A full day after the Ministry of Magic's apologetic—and rather flimsy—parchment arrived via official owl, Albert executed the final step of his peculiar errand. He slipped into the Room of Requirement, located the old, dusty furniture arrangement he'd utilized before, retrieved the heavy, engraved golden membership card, and prepared to send it back to Hetok.
As the situation had been clarified by the official letter, keeping the card was less of a temptation and more of a guaranteed headache. The Ministry's blunder had been corrected, and now, holding onto the item would transition the whole affair from a 'found money' quest to a tedious legal entanglement.
But as he grasped the card—a small, visceral echo of the time he'd accidentally touched the artifact—Albert felt that familiar, uncanny pull. Without consciously intending to, his gaze flicked toward the obscure corner of the room.
He deliberately strayed from the direct path out, walking slowly to his right, his eyes fixed on a dilapidated old mahogany cabinet. The cabinet's surface was warped and bubbled, testament to decades of magical humidity or perhaps a few poorly aimed Charms.
His head tilted back, his eyes narrowing, drawn upward to the cabinet's shadowed apex. Resting there, half-obscured by dust motes dancing in the magical light, was an odd tableau: the half-bust of a forgotten wizard, his face pockmarked and severe, topped by a dusty, ill-fitting old wig, and—most disturbingly—something that looked like a long-faded, fragile bronze crown.
As he stood expressionless before the cabinet, the whisper came again, a vague, chilling sound that clawed at the edges of his mind, demanding attention, demanding recognition. It was a cold, insistent, non-verbal pressure emanating from the crown-like object.
His raised hand, which had subconsciously moved toward the top shelf, froze midway. Albert's internal alarm bells—the ones that had never steered him wrong—were deafening. This was not a harmless magical artifact.
This felt like a dangerous, potent piece of parasitic magic, dormant but hungry. With a slow, deliberate movement that cost him immense willpower, he withdrew his hand, spun on his heel with a sudden, decisive turn, and walked swiftly out of the Room of Requirement, the golden card already slipped into his robe pocket.
Nope. Not touching that. Not today, not ever.
After exiting the strange, malleable room, Albert paused to collect his thoughts, the feel of the card still a warm, solid reassurance in his hand. "Well, that souvenir should be more than enough motivation to stay away from certain dusty corners," he muttered, referring to the near-instantaneous mission fulfillment he'd received after the Ministry's initial error.
He quickly transferred the gold card into a simple, thick envelope he'd pre-addressed to Hetok and sealed it with wax. He then made his way to the Owlery.
His own owl, Shera, was unfortunately still delayed—she was mid-delivery on a longer, more obscure assignment. So, Albert employed one of the school's rather disgruntled-looking barn owls, attaching the envelope securely to its leg.
He watched the owl snatch the golden card and take off, its silhouette a familiar, flapping shape against the sunset. A genuine sigh of relief escaped him. The whole bizarre sequence—from finding the card to dealing with the Ministry's bureaucratic incompetence—was finally, truly concluded. He had returned the lost property, and the moral high ground felt surprisingly clean.
Just as the barn owl dipped below the ramparts, and Albert mentally prepared to accept the experience points for his initial quest, his Panel lit up, aggressively demanding his attention.
Two new notifications flashed: one an immediate completion, the other a reward confirmation.
[MISSION COMPLETE]
The Struggle of Underage Wizards
Over the years, the Ministry of Magic has made mistakes from time to time. The Office for the Prohibition of Magic, however, has never acknowledged the Ministry's or its own errors. Make them understand their wrongdoings and demand an apology or payment of the consequences. Make them understand that even underage wizards with little power or influence can express their dissatisfaction in other ways.
Reward: 3000 Experience Points, Dolores Umbridge's Reputation Reduced by -10.
Albert stood outside the Owlery, the cold air suddenly feeling much colder. "How… how peculiar," he whispered. "Why was this quest activated precisely at the moment I sent the letter of complaint to the Ministry? And why is it flagged as instantly completed?"
The puzzle pieces clicked into place. The mission hadn't been triggered by finding the card, but by his subsequent, principled action of demanding accountability from the Ministry for their error. By compelling them to issue that embarrassing official apology—even if it was a standard template—he had fulfilled the condition: "Make them understand their wrongdoings and demand an apology."
