"Come in, the door is open."
Professor Brood's voice, devoid of its usual academic cadence, drifted from the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
Albert's hand, raised to knock, froze mid-air. Izebel Carrow, who had followed him, glanced at his stalled hand, offered a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk, and simply reached past him to push open the heavy wooden door.
When Albert stepped into the office, he was met with a scene of profound and sudden emptiness. This was no longer the warm, richly decorated office of the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
The sweeping, expensive woolen rug was gone, the heavy silk curtains had been taken down, and the walls were barren, stripped of the imposing, scholarly bookshelves. The large oak desk was clear save for a single, worn leather briefcase. The room was sterile, silent, and felt oddly hostile—like a stage stripped bare between acts.
"Did you resign already, Professor?" Albert asked, the question less about information and more about confirming his own deductions.
"I have resigned, effective immediately, and I am leaving the castle this very afternoon," Professor Brood confirmed calmly, gesturing for the students to sit on the last remaining pieces of furniture—two stiff, high-backed wooden chairs.
Albert understood perfectly. He knew Brood had sensed the subtle, creeping influence of the curse that afflicted the post, perhaps after the near-fatal incident in the Forbidden Forest. Resigning early was a shrewd, self-preserving move—the only way to truly break the curse's hold.
"That was a wise choice, Professor," Albert stated, sitting down. "It's far better to leave intact than to wait for the curse to start its work."
"Shut up, Anderson, that's rude," Katrina Carrow, who had followed Izebel into the room, hissed, glaring at Albert for his blunt assessment.
"On the contrary, Miss Carrow, I quite agree with Mr. Anderson," Professor Brood interjected, smiling slightly at Albert. "The curse on this post is legendary and lethal. I did not accept the position with the intention of being injured or, worse, meeting a permanent end. Leaving before the worst of the year's inevitable dangers arrived seemed the only logical course of action."
Katrina was momentarily stunned into silence, realizing that her kind, scholarly uncle had been ruthlessly pragmatic all along.
"But… what will happen to the Defense Against the Dark Arts course?" she finally managed to ask, voicing the concern of every student.
"The core curriculum I intended to cover is already complete," Brood explained, opening his briefcase. "The remainder of the term is dedicated to review and preparation for the final exams. Headmaster Dumbledore will undoubtedly secure a temporary substitute to oversee the class sessions until the end of the term."
"Could that substitute possibly be Professor Snape?" Albert asked, a hint of genuine dread in his voice. He had no wish to spend the rest of the year enduring the Potions Master's sneering attention.
"Professor Snape," Brood corrected gently, a faint ghost of amusement in his eyes.
"Yes, Professor Snape," Albert conceded. Then, refocusing on the task, he asked, "What about Mr. McDougal's manuscript? The third part of Advanced Rune Studies—has that been indefinitely shelved?"
"Ah, the research," Brood said, pulling out a heavy, leather-bound folder. "That is currently postponed. Mog and I agree that the final section has hit a significant theoretical bottleneck. The application we were researching proved far more complex than anticipated."
He handed the folder to Albert. "Mog believes you are the most likely person to find the flaw in our current theorem. Consider this your final homework assignment from me. If you manage to find a breakthrough, write to him. He'll be keenly interested."
Albert nodded, accepting the heavy folder. The request was a subtle acknowledgment of his profound ability to see around corners in theoretical magic. He rose gracefully. "Thank you, Professor Brood. I wish you safe travels."
Izebel stood up, too, accompanying Albert to the threshold of the stripped-down office.
"You don't have to escort me, you know," Albert quipped, a slight, teasing smile on his face. "Unless, of course, you wanted to hear the true, true account of the spider massacre."
The heavy wooden door in front of him slammed shut with an audible thud before Izebel could reply.
A humorless man, indeed, Albert thought, shaking his head. He glanced back at the closed door, then turned and headed toward the library, already anticipating the theoretical problem in the folder. He felt a sudden, familiar surge of energy—the challenge was exactly what he craved.
