Hector Dagworth was not merely annoyed; he was incandescently furious. He stomped through the cobblestone alley that served as the entrance to the French Ministry of Magic's sanctioned Magical Garden, a beautiful, disguised oasis for high-value botanical commerce. The herbalist at the entrance—a snippy, uniformed French wizard—had waved him away with a dismissive flick of his wrist.
"Monsieur," the wizard had sniffed, barely glancing up from his stack of parchment. "I do not care about your feelings. Without the Gold Card, your accreditation is meaningless. I cannot permit you to purchase regulated Mandrakes without the proper documentation, oui?"
This wasn't just a simple membership card; this was the Gold Membership Card of the Society of Extraordinary Pharmacists.
The Society was widely acknowledged throughout Britain and Continental Europe as the supreme authority in Potion-making research and ethical ingredient sourcing. It issued three tiers: Bronze, Silver, and this Gold Card.
Each level represented a staggering amount of contribution—years of specialized research, published papers on complex potion theory, or the discovery of new medicinal uses for rare ingredients. The Gold Card was more than just proof of Hector's status; it was a potent symbol, an unchallenged marker of excellence and honor in the wizarding community.
More critically, it was a fast pass. It granted him crucial privileges, such as the ability to procure small, regulated quantities of certain prohibited substances—highly toxic or rare potion ingredients—without the usual mountain of paperwork, bribes, and waiting.
Hector Dagworth had only been in France briefly, passing through to visit a colleague, Perenaar, and deliver a rare shipment of Himalyan Snow-Wort. Perenaar had dragged him to the Muggle opera for a 'cultural experience' with his family.
Boring, loud, and utterly pointless, Hector fumed, remembering the hours wasted watching people sing their grievances instead of just stating them. He had slipped out early, eager to finalize his purchase at the Magical Garden, only to realize, upon being denied entry, that his Solid Gold Membership Card was gone.
He ransacked his robes, checked his briefcase, and even hurried back to the Bastille Opera House. He searched the velvet seating area, the foyer, and the restrooms. Nothing. In a surge of blind desperation, standing on a deserted street corner, he cast the Summoning Charm—Accio Gold Card!—three times, pouring all his frustration into the spell.
The air only shimmered faintly, offering no resistance, and no object came flying back. The card's built-in protective charm, designed to make it resistant to Accio by anyone other than the owner, was clearly encountering an unknown, powerful counter-magic.
With his entire itinerary ruined, Hector was forced to seek help from his old friend, Nico Lemaîtres, a respected French wizard with a surprising aptitude for Divination.
"We all thought you had finished your circuit and flown back to London, Hector," Perenaar Lemaîtres said, pouring a cup of dark, smoky French tea for his distraught guest.
"I was meant to," Hector Dagworth said, his voice clipped with annoyance, recounting the saga of the opera and the lost card. "I've just come from the Magical Garden, where I was treated like a common, unlicensed amateur because of this loss."
Nico Lemaîtres, Perenaar's son, walked in. He had an air of quiet focus that was characteristic of seers. "You need assistance retrieving your Gold Card, then, Hector?" Nico was more than willing to help. Hector's connections had smoothed many things for their own family business.
"Yes, please," Hector pleaded, taking a long, bracing sip of the strong tea. "This is completely unacceptable. Without it, my whole supply chain is disrupted for weeks."
"I'm sure we'll locate it," Nico reassured him. He finished his own cup and walked toward a polished mahogany desk where a large, cloudy crystal ball rested. Hector followed, his anxiety mounting.
Nico began to murmur, his hand sweeping gracefully over the crystal. The veiled depths of the sphere began to churn, clearing like mist lifting off a swamp. The image solidified: a brown, small, very young hand, gripping the ridiculously extravagant Gold Card.
The view pulled back. The owner of the hand was revealed: Albert Anderson.
