During the Easter holidays, Hogwarts emptied slightly as some students chose to return home.
Albert, however, remained. With the end-of-semester exams fast approaching and summer beckoning, the heavy academic workload—designed by the professors specifically to prevent pre-exam laziness—made traveling home feel pointless. He needed access to the library, the quiet of the empty common rooms, and uninterrupted time to decipher the Grimoire.
His mother, Daisy, was disappointed he hadn't returned, but she still sent him a carefully packed parcel containing a few Easter eggs. Shera the owl delivered it on Easter Sunday, along with a photograph.
Albert pulled out the picture and grinned. It showed Tom, his massive Kneazle, crouched possessively in a woven basket overflowing with brightly painted Easter eggs, looking for all the world like a furry, grumpy mother hen intent on incubating the chocolate. He couldn't help but find the scene hilarious. And is it just my imagination, or has Tom gotten fat again?
Shera, feeling neglected by Albert's focus on the picture, hooted in a distinctly displeased tone.
"I'm sorry, girl." Albert quickly appeased her with a handful of owl nuts retrieved from his robe pocket. He then unwrapped one of the eggs. It was from a confectioner his mother favored, featuring a rich dark chocolate shell filled with his favorite sweet: chocolate fudge.
He broke off a generous piece and offered the rest to his roommates. "Would anyone like some of this candy-filled goodness?"
Lee Jordan cracked open his own egg—a gigantic, ostrich-sized sphere—and found it, too, stuffed with various sweets. "Try mine; I've got all sorts of things here."
Albert took a small, bright candy from Lee's pile, popped it into his mouth, and immediately shouted in surprise, "A Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean!"
"Otherwise, what were you expecting?" Lee rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
"Bertie Bott's!" the twins roared in unison, instantly drawn to the prospect of gastronomic roulette.
"Honestly, who puts those infernal Every Flavor Beans in a holiday egg?" Lee complained, nonetheless accepting a piece of Albert's dark chocolate fudge.
Fred ate a handful of the joke beans, chased it with the rich chocolate, and mumbled, "George, do you think Mum remembered to send us eggs this year?"
"Maybe she forgot," George replied, trying to sound indifferent. "She's been very busy."
"Your mother never forgets her Easter eggs," Percy corrected them severely, arriving just then to deliver two large, oblong Easter eggs to Fred and George. He then turned to Albert. "Professor Brod asked me to remind you to be at his office at six o'clock this evening. Don't mistake the time."
"Six in the evening?" Lee Jordan repeated, surprised.
"It's an invitation," Albert explained casually, wrapping up his remaining chocolate. "Professor Brod invited me for… well, I think it's afternoon tea."
"Have you ever seen anyone host afternoon tea at six in the evening?" George scoffed, shaking his head. "There's a limit to talking nonsense, Albert."
"Seriously, you didn't mention this?" Fred looked incredulous. "I bet it's a party, or a small banquet!"
"Professor Brod often invites me for tea; at most, he offers a few biscuits," Albert countered.
"Why does that sound so strange when you say it?" Lee muttered, unable to hide his envy.
"I'll tell you when I get back whether it was tea or a feast." Albert didn't elaborate further. He knew exactly what he was attending: an academic meeting on a level few wizards ever reached.
"Look there!" George suddenly shouted, pointing toward the common room entrance. "What happened to Shana?"
Albert looked up. Shana, a fifth-year, stumbled in, shielding her head with her arms while textbooks, school bags, and even an ink bottle hovered violently above her, ready to strike. Albert instantly recognized the effects of a targeted spell and, with a swift flick of his wand, neutralized the charm before the objects could inflict damage.
"Are you alright?" Albert guessed the culprit immediately.
"I was… in the library," Shana gasped, leaning against the wall, utterly winded. "I completely forgot you can't eat… Miss Pince got me."
Albert nodded. Only the terror of the Hogwarts librarian could produce such a dramatic expulsion.
"Thank you, Albert, that was tough." Shana recovered quickly and pulled out her own enormous, beautifully packaged Easter egg. "Do you want some jelly beans? I bought too many."
Her egg was clearly commercial, bought from the same high-end confectioner as Albert's, and was filled with an assortment of flavored jelly candies. She'd been caught trying to sneak a sweet bite in the silent sanctuary of the library.
Albert accepted a strawberry gummy. "Just don't let Miss Pince see you. I sneak hard candy into the stacks all the time," he confided with a wink.
"That's a good secret to know!" Shana chuckled.
"Ouch!" Albert felt a sharp, painful peck on his elbow and instinctively drew back his arm.
"What's wrong with your owl?" Shana asked, eyeing Shera.
