The following days were a blur of observation and silent preparation. Albert found himself watching Professor Smith with the intensity of a hawk tracking a rabbit. The man was an enigma, a polished surface that reflected everything but revealed nothing.
Because of this constant surveillance, the specialized "Babbling Beverage" Albert had planned to brew was pushed to the back burner of his mind, the ingredients sitting untouched in his trunk. He was too preoccupied with a different kind of progress. In the quiet monts between classes, he practiced making his Patronus speak—a feat of high-level magic that Aberforth Dumbledore had made sound as simple as whistling.
In reality, it was maddening. Every ti he tried to split his consciousness to give the silver fox a voice, the Patronus flickered and dimd, becoming little more than a translucent mist. If it weren't for the steady tick of experience points climbing on his internal skill panel, Albert would have genuinely suspected the old bartender at the Hog's Head was pulling his leg. But the panel didn't lie; he was getting closer to a breakthrough. He just needed to reach a point where the magic was so instinctive that a Dentor's chill wouldn't even register on his radar.
"You've been... different lately. And I don't just an the way you've been ignoring the Arithmancy howork."
Albert turned to see Katrina MacDougall matching his stride as they left the latest Charms Club eting. The corridor was bustling with students heading to dinner, the air thick with the sll of roasting ats drifting from the Great Hall.
"Different?" Albert asked, offering a casual smile. "I prefer the term 'focused.' Ti is a finite resource, Katrina, and lately, I've been spending it in areas that don't involve calculating the probability of a hex rebounding."
"Isabelle ntioned you haven't shown up to the Ancient Runes advanced study group in over a week," Katrina said, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and slight annoyance. "She thinks you've finally found a puzzle you can't solve."
"Isabelle has an active imagination," Albert replied, greeting a passing Hufflepuff with a nod. "I'm just prioritizing. Between the Wizarding Card tournant and... other projects, there's only so much brainpower to go around. Even I need to sleep occasionally."
"Is that why you're always having tea with Professor Smith?" Katrina asked suddenly. "Isabelle says you two talk for hours. What could you possibly have in common with a substitute who's about to resign?"
"Academic curiosity," Albert said smoothly. "The Professor has a very... unique perspective on the intersection of ancient history and modern defensive theory. It's an exchange of ideas."
Katrina pouted, a strand of red hair falling over her face. "You make it sound so grand. I go to him for help with my spellcasting, and he treats like a talented student. He treats you like a colleague."
"Maybe you should try bringing him a rare blend of Oolong instead of a howork question," Albert joked. He paused, noticing the way she was fidgeting with her wand. "But you didn't corner to talk about tea. What's actually on your mind?"
Katrina hesitated, checking to make sure they were out of earshot of a group of gossiping third-years. "That bottle of Babbling Beverage you ntioned... the high-concentration stuff. Does it actually work? I an, does it really make you... sharper?"
Albert stopped walking, leaning against a stone pillar. He looked at her closely. "You're worried about the Card Ga tournant, aren't you?"
"I signed up," she admitted, her face flushing slightly. "And I want that prize. But I've seen the way you and the others play. If there's a way to get an edge, I'd be a fool not to ask."
"The stuff I have is diluted," Albert explained, his tone becoming serious. "It provides a temporary boost to cognitive processing—think of it like overclocking a Muggle computer—but it's not permanent. And the undiluted version? That's not a potion; it's a neurotoxin. One wrong drop and you'll be spending the rest of your life trying to rember how to use a spoon."
"But you've taken it," she challenged.
"Under very controlled circumstances," Albert admitted.
"Could you get so? The real stuff?" Her eyes were bright with a desperate kind of ambition.
Albert shook his head imdiately. "Absolutely not. It's a restricted substance for a reason, Katrina. Most of what you find on the black market is failed experintal sludge. It's dangerous, and quite frankly, you don't need it. You're plenty smart without chemical assistance."