"I know that boy," Nico said, his eyes widening slightly. "He was sitting directly next to us at the opera. The English family. He must be a wizard, Hector. Didn't you notice the silver bracelet on his wrist? It's an unusual alchemical artifact—I saw minor protective runes carved into the links when he was fidgeting."
Hector was stunned. "But… when did he take my Gold Card?" He couldn't bring himself to use the word 'steal' about a child, but the implication hung heavy.
"Find it, I would say," Nico corrected gently. "It seems more likely he acquired it by chance. Perhaps it was my carelessness," Hector conceded, remembering how he had slid out of the seat in haste. He couldn't possibly believe an underage wizard could actually pickpocket him.
"Well, if you want your card back, you'd better hurry," Nico warned, pointing to the crystal ball. The image shifted, showing a massive, winged vehicle taking off—the very vehicle the Anderson family would soon be boarding.
"What is that contraption?" Hector frowned, leaning closer. Like many pure-blood wizards, his knowledge of the Muggle world was virtually non-existent.
"It is a Muggle carriage for long-distance travel. A… an airplane," Nico recalled the name after a moment's struggle.
"I must go now. Thank you, Nico, Perenaar." Hector bolted for the door in a panic, leaving the tea untouched.
"I trust he'll be fine," Perenaar said to his son, watching the distraught Potioneer leave.
"He will find the boy," Nico replied, but his expression remained troubled.
Despite Nico's accurate guidance, Hector's mission was doomed from the start. Hector, who couldn't tell a petrol station from a post office, had no idea where the airport was, what the 'plane' was called, or how to ask for directions without revealing himself. He wasted precious time trying to Apparate directly to the 'Muggle Carriage,' only to hit a dozen protective enchantments that rendered direct teleportation impossible.
"I truly regret not suggesting they add a Location Charm to the Gold Card," Hector muttered to himself, defeated.
Finally, in utter despair, he turned to the French Ministry of Magic. By the time the Ministry staff—a confused, slightly annoyed team of Aurors who specialized in Muggle Liaison—were dispatched with Hector to the Muggle airport, the delay had been catastrophic. The Anderson family's plane had already been long gone, soaring over the English Channel, headed for the U.K.
Hector Dagworth, standing amidst the baffling crowds of Muggles, confirmed the departure and slumped in disappointment. His whole trip had been a disaster, all thanks to a lost, gold-plated piece of proof.
Hector wasn't the only one having a truly awful day. An equally unfortunate Ministry Owl, tasked with delivering a warning letter to Albert, was mid-channel when it realized its intended recipient had just zipped past it, traveling in the opposite direction on the aforementioned Muggle conveyance.
As Albert had predicted, the blame for the failed Accio attempt was instantly and unfairly laid on his shoulders. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Misuse of Magic Office had immediately fired off a boilerplate warning letter, convinced Albert must have been illegally casting a counter-charm.
The poor owl, a dedicated professional, had to abort its trajectory, find a deserted French island or lighthouse for a brief, furious rest and a frantic snack, before setting out again, utterly exhausted, to fly back across the Channel and find the recipient's confirmed home address in Britain.
Oblivious to the logistical nightmare he'd created, Albert was finally relaxed, his feet up, holding the very source of the chaos.
The Extraordinary Pharmacists Association, he mused, turning the Gold Card over and admiring the intricate runework. He'd never heard of them before. But any organization that could afford to issue actual solid gold membership cards had to be a powerful and wealthy body.
A system notification popped up in his vision:
Quest Alert:
Honesty, Sort Of: You have come into possession of the Gold Membership Card belonging to Hector Dagworth, a renowned Potioneer. While the circumstances are dubious, you must ensure its return.
Objective: Return the Gold Card to Hector Dagworth.
Reward: 100 Experience Points, +10 Favor with Hector Dagworth.
Honesty in returning lost items, Albert scoffed inwardly. Or rather, 'Don't annoy powerful wizards who are clumsy with magic.'