"She's forcing me to reply," Albert muttered. He quickly took a quill and a piece of parchment and wrote a brief note home, primarily reminding Nia not to overfeed Tom.
As Shera flew off, Albert refocused. He felt a nagging worry about his workload. "Lately, I've been focusing so much energy on the Ancient Runes that I feel like I've neglected my other subjects. I haven't even properly responded to Mr. Fosco's last letter."
"What's on your mind?" Shana asked, slightly irritated by his distracted chatter.
"Nothing," Albert replied carelessly. "Just thinking about the mountain of homework I have yet to finish."
"You're the least qualified person here to say that!" Fred said angrily.
"We're off now, got some business to attend to," George announced, pulling Fred away with an air of sudden secrecy.
Albert watched them go. Fred and George have been acting unusually clandestine lately. What scheme are they brewing up now? He dismissed it quickly and continued discussing the importance of the holiday revision notes with Lee Jordan.
Precisely at six o'clock, Albert consulted his pocket watch, stood, and bid his roommates farewell.
"Where is he off to?" Shana asked, watching Albert leave. "Dinner will be served soon."
"Professor Brod invited him to a private dinner," Lee Jordan explained, reorganizing his notes with a hint of genuine admiration. "Albert is Professor Brod's most exceptional student, without a doubt."
"I thought that was Professor McGonagall's realm," Shana said, surprised.
"Albert has been going to Professor Brod's office weekly for months now…" Lee began detailing Albert's recent activities.
Meanwhile, Albert had returned to his dorm, tidied his robes, and proceeded to Professor Brod's office. The professor was clearly expecting him. As Albert raised his hand to knock, the heavy wooden door swung open on its own.
"You are always so punctual," Professor Brod said with a soft smile. "Then we must leave at once, so as not to keep the others waiting."
"Where exactly are we going?" Albert asked.
"To McDougal's," Brod replied. He reached onto the mantelpiece, picked up a small silver-plated box filled with glittering emerald powder, and handed it to Albert.
"What is this?" Albert examined the shimmering contents, immediately identifying it.
"Floo Powder," Brod confirmed. "Ah, I nearly forgot, you've never used the Floo Network before, have you?" He then provided quick instructions: "It's simple. Approach the fireplace, throw the powder into the flames, and once the fire turns emerald green and rises, step into it. Then, state your destination clearly. The name of our destination is: The Cabin on the Lake."
Albert took a pinch of the powder, walked to the hearth, and tossed the glitter into the flames. Instantly, the fire flared into a tall column of brilliant emerald green.
Albert hesitated for a moment—the idea of walking into a fire was inherently jarring—then stepped forward, plunging into the flames and calling out, "The Cabin on the Lake!"
The journey was anything but pleasant. Albert felt an immediate, sickening sensation of his body being spun rapidly. He squeezed his eyes shut but caught glimpses of other fireplace openings flashing past in a dizzying green blur. The wind howled in his ears, and he felt a terrifying sense of high-speed movement.
Suddenly, the spinning stopped, the noise vanished, and Albert tumbled out, landing awkwardly on a cold stone hearth.
"That was… rather jarring," he muttered, dusting himself off.
A hand helped him up, and a sharp, reedy voice spoke. "Welcome, Mr. Anderson."
Albert froze, turning to face a small, stern-looking House-Elf.
Professor Brod emerged moments later, brushing the soot from his own robes.
"Gentlemen, please follow me. Dinner is served," the house-elf said, marching off with severe efficiency.
"Dinner?" Albert looked at Professor Brod skeptically.
"Dinner, of course. Come now, don't keep our hosts waiting."
The description "Cabin on the Lake" was utterly misleading. The house was enormous, a luxurious manor built largely of glass and dark wood, nestled on the shore of a wide, dark body of water.
The house-elf led them through corridors, up a curving staircase, and finally into a vast, carpeted sunroom with one entire wall made of transparent, enchanted glass overlooking the lake.
The dinner was set for five. Already present were McDougal and two other wizards who appeared ancient. One was definitely over a century old, the other at least eighty. Both looked at Albert with profound, undisguised curiosity.
"Gentlemen, this is Albert Anderson, the genius I mentioned," McDougal announced, gesturing towards Albert. "He is profoundly skilled in Ancient Runes, as well as Transfiguration—you may have read his article in Transfiguration Today. Professor Brod also assures me he is exceptional in Defence and Charms."
"I'm Albert, very pleased to meet you all," Albert said, trying to seem polite and adequately deferential, despite the absurdity of the situation.
"Tiberius Ogden," McDougal introduced the oldest man, who radiated an intense, focused energy. "A revered master wizard and runic expert. The 'Magical Theory' textbooks you currently use owe a significant debt to Tiberius's foundational work." The ancient man reached out and shook Albert's hand with a surprisingly firm grip.
