Isabel's sudden shift to secrecy regarding the bet with Katrina was an interesting tell. It confirmed Albert's suspicion that she wasn't worried about the difficulty of the riddle; she was worried about the witnesses.
Her own methods for entering and exiting the infamously fickle Ravenclaw common room were her personal secrets, and she clearly didn't want the spectacle of the bet drawing undue attention to the logic behind the House's security.
Even if students from other Houses managed to solve the common room riddle, the mere act of having a crowd gather to watch the attempt would be bad form—a breach of the unspoken, highly-guarded tradition of Ravenclaw Tower.
She was already halfway down the corridor, gliding with the quiet determination of a witch who had wasted enough time listening to tea-leaf theatrics.
"Wait!" Albert called out suddenly, the word echoing slightly in the empty stone hallway.
Isabel stopped instantly, turning back with an expression that said, make it quick. "Is there something else, Anderson?"
Albert hurried to catch up, the heavy manuscript for Advanced Rune Translation feeling like an enormous lead weight in his arms, alongside the precious pass to the Restricted Section tucked securely inside his robes. He fell into step beside her.
"You know, Professor Snape has a rather unsettling talent," Albert began, dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "When he looks at you, really looks into your eyes, it doesn't feel like he's seeing you. It feels like he's scraping the back of your skull. Like he's just reading the index of your thoughts."
He glanced at Isabel, allowing a flicker of genuine anxiety—a very rare sight for him—to cross his features. "Do you understand what I mean?"
Isabel walked in silence for a few more strides, processing the seemingly random, yet pointed, observation. "And why do you bring this up now?" she finally asked, her gaze steady, penetrating.
"I'm convinced it's not mere intuition or sharp observation," Albert explained, maintaining the pace. "I believe it's some form of potent magic. In the Muggle world, we have notions of 'psychics' and 'mind-readers' but this feels far more invasive, far more… systematized."
Isabel finally halted near a shadowy tapestry depicting a wizard attempting to charm a particularly grumpy dragon. She turned fully to Albert, her expression unreadable. "You think a non-verbal gesture can allow someone to invade another person's deepest mental space?"
"I don't just think it, I'm near certain of it," Albert countered, meeting her eyes. "And if that's the case, I don't want to learn how to do it. I want to learn how to stop it." He shifted the manuscript in his arms, a gesture that underlined his agitation. "No one wants their insides exposed, especially not to a man like Snape. I feel an absolute, urgent need for mental security."
"So, you're talking about Occlumency then," Isabel stated, naming the difficult, highly specialized discipline.
"So that's what it's called," Albert mused, a look of profound confirmation crossing his face. "I knew it had to have a name. I knew it had to be a defensive magic."
Isabel leaned slightly against the wall, a faint, sardonic smile touching her lips. "Occlumency—the art of sealing the mind against intrusion. It can certainly be used to cheat on an exam, preventing a Legilimens from reading your answers." She paused, scrutinizing him with an almost professional curiosity. "But somehow, I doubt you need it for cheating, Anderson."
"And is there a practical, magical defense? A shield, perhaps? Something that absolutely prevents others from accessing one's thoughts and memories?" Albert pressed, his voice taut with urgency. This was the real heart of the matter—protecting the secrets of his System and the rapid expansion of his knowledge.
"The texts covering Legilimency—Mind-Reading—and Occlumency—Mind-Sealing—are notoriously rare and generally confined to the most secure stacks," Isabel said, her eyes boring into him. "They would absolutely be in the Restricted Section of the library. And you, Albert, already know that, don't you."
Albert's heart momentarily seized. She hadn't asked if he was aware of the discipline; she had stated that he knew the location of the texts. He quickly recovered, managing to keep his surprise subtle, but abandoning all pretense of naive ignorance.
"Yes," Albert admitted readily, his eyes flicking downward before returning her gaze. "I stumbled across a mention of a similar concept while researching the history of the Unspeakables. I've been searching for a relevant volume, but it's proving… elusive." It was the truth, but wrapped in a convenient lie.
Isabel studied his confession for a long, quiet moment, a spark of calculation in her eyes, before accepting the explanation and finally looking away.
"I need to find some relevant literature immediately," Albert continued, sensing her acceptance. "But if you happen to possess practical knowledge of this spell—or even better, would be willing to instruct me—it would be a massive advantage."
Isabel, with unsettling calmness, offered the bombshell. "I know the fundamentals of Occlumency."
Albert blinked. He had merely been fishing for confirmation that the magic existed, or perhaps a book title. He had not expected the formidable Ravenclaw genius to confess practical skill.
"You truly can perform the Mind-Sealing charm?" Albert asked, slightly wide-eyed, letting his astonishment show. Then, a possibility occurred to him, and he asked, his voice dropping further, "Was it your uncle? Mog McDougal?"
Isabel's silence was her answer. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"I guessed correctly," Albert murmured to himself, the pieces snapping into place. "It makes sense. That party I attended this Easter, Professor Broad dragged me to McDougal's… I saw you there. McDougal must have used that time to instruct you privately."
Before Isabel could confirm or deny the details, she suddenly gave a sharp gesture with her hand—a silent command for quiet. A moment later, they heard the distinct tap-tap-tap of expensive dress shoes approaching from the opposite end of the corridor. It was Professor Smith, their Charms professor, a man renowned for his impeccable neatness and sunny disposition.
Albert instantly straightened, tucking the controversial manuscript slightly behind him. The last thing he needed was to reveal the details of his co-authorship deal right now.
"Good afternoon, Miss Barbling, Mr. Anderson," Professor Smith smiled warmly at them both, then focused on Albert. "Albert, did you manage to send your owl back to the publishers regarding your last correspondence?"