"Wait... you actually drank the pure version?" Katrina stared at him, her expression shifting from ambition to a sudden, crushing realization. She looked at him as if he were a different species entirely. "You really are a monster, Albert Anderson."
Without another word, she turned and marched toward the library, leaving Albert standing alone in the hallway.
"What did I say?" he muttered to himself, genuinely puzzled.
He didn't dwell on it for long. He had a schedule to keep. Shifting his weight, he headed toward the seventh floor and slipped into the Room of Requirent.
Inside, the air was already vibrating with the sounds of simulated combat. Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were in the middle of a frantic three-way duel, though "duel" was a generous term for what looked like a chaotic ga of tag with wands.
"Expelliarmus!" Lee shouted, narrowly missing George's ear.
"Locomotor Mortis!" George countered, hitting the floor near Lee's feet.
Albert watched from the doorway for a mont, noticing that they were using spells from the Practical Defensive Magic book he'd let them borrow. George managed to clip Lee with the Leg-Locker Curse, and the boy collapsed, his legs snapping together as if held by an invisible vice.
"A bit late on the draw, Lee," Albert said, stepping into the room. He flicked his wand, and Lee's legs sprang apart instantly.
"It's hard!" Lee complained, scrambling up. "George plays dirty."
"In a real fight, there's no such thing as 'dirty,'" Albert reminded them. "But the Leg-Locker is a prankster's spell. If you want to end a fight, use Petrificus Totalus. It's more efficient and leaves them completely immobilized."
"We like the classics," Fred said, grinning. "Besides, watching Lee hop around like a confused toad is much more entertaining."
"If you want to prank people, learn to cast without shouting," Albert said, his tone turning sharp. "Shouting 'Leg-Locker Curse' is basically a polite invitation for your opponent to duck. It's stupid."
He raised his wand without a word. A silent red bolt caught Fred in the chest, and his wand flew out of his hand before he could even blink.
"Hey!" Fred yelped.
"Non-verbal," Albert said. "Try again. All three of you against . And use the Impedint Jinx—I want to see that 'smooth' casting we talked about."
The trio fanned out, their expressions turning serious. They had been practicing, and it showed. The barrage of jinxes that followed was faster and better aid than the previous session. Albert had to move constantly, his Shield Charm shimring under the repeated impacts.
"Stupefy!" George yelled, trying to catch Albert on the flank.
"I told you," Albert sighed, dodging the red light and snapping an Impedint Jinx back that sent George tumbling into a pile of cushions. "Stop. Telling. . What. You're. Doing."
He pulled George back up and sighed. "You're frustrated because you want 'powerful' magic. But you're missing the point. Casting is like breathing. If you have to think about the breath, you'll choke when you start running. We keep practicing the Impedint Jinx because it's the perfect foundation for rhythmic, high-speed offense."
"It does feel easier," Fred admitted, stretching his arm. "The wand feels... lighter, sohow."
"That's the advanced technique," Albert lied smoothly. "You're developing 'magical muscle mory.' Keep this up, and by the ti we actually go into the Forest, you'll be able to launch a dozen spells in the ti it takes an Acromantula to twitch a leg."
"You really aren't tricking us?" Lee asked, squinting suspiciously.
"Would I do that?" Albert asked with a perfectly straight face.
"Yes," the three of them said in unison.
"Well, trick or not, you're better than ninety percent of the fifth-years right now," Albert said, checking his watch. "Let's do one more round. And this ti, if I hear a single incantation, the person who shouted gets to taste the Mandrake salt again."
The room went deathly silent. The three roommates gripped their wands with renewed, terrified focus. For the first ti, they weren't just students holding sticks; they looked like young wizards ready for a fight. And as Albert raised his own wand, he felt a spark of satisfaction. Whatever Professor Smith had planned, he wouldn't be facing just one genius—he'd be facing a coordinated unit. 🏰🛡️🔥
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