"And this is Gerbersmith," McDougal continued, gesturing to the man in his eighties. "Gerbersmith specializes in Transfiguration, Divination, Ancient Runes, and he is a recognized expert in Alchemy."
Albert shook Mr. Smith's hand, feeling a subtle, indefinable awkwardness that he couldn't quite place.
The dinner was magnificent, though the conversation was anything but trivial. The five men—and boy—talked shop, focusing on the history and application of Ancient Runes. As McDougal claimed, all present were bona fide experts who had contributed to the collective knowledge of the field. Smith and Ogden were visibly astonished by Albert's depth of knowledge.
Seeing is believing, Albert realized. His ability to discuss the linguistic and conceptual mechanics of the runic sequences without faltering immediately established him as a true peer.
The sight was indeed surreal: a twelve-year-old boy conversing about complex academic theory with four men whose combined age likely exceeded three centuries. They spoke fluently in the Ancient Magical Script, creating an atmosphere so immersive that an outside observer truly would have thought they had stumbled back a thousand years.
The conversation eventually shifted, and Albert took the opportunity to express his interest in Alchemy to Gerbersmith, specifically asking about the runic application in crafting.
Gerbersmith, intrigued, examined Albert's wooden bracelet. With a soft smile, he said, "Albert, there is nothing structurally wrong with your protective bracelet. Its failure lies simply in the fact that you have not yet learned to power the runes."
Albert was momentarily stunned. He thought back to the vague, frustrating passages of the Grimoire.
"Rune script is a script of mystery that holds inherent magical power," Gerbersmith explained patiently. "However, what you are doing now is merely carving it—it is still inert. You must learn to concentrate your mind and consciously transfer your magical power into the runes as you carve them. This is why runic writing is called a magical script."
He continued, "When wizards use this magically charged script to cast spells, the spells naturally become more powerful. Only those skilled in charging the runes can truly realize their potential. Many ancient wizards who believed their magic was inherently more powerful simply stumbled upon this technique without ever fully understanding the theory behind it."
Gerbersmith's energy, however, began to flag, and the deep, focused discussion tapered off. Both he and Tiberius Ogden expressed a desire to maintain a correspondence with Albert, indicating a genuine interest in his future research.
The private academic dinner concluded around ten o'clock. Albert, taking his leave, returned to the Floo fireplace with Professor Brod.
As he stood waiting for the professor to prepare the fire powder, he suddenly experienced a moment of disquieting realization.
He glanced at the ages of the attendees: McDougal (mid-forties to fifties), Professor Brod (sixties), Gerbersmith (eighties), and Tiberius Ogden (nineties or older). And then there was him: twelve years old.
One person is missing.
He realized there was a gaping hole in the apparent magical lineage: a wizard in their twenties or thirties. There was no recent genius, no intermediate generation bridging the gap between McDougal and Albert himself.
"I wonder if I'm overthinking it?" Albert muttered to himself.
Just before stepping into the green flames, he turned to Professor Brod. "Professor Brod, was anyone missing from our gathering today?"
The professor paused, the green powder glinting in his hand. "Why do you ask that, Albert?" he asked, a subtle surprise in his voice.
"It's nothing," Albert said carefully. "I just felt as though one generation was missing from the feast."
"No one was missing," Professor Brod repeated, his voice returning to normal, though perhaps a shade too firm. "The truth is, as I mentioned last time, the lineage of Ancient Runes has a serious gap. It's not that there were fewer people today; it's that the family tree itself has been broken."
Albert sensed a deeper, untold story in Brod's words, but did not press further. He returned through the dizzying Floo network and found himself back in the quiet safety of Brod's empty office.
He slowly made his way to the Gryffindor common room. It was still moderately busy, with a few students finalizing assignments or lingering by the fire. He stifled a yawn, climbed the spiral stairs to the boys' dorm, and dropped his bag. His roommates hadn't yet returned.
Albert stared blankly at his wooden bracelet, turning over Gerbersmith's simple, profound advice: transfer your magical power into the runes as you carve them.
It was nearly 11:30 PM when Lee Jordan finally crept back into the dorm, clearly having enjoyed the late hours in the common room.
"Where are Fred and George? They weren't with you?" Albert frowned slightly, noting their absence. The curfew was strictly 11 PM.
"No, I didn't see them at all," Lee replied, a touch of genuine worry entering his voice. "I thought they must have come back to rest."
"Fred and George aren't in the common room either?" A distinct, cold sense of unease settled over Albert. The twins had been planning something secretive all day.