He temporarily dismissed the quest, prioritizing the practical study of the runic matrix etched into the gold. He believed that successfully deciphering the card's secrets—which involved a permanent protective charm, a limited Accio trigger, and the anti-theft counter-charm—would be invaluable to his mastery of Runic Magic.
Suddenly, the plane shuddered, once, twice, violently. The shaking intensified, throwing the plane into a series of sudden drops and lurches. A collective gasp of terror rippled through the cabin.
"Hold on!" Herb shouted, his hand gripping the armrest so hard his knuckles were white. Daisy's face had gone pale, her eyes fixed wide with primal fear.
Albert noticed Nia's small face was ghostly white. He reached out immediately, his hand seeking hers, his touch perfectly calm and warm. "Don't worry, Nia. It's just air currents, a bit of turbulence. We'll be fine."
The flight attendant's tinny, panicked voice rattled through the intercom, attempting to provide the standard, utterly unconvincing reassurance.
"It's okay, sweetheart, don't panic," Albert repeated, his voice utterly steady, projecting an absolute certainty that defied the physical reality of the violently shaking cabin. "We are completely safe."
He wasn't being falsely reassuring. His magic, a subtle but constant presence, was ready. If the unthinkable happened, Albert knew he could instantly cast the Ghost Charm—a complex, wandless piece of magic—to extricate his family's spirits from their bodies before impact. He knew he wouldn't die, and he wouldn't let them die either.
This profound, magical certainty translated into an unshakeable, utterly convincing demeanor that instantly began to calm his family.
"He's right," Daisy whispered, looking at Albert's composed expression. "He knows. Just a false alarm."
Just as Albert had promised, the violent shaking began to subside, giving way to a more manageable, heavy juddering before finally smoothing out into routine flight. Every passenger in the cabin sagged in relief.
The pale woman in the seat in front of Albert turned back, her eyes wide with lingering shock. "You… you weren't frightened at all?" she stammered, unable to believe his composure. "I saw the air stewardess's face—she was terrified!"
"What good is being afraid?" Albert replied simply, shrugging. The answer silenced her, forcing her to confront the futility of her own terror.
After what felt like an eternity, the plane landed, and a collective sigh of relief washed through the passengers. As their feet touched the tarmac, the full weight of the incident seemed to hit everyone.
"Albert, seriously," Nia asked later in the car, leaning forward, unable to let it go. "Were you really not scared, even a tiny bit?"
"Not for a second," Albert admitted with a gentle smile, reaching back to stroke her hair. "Because I knew that even if the plane decided to fall out of the sky, we weren't going to stay in it."
"Magic?" Nia immediately guessed, her eyes shining with sudden excitement.
"Yes, magic," Albert confirmed.
"But your stick wasn't with you," she challenged playfully.
"It's a wand, and no, not all magic requires one," Albert corrected her.
"He's always been so dependable," Daisy murmured from the front seat, a maternal pride evident in her voice. "It's lovely to have a son who can promise the impossible and mean it."
"So, what would you have done if we'd crashed?" Herb asked, his curiosity overriding his focus on driving.
"Focus on the road, Dad," Albert advised. He then considered the question. "First things first: I want to head straight to Grandpa Luke's house. I need to pick up Tom and Sera, and I have a feeling Tom has become exceptionally spoiled in our absence."
"Perfect timing," Herb agreed. "We can drop off the gifts from France, too."
Luke and Sansa greeted them warmly. Luke immediately scooped Nia into a massive hug. "How was France, young man?" Luke asked Albert with a smile.
"Excellent, Grandpa. I feel perfectly bilingual, and I can now surf—though I haven't mastered the French slang for 'wipeout' yet."
"Surfing! That's an impressive feat for a short trip," Luke complimented him.
"He learned it immediately," Nia muttered under her breath, still convinced her grandfather was underestimating Albert.
"Come inside, dear boy. Sansa has made your favorite—chocolate cake."
