The problem of achieving true permanence for the Ironclad Charm bound to the protective wooden bracelet had rapidly superseded all other theoretical pursuits in Albert's mind.
He spent the subsequent days imrsed in the deepest sections of the library, poring over complex, ancient magical texts. He learned that extending a spell's duration was less about raw power and more about refined control and magical intent.
The simplest way was to maintain intense concentration while casting—which essentially ant a continuous, conscious drain of magical power, a thod utterly impractical for a passive amulet. The longevity of a copied object, for instance, often hinged entirely on the caster's inherent magical strength and focus at the mont of creation; so vanish in hours, others persist indefinitely.
Albert also studied the infamous Permanent Sticking Charm, a terrifyingly irreversible spell that could bind objects forever. It belonged to a different, ancient category of magic, one that defied the usual principles of decay and dissipation.
If the four Founders were rely mortals, and they managed to lay down the incredibly potent and permanent enchantnts that sustain Hogwarts Castle, then achieving long-term permanence must be possible, he mused.
However, his own failure—the quick burnout of the amulet's passive shield during the Stupefy test—suggested a massive disparity. Either his foundational theoretical knowledge was fundantally flawed, or his practical magical power was still far inferior to the requirents of such ancient arts.
He briefly entertained the thought of seeking guidance from Professor Flitwick, the Charms Master, whose expertise in spell duration was legendary, but decided to hold off. He needed to understand the limitations of his runes first.
Albert was sitting alone in the common room later that afternoon, ticulously redrawing a sequence of runic sigils onto a fresh piece of yew wood when a sudden, playful tap struck his left shoulder from behind.
He didn't turn his head. "You're on my right, Field," Albert stated calmly, not pausing his work.
"You are so boringly predictable, Albert," a voice chuckled. Field, a fellow second-year mber of the Transfiguration Club, imdiately swung around the chair and dropped into the seat beside him. "Have you actually seen this week's issue of Transfiguration Today?"
"I haven't had a chance, no," Albert replied honestly. He'd been too consud by the problem of the Ironclad Amulet's short-term failure. The latest magazine had arrived earlier, but he hadn't even broken the seal.
"You haven't even glanced at it?" Field asked, incredulously, staring at Albert as if he were observing a rare, unmotivated specin. "It's not like you to ignore academic news. Is sothing wrong with this week's journal?" Albert sensed the unusual tone in Field's voice.
Field finally gave up on being subtle. He unrolled the thick, stiff copy of the journal and smoothed it flat across the table, his finger stabbing a specific article.
"Your paper—the one you submitted for the club a few weeks ago—it's been published in this issue of Transfiguration Today," Field announced, delivering the news with a look that said, I'm genuinely impressed, but also vaguely defeated by your existence. "Professor McGonagall announced in class that our current assignnt is to study and critique the core theory of your published article."
Students who overheard the conversation, drawn by the sudden, sharp declaration of a first-year publishing in a high-level academic journal, imdiately crowded around to see the article.
Albert leaned in to read the title: Dynamic Transformation: Adapting Elental Shift for Rapid Defensive Casting. He scanned the text quickly. "Professor McGonagall edited quite a bit out, didn't she?" he observed dryly, looking up at Field. "I'd say nearly half the original content is missing."
"I know," Field nodded, his expression turning serious. "I actually read your original manuscript. I had to beg Professor McGonagall for a copy to understand the context. You really had the audacity to write about those specific applications."
Transfiguration was known to be the most complex, and in untrained hands, the most unstable form of magic.
"What exactly was the issue?" Albert asked, though he already knew the answer.
"The issue, Albert, is the applications," Field explained, lowering his voice. "You weren't writing about using Transfiguration defensively; you were writing about using it as a direct, lethal offensive weapon—using high-speed, non-verbal transfiguration to instantaneously turn an attacker's clothing into weighted, immobilizing steel, or their shoes into solid lead anchors. You were essentially outlining the modern theoretical basis for the Transfiguration Torture Spell—or worse, a quick and silent assassination thod."
"Was there a theoretical flaw in the proposed applications?" Albert challenged.
"No, that's the terrifying part—it was theoretically ingenious," Field conceded with a sigh. "But you must understand, Transfiguration Today is an academic journal focused on the advancent of magical stability and scholarship. The Ministry of Magic—which often dictates the acceptable bounds of public magical discourse—doesn't want an instruction manual on how to weaponize the most difficult branch of magic."
