Did Nia also feel that creeping pressure?
Albert hadn't allowed himself to seriously contemplate this unsettling question before. He was acutely aware that while those around him saw a pure, effortless genius, his success was largely the result of a meticulously managed, system-driven advantage. He never forgot his own limitations, knowing that the Persona of Albert Anderson was far more brilliant than the human mind behind it.
But after observing the palpable stress and competitive fire in Katrina McDougal, he felt a genuine spike of concern for Nia. To perpetually live under the bright, inescapable spotlight of someone else's success—even a loving sibling—must be psychologically taxing. If I were in her position, seeing myself constantly eclipsed, I would likely feel profoundly depressed, he mused.
However, the pressing nature of his current goals quickly pushed the philosophical worry aside. The next morning, Shera returned from Diagon Alley, delivering the requisite herbs, powdered moonstone, and other necessary reagents for the imaging potion.
Before he committed fully to the meticulous task of brewing the Developing Solution, Albert, ever the meticulous planner, jotted a quick reminder in his notebook: Address Nia's potential pressure. This small note was a safeguard, ensuring the concern wouldn't vanish during his immersion in the complex potion-making process.
The problem of where to brew was immediately apparent. His dormitory was too public, and the abandoned classroom too cold and ill-equipped. The obvious choice was the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor (which Albert knew sometimes required access via the eighth-floor corridor).
Early on Saturday morning, Albert, carrying his newly acquired ingredients, a clean crucible, and his textbook, walked the required three times past the stretch of bare wall.
I need a sterile, perfectly ventilated room with professional brewing equipment to prepare advanced potions, he concentrated intensely. I need a room to prepare potions. I need a room to prepare potions.
On his third pass, a highly polished, heavy oak door materialized in the wall. He gently pushed it open. The interior was magnificent—a spacious, airy chamber perfectly tailored to his request. It featured three large, well-ventilated stone workbenches, each fitted with intricate heating apparatus and silver taps that dispensed water at precise temperatures.
The air was already being filtered and cycled, ensuring no errant fumes interfered with the delicate process. A large, well-stocked wooden bookshelf lined one wall, packed with ancient and modern Potions texts.
Albert quickly moved to the nearest bench, located a copy of Simple Medicines, and carefully re-read the section detailing the Developing Solution recipe several times. He needed absolute clarity.
The Developing Solution was classified as a relatively Simple Reagent, yet its preparation was anything but trivial. It was an exercise in patience and precision.
The mere material processing—grinding certain moonstone fragments to a specific micron size, perfectly slicing the venomous tentacula leaves, and infusing the powdered root—took the better part of three and a half hours.
Albert worked with focused, relentless care, handling each step according to the ancient, almost ritualistic instructions. The result, finally simmering in his crucible, was a success. He ladled a spoonful into a glass test tube and held it up to the light.
"Not perfectly translucent, a little cloudy perhaps, but functionally sound," he murmured, labeling the test tube.
He packed the newly brewed potion and glanced toward his personal Skill Panel. The new reagent had been registered: Developing Solution (Mastered).
"Time to see if it works," Albert muttered, pulling a standard, stationary photograph—a picture of the Gryffindor Quidditch team celebrating a win—from his pocket.
He carefully dripped the Developing Solution onto the paper, using a small, fine brush to spread the liquid across the surface. He then raised his wand and, with the perfect focus he had cultivated, chanted the enchantment: "Developo!"
For a moment, nothing happened. The solution gradually dried, leaving a clear, faint sheen on the photo paper. Then, with a subtle shimmer, the figures within the frame—Charlie Weasley, Angelina Johnson, and the rest of the team—began to move. They laughed, clapped each other on the back, and replayed a silent, joyous moment of their victory.
Albert smiled, a flicker of genuine, non-system-based satisfaction crossing his face. He quickly enchanted two more photographs, nodding with quiet pride.
He checked his Quest Panel.
Quest: Animated Magic Photo
Status: Completed.
He immediately claimed the reward. The familiar jolt of pure energy washed over him, adding to his formidable Experience Pool.
He then navigated his cluttered skill panel, scrolling past dozens of mastery badges until he found the subject he had been pursuing: Alchemy.
Albert immediately used the Experience Pool to boost the skill to Level 1. He sat back in the armchair the Room had thoughtfully provided, reviewing the subtle theoretical shift that Level 1 mastery granted. It was basic, providing foundational understanding, but still largely derived from book knowledge.
He hesitated for a moment, the high cost flashing in his mind.
"If I want practical insight, I have to pay the price," he decided, gritting his teeth. He poured a significant chunk of his reserves: 2,000 Experience Points—a sum that felt substantial even to him—into the skill.
Alchemy (Level 2) Unlocked.
The rush of conceptual understanding that accompanied Level 2 Alchemy was immediate and painful. Albert instantly recognized a profound flaw in his own previous attempts at magical item creation, particularly with the Protective Bracelet.
His core theoretical knowledge, he realized, was insufficient. Level 2 provided a perfect how-to manual—he knew the steps to create alchemical components—but it lacked the why, the Blueprints of deep magical theory.
The first major breakthrough concerned the durability of defensive enchantments.
Albert realized the wooden bracelet had failed because he had charmed it with standard, modern protective spells. These charms, though initially potent, lacked a deep alchemical anchor. He understood now that creating a powerful, lasting alchemical tool required stabilizing the enchantment with a highly advanced, primal form of magic.
Ancient Celestial Fire or the use of complex, interlocking runic structures were the ideal solutions. Without this deep anchor, simple charmed items were inherently consumable; their magical charge degraded rapidly upon impact or prolonged use.
The reason my wooden bracelet lost its magic so quickly is that it reached its theoretical limit, he deduced. It was a battery charged by a simple charm, not a self-sustaining generator.
This led to his second, revolutionary insight—the concept of a magical cooldown period.
The best way to prevent rapid consumption was to give the item a rest, allowing its inherent, passive magical properties to regenerate.
Most defensive magical artifacts operate on this principle: they are not infinite, but rather possess a finite charge that restores itself over time, exactly like the cooldown mechanism in a modern video game. Once the magic dissipates entirely, the item becomes ordinary, fulfilling the law of conservation of magic.
Albert snatched his notebook and furiously scribbled down these insights, prioritizing the necessary improvements to the protective bracelet: reinforcing the core structure with a runic sequence for greater permanence, and defining a regeneration period into its function.
"However, the theoretical foundation is still critically lagging," Albert muttered, looking at the limits of Level 2. "If only I could establish contact with Nicolas Flamel. He is the only living wizard who could fill these vast, fundamental gaps in my understanding of deep-level transmutation and artifact creation."
The intense mental workout of the brewing and subsequent theoretical analysis had drained Albert completely. He dismissed the concept of the "magic lamp"—another potential alchemical project he'd considered—for a later date, knowing his current focus had to be on theory correction.
After a thorough cleanup, leaving the workbench spotless, Albert approached the Room's exit. He pulled the Marauder's Map from his pocket, pressed his wand to the parchment, and whispered, "I solemnly swear that I did nothing wrong."
After confirming the hallway was completely empty, he erased the marks on the map, quickly exited the Room of Requirement with his cauldron and medicine box, and headed back to the safety of the Gryffindor common room.
The knowledge he now possessed was far more volatile than the Developing Solution he had just brewed.