"Stop fooling around!" Lee Jordan interrupted the twins' theatrical bickering, his voice laced with anxiety. He turned to Albert, his expression serious. "Can the book be fixed, Albert? The assignment is due tomorrow."
"It's impossible to say until we try," Albert replied, placing the damaged copy of The Biography of Uric into his own backpack for safety. He looked pointedly at the twins who were still arguing over whose fault it was for discovering the parchment. "If the book can't be fixed, you absolutely cannot return it."
"Why?" George asked, his face a mask of bewilderment, the gravity of the situation completely lost on him.
"Use your common sense, George," Albert said, rubbing his temple with mild irritation. "If Madam Pince discovers you've ruined a library text—and clearly, not accidentally—she will ban you from the library for the rest of the year, if not permanently. At best, you'll face detention. At worst, you'll lose your only reliable source for homework."
He stressed the point: "Many of the essays and reports the professors assign require direct research in the library's restricted or reference sections. If you're barred, you won't be able to complete your homework properly. Not returning it is damage control; the worst Pince can do is charge you for the loss, which is preferable to being academically crippled."
"Oh, right. You haven't actually finished that tedious History of Magic essay yet, have you?" Albert casually reminded them, adopting a sympathetic tone that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's due first thing tomorrow morning. Don't forget about it amidst your treasure-hunting delusions."
"Ah! Don't bring that up!" The three boys groaned in collective agony, the boring reality of their studies crashing down on the excitement of the "treasure map." They had no choice but to hurriedly turn toward the library, determined to cram six months of required reading into one desperate night.
Albert watched their retreating figures, shaking his head slightly. He glanced at the so-called Secret Treasure of Gryffindor map still in his hand, then turned and headed directly back to the Gryffindor dormitory.
Once safely inside his room, Albert pulled out the damaged textbook and the parchment.
"It actually failed?"
He examined the torn page in Uric's Biography. He had tried the Reparo charm several times earlier, confirming that the basic mending spell—which should effortlessly repair a simple tear in parchment—had utterly failed. Albert had tested his wand and his skill on other pieces of paper, confirming that the spell itself was sound.
But why did it fail on this book? Albert muttered, picking it up and examining the cover, the binding, and the age of the pages.
The Biography of Uric was written by Radolf Peterman. Uric the Oddball was a Ravenclaw known for his extreme eccentricities—a fitting character to be associated with a hidden prank. The book recounted his most bizarre episodes, including his three-month experiment to prove the chirps of the Evil Bird were beneficial to health—a period where he nearly went insane.
The book itself seemed ordinary. There was no visible curse or hex. Yet the most fundamental mending charm refused to touch the damage caused by the map. This suggested a layer of complex, sustained counter-magic woven into the book's composition—an intentional ward against repair.
He set the book down, then focused on the map. He picked up the simple piece of parchment, stared at the crude drawings—the tree, the "1," the campfire—and, acting on a sudden, paranoid impulse borne from reading too much fiction, he drew his wand.
He lightly tapped the map. "Reveal your secret!"
Nothing happened. The map remained silent, inert, and merely a crude drawing.
"Hmm, I was just being paranoid," Albert said with a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head at his own foolishness. "Spending too much time with Fred and George has turned me into a conspiracy theorist." He stuffed the parchment back into the damaged pages of the biography and headed toward the common room.
He completely missed the subtle change: as the map settled back between the damaged pages, a microscopic, nearly invisible speck of golden dust, undetectable by the naked eye, appeared near the crudely drawn X.
As soon as Albert entered the common room, he noticed a large, imposing figure waving a hand at him.
"Anderson!"
It was a muscular girl, towering over him, standing with an imposing confidence that spoke of raw physical power. He recognized her instantly: Cragg, a chaser, or perhaps a reserve Beater, for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Despite Albert being tall for his age, he was still a full half-head shorter than her.
"What's the matter?" Albert asked, trying not to look intimidated.
"That was really tough. I've been looking for you all over the place," Cragg complained, her tone slightly gruff. "Here, your letter."