"Yes, Professor," Albert confirmed easily. "I received a reply a few days ago. The revisions are proceeding smoothly." He was talking about his other side-project, his published book of charms—a convenient piece of misdirection.
"Excellent news, truly." Smith's eyes drifted toward the heavy roll of parchment in Albert's hand. "Say, what were you two discussing so intently just now?"
Albert launched into a flawless, half-truth explanation, weaving Trelawney's visit and Babbling's request into a benign, academic tapestry.
"We were discussing ancient runic scripts, sir. Professor Babbling is preparing to publish a new reference book and has generously asked me to assist in reviewing the manuscript for clarity. Isabel is also exceptionally gifted in Ancient Runes, and I was merely asking if she might also contribute to the final proofing."
Smith's eyebrows rose in impressed amusement. "Another manuscript revision? Ah, I remember Mr. McDougal having a similar request for you last year. Well done, Albert."
Isabel, ever the diplomat, politely but firmly demurred, "My understanding of the subject is far less comprehensive than Albert's, Professor. My knowledge is limited to a few specific areas."
"A pity, but an honest assessment," Professor Smith chuckled, beaming at Albert. "This is splendid news, Albert. A revised, accessible text on Ancient Runes is sorely needed. Don't forget to inform me when the final edition is ready; I'd love to secure an early copy for review."
"I'll make a note of that, Professor," Albert said, his face grave and earnest. To solidify the impression of a meticulously conscientious academic, he dramatically reached into his pocket, pulled out his familiar notebook and a quick-charm quill, and scrawled a note about reserving a copy for Professor Smith.
Both Isabel and Professor Smith were momentarily stunned into silence by the sheer theatricality of the gesture.
After a final, pleased nod, Professor Smith continued on his way, leaving the hallway quiet once more. The two students resumed their conversation as if only a comma had interrupted them.
"By the way," Albert said, returning to the core issue without preamble. "Since you know the technique, are you willing to tutor me in Occlumency?"
Isabel's expression turned guarded, her eyes narrowed. "And why, precisely, should I dedicate my time to that task?"
Albert didn't hesitate. He looked her directly in the eye, his smile utterly devoid of humor, yet overflowing with confident audacity. "I have a Galleon."
Isabel stared at him, unable to suppress the twitch in her cheek. The sheer absurdity of the offer—a single, paltry Galleon for access to a life-changing, highly guarded magical secret—was staggering.
"You're aware that Occlumency is not something you learn in an afternoon, or even a year," Isabel said coolly, attempting to gauge the seriousness of his intent. "I've only just scratched the surface myself this summer."
So, you admit it, Albert thought. He didn't care about the depth of her skill; he just needed the fundamental methodology, the starting framework. His Panel would handle the rest.
"Perfect," Albert replied, crossing his index fingers in a symbolic X. "Just teach me the foundational steps, the initial defenses, and the theory. I'll handle the development myself." He held up his index finger. "One Galleon, for the basic introduction. Is that acceptable?"
"You truly are obscenely wealthy," Isabel stated, her voice laced with meaningful disdain.
Albert shrugged dismissively. "The Learning Ghost charges a Galleon for an hour's worth of accelerated instruction. Since you are, regrettably, a physical person and not a spectral speed-learning service, I consider this a very fair introductory price."
"As long as you understand that this price covers only the bare essentials," Isabel confirmed, her voice stiff with reluctant acceptance. She couldn't actually say no to such easy money, even if the triviality of the sum felt like an insult to the complexity of the magic.
"When do we begin?" Albert asked, already planning his week.
"Sundays," Isabel decided after a moment's thought. "Once a week. We can use the back room of the Transfiguration Club. And I need to be absolutely clear: Do not get your hopes up. I am not a master Legilimens, and I will be using my own limited ability to probe your mind. I also will not be waiving the fee simply because you find the process difficult."
"No problem at all," Albert said, his smile now genuine. "If you know of any books beyond the restricted area—even just titles—please let me know."
Isabel hesitated, then offered a title. "'Advanced Mind-Locking Guide.' My uncle showed me his copy. If you're truly set on this, that is the authoritative text. You might find it, or a translation, somewhere deep within the school's restricted collection."
"See you Sunday," Albert nodded, giving her a final, decisive look before turning to leave.
"Aren't you worried that I just took your money and exaggerated my own ability?" Isabel called after him, genuinely curious about the depth of his trust.
Albert paused mid-stride, turning his head just enough to give her a glimpse of his supremely confident profile. "Can you afford to? Besides, I have a Galleon anyway."
Isabel's face twitched again, a muscle spasm of irritation at the sheer arrogance of the nouveau riche comment. She knew, rationally, that she was trustworthy, but hearing his justification—that the money was so trivial that the potential loss didn't matter—was infuriating.
Of course, she trusted Albert's words as well. Who would dare to commit a petty scam for a single Galleon when the same person had publicly put ten Galleons on the line against Katrina? That kind of confidence wasn't cheap.
While the level of personal trust between them was still low, their social circles were undeniably—and increasingly—intertwined. Both Albert and Isabel were rising stars, geniuses with overwhelming personal pride; neither would stoop to such a tasteless, meaningless deception, especially not out of contempt.
In Isabel's mind, Albert was simply a ridiculously wealthy, ambitious fool who would quickly realize that the difficult, spiritual discipline of Occlumency was beyond the reach of mere intellect. He would fail, and she would simply pocket her weekly Galleon.
But Isabel was completely unaware of the true nature of the cheat code that Albert Anderson possessed. The foundation of the magic was all he needed. The rest would be brute-forced into existence by his invisible, silent, and incredibly efficient system.