Inside the office, the atmosphere had shifted immediately.
"That man finally left," Katrina muttered, still faintly resentful of Albert's superior air and his casual dismissal of her father's colleague. "Uncle Mog seems to think very highly of him, though."
"He is a true genius, Katrina," Izebel said, leaning back against the chair. She reached out and patted her sister's head, a rare, almost protective gesture. "He is destined to graduate with a mountain of awards and accolades. Competing with him in an intellectual arena is simply self-flagellation."
"Albert Anderson is undeniably brilliant," Professor Brood confirmed, the warmth returning to his voice as he looked at the girls. "He is, perhaps, the most naturally gifted wizard I have ever encountered."
"Yes, and possesses a rather irritating, perverse sense of humor," Izebel conceded, remembering Albert's theatrical performance in the Great Hall.
"Ravenclaws often possess an eccentric nature," Professor Brood observed. "Geniuses frequently operate on a wavelength that clashes with the ordinary."
Izebel's face twitched. "Albert is in Gryffindor, Uncle Brood."
"Of course I know that," Brood said, smiling. "Now, back to the purpose of this final meeting."
He opened his briefcase and pulled out an elegant, dark wooden box, intricately decorated with runes and arcane patterns. He placed it on the chair between the sisters.
"These are items your father entrusted to me shortly before his passing," Brood explained solemnly.
Katrina immediately tried to open the box but found the lid utterly sealed. "I can't open it. It's locked."
"It is protected by a familial enchantment," Brood said. He drew his wand, tapped the box, and chanted a low, complex series of incantations. "Now, place both your hands on the box. Your shared genetic connection to your father is the key to bypassing the charm."
The sisters placed their hands on the warm wood. A faint, almost musical click sounded, and the box automatically sprang open, revealing its contents: a stiff piece of parchment and a small, antique brass key.
Izebel took the letter, her expression unreadable, and began to read its contents, which detailed that the key belonged to a Gringotts vault and that the vault contained no Galleons, but rather the detailed files and experimental records from their father's final magical research project.
"Why did Father entrust these things to us?" Izebel asked, her voice tight with surprise. "Did he want us to continue his research?"
"No. After his death, Mog and I secured the original research data, believing it to be a necessary, albeit dangerous, family inheritance," Brood explained the key's origin. "We thought it prudent to hold them until you were old enough to make a rational choice about your father's legacy. Given your exceptional abilities, Mog believed that if anyone could safely continue the research, it would be one of you."
"Thank you for the offering, Uncle Brood, but we decline," Izebel stated firmly, closing the box. The research, after all, was what had led to her father's death. Izebel wanted no part of the dangerous legacy.
"I understand," Professor Brood nodded. "If you truly want no part of it, I can arrange to dispose of the materials safely, perhaps passing them on to another scholar who understands the risk, such as Mr. Anderson."
Izebel paused. "Anderson?"
"Or perhaps Rovenna Smith," Brood offered. "She was a colleague of your father's and is deeply interested in that specific branch of Arithmancy."
"Can't you listen to my opinion?" Katrina protested angrily, her disappointment surging. "This is an inheritance from our father! Even if it's dangerous, I don't want to simply surrender it to strangers! I think we should keep it. Perhaps I could continue his research in the future!"
An intense, silent moment passed in the otherwise empty office. Izebel looked at her sister, seeing the deep, emotional need to hold onto this last physical link to their father.
"Fine," Izebel finally conceded, sighing. She looked at Professor Brood, bowing slightly. "We will take the key, Uncle Brood. Thank you for holding onto them all this time."
"You are both very welcome," Professor Brood replied, the hint of a final, knowing smile returning.
Albert, meanwhile, had reached the library, but his destination was not the crowded tables, but a remote, rarely used section near the Restricted Area. His mind was fixated on the founder's legacy, the rumored Ravenclaw's Secret Treasure.