The moment Albert stepped into the living room, he saw the object of his attention: Tom, the ginger tabby, was draped across the back of the sofa, looking less like a cat and more like a decorative, overstuffed pillow. Albert scooped him up, bouncing the weighty animal playfully. "You, sir, have gotten considerably fatter! This is not acceptable!"
"Meow!" Tom protested weakly, clearly offended by the accusation.
"He's much better off, Albert," Sansa insisted, placing a generous slice of cake and a fork in front of him. "A little chubbiness suits him. He was too skinny before."
Albert felt his defense dissolve instantly. "This is the curse of the orange cat, I suppose," he sighed, scratching Tom's impossibly fluffy chin. "He's certainly dedicated to the stereotype, even if he isn't exactly orange."
He placed the cat down, and Tom promptly jumped off Albert's lap and went straight to rub against Sansa's ankles.
I need to put that cat on a diet immediately, Albert resolved.
Just then, an owl—a heavily built, weary-looking specimen—swooped through the open window, barely clearing the frame, and slammed a heavy piece of parchment right onto Albert's chocolate cake.
"Honestly," Albert hissed, staring daggers at the chocolate-smeared envelope. "Soup, you say? That owl looks exhausted, but that is no excuse for destroying a perfectly good slice of cake."
Nia, however, was already moving toward the bird, full of genuine concern. "Oh, poor thing! He looks so tired, Albert. We should give him a nice saucer of water and let him rest."
Ignoring the plea, Albert recognized the heavy, official parchment and the embossed seal instantly: The Ministry of Magic, Misuse of Magic Office. His previous internal prophecy had come true.
"Not only am I blamed for the failed Accio, but now they've ruined my cake," he muttered darkly, setting the letter aside.
"Whose letter is this, Albert?" Luke asked, sensing the sudden change in atmosphere.
"It's a warning letter, Grandpa. They think I was illegally casting magic abroad," Albert said, smiling tightly. "I'll write a quick reply. I'll send Sera out with it right away, give her a chance to fly off some of that holiday weight."
Albert retreated to a quiet corner and composed two highly strategic letters.
The first was to the Ministry of Magic itself. He began by politely, but firmly, challenging the warning. He explained the situation—the discovery of the Gold Card, the sudden, violent Accio attempt, and the fact that he was demonstrably wandless and on a Muggle airplane at the time the spell was cast.
"Given the Ministry's previous, well-documented errors in detection, as occurred last year with the Doxycide incident, I must strongly question the reliability of your tracing mechanism," he wrote, leveraging their past incompetence as a shield.
"Are you certain this is not simply a faulty sensor triggered by the powerful, yet clumsy, magic of the original caster, Mr. Dagworth? It would be a great disservice to the Statute of Secrecy to continue prosecuting an innocent party while the actual, careless perpetrator goes unpunished."
The second letter was addressed to Professor Brod, his former Transfiguration teacher and someone with excellent connections to the wizarding bureaucracy. He described his delightful French trip, subtly mentioned the absurdity of a solid-gold membership card, and detailed the clumsy Accio incident and the Ministry's immediate, flawed assumption of guilt.
He concluded by asking for Professor Brod's insights into the Society of Extraordinary Pharmacists and, crucially, for his professional opinion on how best to leverage this current warning letter as precedent.
Albert knew the Ministry would likely try to ignore his first letter, dismissing it as a child's denial. But that didn't matter. By creating an official paper trail and using Professor Brod's influence, he was establishing an important legal defense: if he ever truly needed to use advanced magic in a prohibited area later, he could point back to this, his second wrongful accusation.
"You claim I used magic? But I didn't even have my wand. Furthermore, this is not the first or second time your Ministry has made a blatant error in its tracking," he could argue. "Are you sure you aren't just covering up your own systemic fault again?"
The threat of exposing their incompetence, rather than just arguing his innocence, was the only way to ensure the Ministry stayed off his back.