Albert observed the subtle shift in Isabel's posture—a stiffening of her shoulders and a slight clenching of her jaw—and had to suppress a strong urge to smirk. It was a fascinating display of a Ravenclaw prodigy being confronted with pure, theatrical nonsense.
He knew Trelawney's reputation well; she was the Professor who, with impressive consistency, predicted a student's untimely demise every single year. Sometimes they got expelled, sometimes they failed an exam catastrophically, but the one constant was the morbid prediction itself. Predicting misfortune for a student wasn't a talent for prophecy, it was just job security.
Any reading by Professor Trelawney, outside of those genuinely terrifying, unconscious bursts of true Divination, was suitable for amusement, not for altering one's life plans. It was elaborate, spooky background noise.
Trelawney, meanwhile, had returned to her persona with practiced ease. She pulled a scroll of parchment and a well-thumbed book from the depths of her shawls and began her academic explanation.
She launched into a detailed lecture on the use of the ancient runic script for various forms of prognostication, detailing how to interpret the placement and combinations—one, three, five, six, or seven runes. Professor Babbling interjected occasionally, grounding Trelawney's mystique with practical historical context.
Albert listened with keen interest, not because he believed the theatrical interpretation, but because he was trying to decipher the underlying mechanics. He had a deep, professional desire to acquire a reliable method of divination.
He'd always preferred the theoretical elegance of Arithmancy or the geometric purity of a crystal ball reading, but this runic method was right in front of him. Why not absorb it?
You could never have too many ways to see around corners.
Isabel was visibly struggling, her impatience mounting with every dramatic sigh and cryptic utterance from Trelawney. But, disciplined as always, she remained, enduring the lesson until Trelawney finally paused for breath.
Albert, on the other hand, was distracted, running a quick mental check on his System Panel, half-expecting a new skill, [Ancient Runestone Divination], to pop up. Nothing.
During the next hour, Trelawney insisted on performing two more impromptu readings, clearly determined to prove her prognostic bona fides to the two skeptical young witches and wizards.
And this is where things became genuinely strange.
Albert's subsequent predictions were identical: boundless wealth, guaranteed success, a harvest waiting to be reaped. The repetition itself, the triple-confirmation of his "future financial expectations," was jarring.
An accident might happen once, a fluke twice, but three times in a row? The probability of a random selection yielding the same, positive, specific outcome was minuscule.
Could Trelawney actually be reliable? Albert wondered, a flicker of genuine curiosity crossing his face. Or is she just picking the positive rune for the polite, successful student?
Isabel, however, was Trelawney's opposite magnet. Every rune she drew—and Trelawney insisted she draw a different number and combination each time—was a stark, unmistakable warning.
Danger was imminent, a forced crossroad loomed, and a choice, difficult and fraught, was unavoidable. Trelawney's third reading even threw out a specific reference that sounded suspiciously like a friend or colleague, perhaps even the shadowy figure Albert knew as 'Ward.'
"You will encounter challenges that are entirely outside your current sphere of control," Trelawney announced, clutching her throat with a trembling hand, her eyes wide and wet. "These will manifest abruptly, and you will have no chance to avert them, only to react."
Professor Trelawney herself was genuinely flustered. She knew her usual routine was predictable, but the almost perfect alignment between Albert's three positive readings and Isabel's three negative ones was unprecedented.
It felt like she was reading from two distinct, yet parallel, scripts of fate. She tried to recover, managing to look profoundly shocked and impossibly vague at the same time.
Trelawney finally sighed, dramatically concluding, "You are absolutely destined for trouble, my dear. And that trouble is approaching you like a swift-moving train. It's a true tragedy you didn't choose my Divination class; you have such a rare and undeniable talent for drawing the truth from the universe."
Albert, hearing the pronouncement, couldn't help but chuckle softly, turning to Isabel with an amused expression. Was Trelawney completely deaf? Hadn't Isabel just stated she thought the whole subject was a monumental waste of time?