Field paused, looking directly at Albert. "They aim to maintain a veneer of peace and control within the Wizarding world. Publishing a guide to using elental transfiguration against human targets completely undermines that effort."
"I understand the politics," Albert nodded, his smile fleeting and edged with cynicism. "After all, nobody wants their controlled ecosystem disrupted, and an obedient flock of sheep is always easier to manage than a society ard with the theoretical knowledge to be wolves."
"But…?" Field noticed the hint of cold scorn in Albert's tone.
"It's nothing," Albert said, shaking his head and smiling genuinely this ti. The truth was, the managent strategy was profoundly flawed. By withholding crucial, defensive knowledge under the guise of maintaining 'peace,' they left the general public vulnerable. Voldemort's eventual, devastating return, he knew, would be the final, crushing demonstration of the Ministry's short-sighted folly.
"Well, I don't think it's practical at all," Fred chid in suddenly, having finished awkwardly reading the text upside-down over Albert's shoulder. "It demands absolutely superb Transfiguration skills. As we all know, most average wizards are spectacularly terrible at Transfiguration."
"Shut up, Fred," Shanna hissed, annoyed by his blunt assessnt, which was a little too close to the bone for many present. No one willingly admits their magical aptitude is subpar, even when it's demonstrably true.
George, however, quickly reached out and clamped a hand over his twin's mouth, grinning broadly. "What Fred ans is that this paper will undoubtedly elevate the standard of magical defense for all students, which is, of course, brilliant."
Just then, Baker, an older student from Ravenclaw, approached and slapped Albert jovially on the shoulder, breaking the tension.
"Look at you, my friend! You are truly enviable!" Baker exclaid. "I never thought I'd see a first-year publish their debut paper in Transfiguration Today. You've completely shattered the record here at Hogwarts. I rember McDougal only just broke the record two years ago, and you've already smashed her ti!"
"McDougal?" Shanna's eyebrows rose. The na belonged to a well-known, high-achieving Ravenclaw prefect.
"Who is calling my na?" a sharp voice cut through the small crowd.
The atmosphere imdiately beca incredibly awkward. Standing directly behind Baker, having just approached the table, was Katrina McDougal, a fierce-looking Ravenclaw with perfectly braided hair and an air of intense, cerebral competence.
Katrina sensed the shift in the air and frowned unhappily. "What's the problem?"
"Nothing at all," Albert said smoothly, clearing his throat. "We weren't talking about you, specifically."
"I didn't realize Izebel had a sister who was also a high-achieving Ravenclaw?" Baker said, looking at Katrina with surprise. "Izebel never ntioned you."
"Why would she bring it up?" Field asked Baker flatly.
"Just simple curiosity about the lineage of brilliance, that's all."
"Katrina and I are in the sa year," Albert offered, confirming he knew both McDougal sisters.
Katrina had already correctly deduced the subject of the conversation: her older sister, Izebel, a brilliant fourth-year Ravenclaw, had until recently held the record for the youngest student to publish in Transfiguration Today.
Katrina herself was already keenly aware of Albert's talent; she had been given a copy of his abridged paper, and while her sister's work had been excellent, Albert's theoretical scope was, undeniably, on a completely different, superior level. The record was gone.
She looked at Albert, assessing him, then at the empty paper-box on his desk. She offered a tight, professional nod of acknowledgnt before turning to the others.
"If you gentlen are quite finished admiring the paper," Katrina said, her tone crisp and dismissive, "I'm told the Library requires a few dozen books to be re-alphabetized. And you, George and Fred, should be back to your detention assignnts, unless you'd like to find yourselves scrubbing all the gargoyles on the fourth floor as well."
The threat was clear. The twins, suddenly rembering the sting of Filch's wrath, didn't need to be told twice. They scattered, grabbing their bags in a rush.
Albert rely smiled, recognizing a kindred spirit of organized ambition. The politics of the press and the epheral nature of magic were montarily overshadowed by the more pressing, eternal hierarchy of the school. He still had the problem of his permanent charm to solve. He made a ntal note to check if Katrina had any spare yew wood available; a rival's resources were often the sweetest.
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