"A letter?" Albert was genuinely puzzled, but he took the folded note from her, offering a polite, almost reflexive "Thank you."
"Professor Brod asked me to tell you that if you have time, it would be best to go to his office before eight o'clock tonight," she delivered the message in a single, rushed breath.
"Oh, I know. Here, have some sweets," Albert said, reaching into his pocket and offering her a handful of the ubiquitous, generic wizarding candies he always carried.
Cragg took the sweets but didn't move, instead subjecting Albert to a long, scrutinizing stare, as if trying to calculate his exact market value.
"What's wrong?" Albert frowned slightly, noticing her intense gaze.
"I really like the chocolate flavor," she stated, peeling one and popping it into her mouth. "Everyone says you're a genius, Anderson. Lucky Albert."
Albert paused, his hand hovering over the note, and looked up at her with genuine surprise. He was used to the label, but hearing it from an upper-year Gryffindor Beater was unexpected.
"I wouldn't call myself a genius; I just worked a little harder than others," Albert replied, holding up his thumb and forefinger to indicate a minute amount of effort.
"Haha, you're hilarious," Cragg laughed, reaching out and giving Albert a hearty clap on the shoulder. Albert winced, feeling his shoulder threaten to pop out of its socket from the sheer force of the blow. "Keep up the hard work. Make sure you truly outdo Izabel McDougal."
"Thank you for the candy, it's actually quite delicious," she said, finally satisfied, and turned to leave.
"What, you've actually managed to hook up with Cragg?" The unmistakable voice of Eileen (another Quidditch player, a Seeker or Chaser perhaps), appeared behind him without warning.
"Cragg?" Albert repeated the name in surprise, then quickly realized the implication. "No, she just delivered a note for Professor Brod. He seems to have something he needs to discuss with me."
Albert quickly opened the note. It confirmed Cragg's message and the 8 PM deadline. He glanced at his pocket watch, noting the time, and with a quick goodbye to Eileen, he hurried out of the common room.
What could Professor Brod possibly want? Albert wondered as he ascended the stairs toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts office. He reviewed their last interaction: the chess game, the rune analysis, and the discussion on magical structure. It almost certainly concerned the Ancient Runes project.
A few minutes later, Albert stood before the office door. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and knocked.
"Come in."
The door opened to reveal not Professor Brod, but a middle-aged wizard in his early fifties. He wore simple, horn-rimmed glasses, had a slightly messy shock of red hair, and offered a remarkably gentle, welcoming smile.
Albert froze in the doorway. His gaze swept past the wizard and into the office, where the cluttered desk of Professor Brod was visible, but the professor himself was absent.
"Where is Professor Brod?" Albert asked, confused.
"Oh, he just stepped out quickly to the library to retrieve a very specific reference text," the middle-aged wizard explained easily. "He told me that if you arrived, I was to invite you in. He'll be back momentarily."
"Professor Brod wants to see me about… what exactly?" Albert asked, secretly performing a mental inventory of the parchment and books scattered across the large table, noticing the sheer volume of advanced runic texts.
"Yes, it's related to the Ancient Runes project he's been working on. Brod thinks you might offer a crucial insight," the wizard replied, gesturing to a comfortable, deep sofa opposite the desk. "I've seen your translation of those scrambled runic fragments, and I must be honest with you, it's nothing short of phenomenal."
Albert felt a flicker of surprise at the depth of the praise; he hadn't expected his casual decoding to have circulated outside of Brod's office.
"Oh, I haven't properly introduced myself," the wizard said, rising slightly from the sofa and extending a hand. His smile deepened, revealing a flash of deep-set confidence. "My name is Mog, Albert. Mog McDougal."
Albert's hand froze mid-air, the name hitting him like a physical shock. McDougal. The same surname as the two sisters, Izabel and Katrina.
This was no casual professor; this was likely the father—or at least a very close relative—of his two most competitive academic rivals. The plot just thickened considerably.