Isabel clearly caught Albert's amused glance, pointedly turning her head away to focus on her teacup, radiating a palpable aura of intellectual discomfort.
"I would have been honored to have you," Trelawney repeated warmly to Isabel, before gathering her things. She spent a moment exchanging warm, hushed pleasantries with Professor Babbling, then turned to Albert. "As a small token of gratitude, young man, for your… remarkable resonance."
Trelawney pressed the elegant silk pouch containing the full set of runes, the cloth on which to cast them, and a worn copy of her book, Rune Divination, into Albert's hands. She patted his wrist with a theatrical flourish. "Good luck, dear boy. Although, I daresay, you hardly need it."
Albert was genuinely taken aback. He hadn't expected the actual materials. Was she truly convinced he was a Seer, or was this just a strange way of recycling old classroom props? He performed another discreet, lightning-fast mental check of his Panel. Still nothing. No sign of a new skill.
"Congratulations, Anderson," Isabel said, her voice perfectly deadpan as Trelawney glided out the door, her shawls trailing like mist.
"Thanks," Albert replied, shifting the weighty bag. "If I truly had the 'Sight,' I'd abandon all my other work, set up a stall in Diagon Alley, and retire by Christmas. But alas, I doubt I'd fool anyone. Though, I do genuinely hope you manage to side-step whatever catastrophe Trelawney has conjured for you."
Albert found the triple-repetition of the prophecy deeply unsettling, not because he believed Trelawney's interpretation, but because the coincidence was too extreme. He slowly opened the book, Rune Divination, which Isabel immediately recognized as the text Trelawney had been quoting word-for-word.
"The whole thing is dependent on ability," Albert sighed, handing the book over to Isabel to confirm his suspicions. "Trelawney was simply reading the key definitions verbatim."
"No surprises there," Isabel muttered, scanning a page on the properties of Fehu. "It's still interesting, though. Three negative readings in a row is statistically… improbable."
"Indeed," Albert agreed, his expression thoughtful. He quietly reached into the pouch and pulled out a single runestone without looking, focusing his mind on the exact question Isabel had posed: Will I face any immediate, physical danger during this current period?
He opened his hand. Inverted Ehwaz.
"An Inverted Ehwaz," Albert murmured, tracing the fallen horse symbol. He remembered Trelawney's dramatic pronouncement: "A very clear warning, one that requires great caution… this doesn't bode well."
Danger? A clear warning?
He immediately thought of the batch of nitrocellulose he'd synthesized in the Magic Club's backroom just yesterday—it was a bit unstable, and he hadn't achieved a perfectly even mix yet. Could the risk of an accidental explosion be translating into a prediction of immediate threat?
"What are you testing now?" Isabel asked, peering over his shoulder, instantly recognizing the specific rune.
"Nothing important," Albert said, quickly replacing the stone. "I was just confirming the mathematical probability. But yes, I've done my own calculations and I concur: the probability of experiencing danger in the immediate future is higher than I'd like."
"Why do you feel so acutely threatened?" Isabel countered, curiosity overcoming her disdain for the subject.
"Because," Albert replied, leaning back and resting his elbow on the desk, "the last term ended with a series of rather aggressive 'incidents.' And I am the common denominator in most things that make people cross."
They spent a few more minutes exchanging views on the dubious art of Seers and the reality that few wizards ever truly harnessed the power of foresight.
"Alright, that is quite enough for today, I think," Professor Babbling said, clapping her hands together gently, signaling the end of their meeting. "We will resume with advanced cipher runes next week."
As Albert and Isabel gathered their books, prepared to say their farewells, Professor Babbling stopped Albert at the door.
"Mr. Anderson, a word, if you please."
Isabel shot Albert a highly suspicious, inquisitive look, then nodded curtly and stepped into the hallway, leaving the two of them alone.
"Professor, is there something I can help you with?" Albert asked, tucking Trelawney's silk pouch into his robes.