He cast a complex, self-correcting Disillusionment Charm—a necessity for a first-year wandering the upper corridors outside normal hours—and made his way to the seventh floor, stopping near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.
Albert closed his eyes and began the process of petitioning the Room of Requirement. He walked past the blank stretch of wall three times, focusing intensely on his need.
Attempt 1: "Enter Ravenclaw's secret treasure… Ravenclaw's secret treasure… Ravenclaw's secret treasure."
He opened his eyes. The wall remained blank, ordinary.
"Failure," Albert muttered under his breath. "Too literal, perhaps. Or the name is incorrect."
He quickly adjusted his request and tried again.
Attempt 2: "I need Ravenclaw's secret room… I need Ravenclaw's secret room… I need to get into Ravenclaw's secret room."
He opened his eyes. The door had appeared: a plain, narrow wooden door. He slipped inside. The room was small, circular, and utterly bare—a single wooden chair, a table, and a vertical banner featuring the majestic Ravenclaw eagle hanging on the far wall.
"It is indeed a secret room, but hardly a treasure," Albert sighed, leaving the empty space. "The room is interpreting my need too literally. It presents me with a secret room, not the legacy."
Attempt 3: "I want you to be Ravenclaw's treasure vault… Ravenclaw's treasure vault… Ravenclaw's treasure vault."
He opened his eyes, and the door was back. He entered a large, dusty chamber that immediately reminded him of a massive, magical junk room. It was stuffed floor-to-ceiling with discarded items from centuries of Ravenclaw students: broken quills, yellowed books, singular boots, half-finished projects, and piles of tattered robes.
"A treasure chest? This is a refuse heap," Albert grumbled, his lip twitching. He had failed again. The Room of Requirement was mocking his materialistic interpretation of the word "treasure."
He left the room, discouraged. If the treasure isn't here, why would Professor Brood even hint at it? Just as he was about to abandon the quest, his Character Panel flashed a new entry.
Task:You possess a keen sense that Ravenclaw's heritage is near. Why not try tapping into Ravenclaw's true Wealth of Knowledge?Reward:Unknown
"The Wealth of Knowledge!" Albert realized. "That's the specific key phrase. That's Ravenclaw's treasure—not gold, but wisdom."
He immediately tried the phrase.
Attempt 4: "I need the wealth of knowledge… I need the wealth of knowledge… I need the wealth of knowledge."
He opened the door and entered. This time, the room was a breathtaking circular library—a true haven of learning. Curved bookshelves lined the walls, stretching impossibly high, illuminated by a single, large skylight. A single round table and a comfortable armchair sat in the center.
He sat down in the chair, but his quest panel remained unchanged. The task was still active.
"Even a literal library of infinite books is not the 'Wealth of Knowledge'?" Albert pondered, deeply frustrated. He had used the exact phrasing suggested by the system. He put his feet up on the table, staring at the endless books.
Then, he noticed it. On a small, ornamental piece of wood near the entrance, a bronze, eagle-shaped door knocker was affixed. Below it was a delicately carved inscription:
Mankind's Greatest Treasure is Wit.
The revelation hit him like a Stunner. The treasure wasn't a vault or a library; it was the challenge itself. The Room of Requirement wouldn't simply hand over Ravenclaw's ultimate secret. It had to be earned by answering a riddle—just like the entrance to the actual Ravenclaw Common Room. The Wealth of Knowledge could only be accessed by demonstrating the wit of a true Ravenclaw.
The room he was in was merely a magical waiting room—an antechamber—that would only transform into the true repository of knowledge when he passed the intelligence test.
Albert quickly walked over to the bronze eagle door knocker and tapped the wood twice, exactly as one would summon the entrance guardian of the Ravenclaw tower.
A moment later, the bronze eagle head swiveled on its mount, its glassy eyes seeming to focus directly on Albert. A clear, resonant voice, utterly unlike the rasping voice of an ordinary knocker, spoke, posing the challenge.