The man in front of me, Mog McDoug, is quite different from what I imagined... or rather...
"What's wrong?" Mog McDougal noticed the momentary surprise on Albert's face and asked in confusion, "Is there something on my face?"
"I thought… you would be younger," Albert admitted, blurting out his original surprise that the famed contemporary magical master wasn't younger, perhaps more like an early thirties prodigy.
"Young… Haha, no need to apologize. I'm certainly not young anymore," Mog laughed good-naturedly. "Now, please look at this." He pointed toward the stacks of parchment covered in runes.
"I was telling Brod only yesterday that while Izabel is incredibly talented, perhaps the most talented student I've ever seen, your understanding of runic geometry goes beyond learned skill."
"Izabel?" Albert probed cautiously, confirming the relation.
"My distant niece," Mog confirmed with a warm smile. He then returned to the topic at hand. "Brod and I are planning to compile a definitive work on the deeper aspects of runic science—a book that moves beyond basic academic translation and explores their functional power. Albert, would you be interested in joining us as a contributor?"
"Me?" Albert was stunned. He was eleven years old, and being asked to co-author a book—a serious, academic text—was ludicrous.
The Flaw of the Protective Bracelet
"It's not us writing this, it's all of us," Professor Brod said, pushing the door open, a thick, crumbling book tucked under his arm. "Ah, you're here earlier than expected. Milk tea, I assume?" Brod waved his wand, and a fragrant cup of milk tea materialized in front of Albert.
"I recommended you to Mog because of your almost instinctual grasp of ancient magical script," Brod continued. "The main effort is Mog's, of course; we are merely providing support and critical analysis."
"It's truly incredible that you'd invite me," Albert managed, taking a sip of the comforting tea. "If this got out, it would certainly be the most talked-about joke of the century."
"Don't dismiss yourself," Mog interjected gently. "You are special, potentially even more dazzling than Izabel at this stage. I think your unique perspective will be invaluable. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all."
"Excellent. In fact, I think you'll learn things that are impossible to find in any modern textbook," Mog said, his gaze settling on the wooden bracelet on Albert's wrist. "The craftsmanship is rough, yes, but the placement of the runes... this is the prototype of a true defensive alchemical core. You don't mind if I inspect it?"
Albert, his heart hammering as he realized Mog was an alchemical master, quickly slipped the wooden bracelet off and handed it over.
Mog ran his finger over the crudely carved runes, a thoughtful hum escaping him. "If it were me, I would suggest Yew wood. While Guardian wood has protective effects, it cannot perfectly activate and sustain the power of the runes, which is why its charge dissipates so quickly. And unfortunately," Mog looked up, his eyes meeting Albert's with profound certainty, "you haven't yet mastered the stabilization sequence—the alchemical theory required to make the charm self-sustaining."
Albert's eyes widened. This single sentence validated the vast, expensive realization he had just unlocked with Level 2 Alchemy—the need for a powerful, anchoring magic to make the charm durable. He had the intuition, but Mog had the Blueprint.
"Don't rush, Albert, you are already years ahead of everyone else in this area. Even Brod hasn't studied this depth of runic magic," Mog said, glancing at his colleague.
"I'm not a specialist in runic preservation," Brod said dismissively. "I stick to practical Transfiguration and Defence. But I assure you, Mog is the foremost living expert on the true functional magic of runes."
"Each has their strengths," Mog conceded, turning to the pile of parchment. "Alright, let's focus on the task at hand. Tell me, Albert," he picked up a section of the runic parchment, "where do you think we acquired these ancient texts?"
"May I ask? I mean, where did these specific runes come from?" Albert asked, genuinely curious.
"This is part of the remnants of the Ravenclaw Legacy," Professor Brod stated simply, though the phrase held immense, historic weight.
"Inheritance?" Albert managed, trying to process the idea that they were casually translating the secrets of a Hogwarts Founder.
"Yes, the wisdom of Rowena Ravenclaw herself," Mog confirmed. "It's breathtaking. We plan to summarize and codify it into a complete book so that future generations can decipher this profound knowledge. One day, people will realize the magical power contained within Ancient Runes."
"I've never seen these words possess any magical power, only historical significance," Brod pointed out pragmatically.
"Because you don't understand the runic geometry well enough," Mog retorted, pointing out his friend's limitation with gentle bluntness. "Alright, let's begin the initial indexing!"
He waved his wand, and parchment and a self-inking quill appeared, poised to record their dictations and analysis.
The next hour was a relentless, high-speed immersion into complex theoretical magic. Albert found himself contributing, correcting minor structural errors in the translation of ancient runic pairings, and offering logical suggestions that astonished Mog. He was no longer a first-year; he was a junior researcher on a project of unprecedented magical significance.
When he finally stumbled out of Professor Brod's office, his head was spinning. The sheer volume of information—the runic geometries, the alchemical stabilization sequences, the difference between runic translation and runic functionality—kept echoing in his mind.
He was so overwhelmed that he barely registered his return to the Gryffindor common room, collapsing onto his bed fully clothed. The strings of runes and the specific, validating comments from Mog McDougal were the last things he remembered before the exhausting weight of the new knowledge dragged him into a deep, dreamless sleep.