The 3000 XP was a decent haul, but the secondary reward was the real kicker for a system player: the -10 reputation hit to Dolores Umbridge. It was a clear signal from the System that his actions, though seemingly minor, were aligned against a major future antagonist. The System was essentially patting him on the back for scoring an early point against a boss monster.
He shook his head, navigating the winding stone stairs back down into the main castle. Before he even reached the Entrance Hall, the second notification, relating to his act of honest return, appeared.
[MISSION COMPLETE]
Thanks from the Potion Master
The Gold Membership Card is incredibly important to Potion Master Hetok. He is pleased that you returned it as promised, demonstrating your honesty and integrity. He wishes to express his appreciation for your actions.
Rewards: 100 Experience Points, 1 Skill Point, +5 Good Relationship with Hetok, Obtaining a Random Skill related to the quest objective, and one bottle of Felix Felicis.
Albert nearly stumbled on the last step. His initial reaction was disbelief, quickly followed by a surge of pure, unadulterated player satisfaction.
"A Skill Point? And Felix Felicis?" he murmured, his mind reeling. The 100 XP was a footnote, but a Skill Point was a rare, precious commodity that could level up any of his existing talents instantly. And Felix Felicis? That was a highly controlled, incredibly potent liquid luck potion. Its value was astronomical, both for its utility and its difficulty to brew.
What Albert had initially dismissed as a simple, low-stakes lost-and-found task had exploded into one of the most generous rewards he'd received in months.
This changes the calculus entirely, he thought, adjusting his internal economy. What if he had kept the card and tried to bargain with Hetok? He speculated that the reward would have been smaller, transactional, perhaps just the money or a single potion.
By simply fulfilling the moral obligation—returning the item to its owner without expecting anything in return—he had triggered a System bonus for integrity, which rewarded him far beyond what any haggling could have achieved. The honesty bonus was staggering.
Hetok must have been waiting nearby, Albert deduced, looking at the time. The barn owl was slow, but the quest confirmation was immediate. That meant Hetok had either been watching the Owlery or, more likely, was stationed in Hogsmeade, desperately awaiting a sign of the card's return.
The artifact was far more valuable to him than Albert had ever guessed. Perhaps it wasn't just a membership card, but a key, or an access pass required for a critical, time-sensitive magical procurement.
Albert pushed the speculation aside and found a relatively quiet corner near the edge of the bustling Great Hall. He pulled out a small, non-descript notebook—the same one he used to camouflage his Panel viewing—and began scrolling through his digital reality.
He was less concerned with the Felix Felicis (which he would hoard for a rainy, probably world-ending day) and more focused on the "Random Skill" reward.
This is a completely random roll, he lamented inwardly. Last time Truman received a similar reward, the resulting skill was something utterly useless, something Albert couldn't even find on his expansive talent list. The reward was an unfair gamble, entirely dependent on chance.
He began the arduous task of sifting through the long, long catalogue of his innate and acquired magical talents. He possessed hundreds of them, most sitting at a dormant Level 0 or a meager Level 1.
He scrolled methodically, passing Goblin Metalworking (Lvl 0), Apparition Focus (Lvl 2), Ancient Runes Transmutation Theory (Lvl 1)... He went through the entire list three times, his gaze sharp and meticulous.
On the third pass, nestled between Advanced Wand Care (Lvl 3) and Herbology: Fungal Analysis (Lvl 1), he found it.
[NEW TALENT ACQUIRED]
Potion Mastery
The inherent skill and intuitive grasp required to understand, balance, and successfully brew complex potions. This is a congenital talent often found only in the descendants of great Potion Masters.
Current Level: 1 (Cannot be improved by standard Experience Points.)
Albert's heart gave a powerful, satisfying jolt. Potion Mastery.
The reason this skill immediately stood out as profoundly significant was the final line: Cannot be improved by standard Experience Points.
In the lexicon of the System, this meant it was a core, intrinsic talent—a foundational cheat that couldn't be cheesed through simple combat or repetitive tasks.
