancient Runes."
"I've never seen any magical power in these writings," Brood remarked.
"Because you don't understand runes well enough," Mog countered. "Alright, let's begin."
He waved his wand, conjuring parchment and quills.
The work was tedious, and Albert could hardly believe he was part of it. When he finally left Brood's office, his head buzzed, replaying everything he had heard. He understood, but his mind struggled to process the chaotic knowledge.
Albert didn't even notice when he returned to the Gryffindor common room or when he closed his eyes. His thoughts kept circling back to the runes and Mog's words until he drifted into sleep.