Professor Babbling settled her gaze on him, her expression serious. "I am, as you know, working toward the publication of a new textbook. Something truly comprehensive that can serve as a true reference for all future students. I've tentatively titled it: Advanced Rune Translation and Practical Usage."
Albert felt a brief, internal jolt of comprehension. This wasn't a request for him to simply proofread.
"You're asking me to collaborate on the book, Professor?" Albert asked, cutting directly to the point.
"Yes, Albert. I need your assistance in the writing and, crucially, the rigorous revision of the manuscript," she confirmed, leaning forward.
"I hope this book can stand as the definitive text for N.E.W.T. students—something truly accessible. You see, while McDougal's Basic Rune Explanation is invaluable, it remains too dense, too esoteric for the average student, even those with high O.W.L.s. I need a mind like yours to bridge that conceptual gap."
Albert understood. Ancient Runes, as taught at Hogwarts, was fundamentally a linguistic and historical discipline, not a magical one. It prepared graduates for fieldwork—analyzing ancient enchantments and relics, akin to Muggle archaeology. To actually use the runes to cast complex magic required a level of mastery few attained.
McDougal's text was indeed famously impenetrable, and Albert—who had the system Panel helping him decode the underlying logic—was uniquely qualified to make it comprehensible.
"I can certainly help with the translation and structuring, Professor," Albert agreed instantly. "I find I have a peculiar knack for making these ancient scripts less… arcane." He was already mentally calculating the time commitment, but the intellectual challenge was tempting.
"Excellent, I knew you would understand!" Professor Babbling beamed. "Your insight into the mechanics of runic structure is precisely what the book needs. You will be justly rewarded for your efforts. I intend to offer you half of the royalties earned from this book, and I shall insist on co-authorship—your name will be printed prominently on the cover."
"Professor, honestly, the credit isn't necessary," Albert said, shaking his head. He was skeptical that a niche academic textbook would sell enough copies to rival his card game profits, even at half the cut. "As for the Galleons, I appreciate the gesture, but my payment request is a bit more… practical."
He paused for dramatic effect. "If I commit to this, I would like unrestricted access to the Restricted Section of the Library. Specifically, for texts concerning Mind Arts and Advanced Charms."
Professor Babbling paused, a thoughtful look replacing her excitement. The request was bold, but the value of his collaboration was undeniable. She quickly nodded. "That is a fair exchange, Mr. Anderson. A simple note from me is sufficient."
She conjured a piece of parchment and a quill, scribbling a short, authoritative note, sealing it with her personal cipher.
Albert emerged from the Ancient Runes classroom a few minutes later, carrying the heavy file of Babbling's manuscript and a parchment granting him access to the dark secrets of the Library's Forbidden Section. He felt a profound sense of satisfaction, tempered by the continued mystery of Trelawney's reading.
"In that case, I am second," he muttered to himself, reviewing the two signed authorizations he now possessed.
"Second to what?" a dry voice echoed from down the hallway.
Albert looked up and saw Isabel waiting for him, leaning against the cold stone archway, her arms crossed, her patience evidently finite.
"Haven't you had enough of this floor yet?" Albert asked, feigning surprise.
"I waited because I have a very specific question for you, Anderson," she stated, pushing off the wall.
"Regarding the prophecies, perhaps?"
"No. Regarding the bet. The one with Katrina."
Albert raised an eyebrow. "Do you intend to convince me to concede early?"
"I don't care about the outcome, but I know what you're capable of, and I know your current workload," Isabel said, her tone suddenly lowering to a conspiratorial level.
"You're undertaking this ridiculous challenge in public. Whatever scheme you're cooking up—and I know it's complex—you must keep the specifics quiet. Don't let the wider student body get wind of the mechanics. I will be present at the first Quidditch match to witness this spectacle, but the less noise you make beforehand, the less you expose yourself."
"I have no objections to that condition," Albert said, his grin returning. Isabel's warning wasn't about him losing; it was about him making himself a target. "A discreet victory is often the most satisfying."