Skills that required Skill Points to level, or that could only be gained randomly through high-tier rewards, were almost universally the most potent abilities in the game. It was a foundational insight into an entire branch of magic, a gift that bypassed years of mundane apprenticeship and failure.
This is truly exciting news! he thought, a genuine, private thrill coursing through him. The combination of the skill point and the rare talent meant he could immediately dump the Skill Point into Potion Mastery and start bridging the gap between his theoretical knowledge and practical execution.
Lost in the intricate, glorious possibilities of his updated Panel, Albert entered a state of near-perfect magical concentration, his body immobile as his mind mapped out new brewing schedules and ingredient requirements. He maintained his disguise perfectly, the small notebook held loosely in his hands, his face blank.
Inside the Great Hall, a huddle of Gryffindors—Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, and the inevitable Weasley twins—were casting highly amused, yet slightly bewildered, glances at the silent, statue-like figure of Albert Anderson.
"Seriously, what is wrong with Albert?" Angelina whispered, a touch of genuine worry creeping into her voice. She looked at Fred and George. "Is this a curse? Has someone managed to use a Body-Bind spell on him without us noticing? He hasn't moved a muscle in five minutes."
Fred, ever the rogue, seized the moment. He snatched the small notebook from Albert's unresisting hand and theatrically waved it directly in front of Albert's face. Albert didn't blink. He didn't even twitch. He remained utterly lost in the internal landscape of his Panel.
"Nah, no curse, Angie," George explained, taking the notebook back and replacing it gently into Albert's hand, careful not to disrupt the delicate mental balance. "He just gets these… moments of profound contemplation. Call it an occasional attention deficit, or perhaps a severe philosophical fugue state."
"It's actually quite unnerving," Angelina murmured, shifting her weight.
"That's why he uses the notebook as camouflage," George continued, grinning conspiratorially. "He needs an excuse to look down and stare vacantly for long periods. He's probably mapping out the theoretical application of the Vanishing Spell to common household dust motes. But you're right, it would be genuinely frightening if you didn't know he was doing it."
"Unnerving, yes, but not responsive!" Fred declared, emboldened by Albert's total lack of reaction. He decided to test the limits of Albert's focus, a decision he would instantly regret. Fred leaned in, ready to perform a quick, playful pinch on Albert's cheek.
The instant Fred's hand crossed the personal boundary, Albert, driven by a deeply ingrained instinctual rejection of intrusion, snapped out of his trance. It wasn't a conscious move, but a sudden, violent muscular reflex. Albert shot bolt upright, his head rising and snapping backward, precisely timing his movement to collide with the point of Fred's chin.
CLACK!
The impact was sharp, sickeningly solid, and completely involuntary. Fred cried out, a high-pitched, surprised squeak of pain, clutching his jaw and crumpling instantly into a low, fetal crouch.
Angelina's jaw dropped. The Weasley twin had been taken down by a sudden, violent head-butt from a seemingly comatose genius.
Lee Jordan shook his head with an air of profound wisdom. "The old saying rings true, Fred, my friend: if you don't needlessly tempt death, you won't unnecessarily die. How could you forget that?"
George, however, was already recovering, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and wicked glee. "Fred, are you still alive? Did that silent curse break your jaw?"
A pained, muffled groan came from the floor. "It hurts, George. It really, really hurts."
"But are you still alive?" George insisted, his face splitting into a wide, infectious grin.
Fred gingerly raised his head, rubbing the lump already forming on his chin. "We're twins, aren't we? If I'm not alive, then neither are you."
"A fair point," George conceded.
"Then let me share some of my pain with you, brother," Fred growled, his eyes narrowed in mock fury. In a move of incredible speed for someone who had just suffered a concussive blow, he reached out and, instead of covering his brother's jaw, delivered a sharp, retaliatory punch right to George's arm.
"Ow! Damn it, you actually ambushed me with that!"
The two boys immediately forgot their philosophical interest in Albert's condition and devolved into a brief, violent wrestle on the flagstones of the Great Hall, providing a perfect, distracting chaos for Albert to slip back into his notebook, his mind already formulating the first steps in utilizing his new Potion Mastery skill.