Since his meeting with Mog McDougal, Albert could hardly believe the seismic shift his academic life had undergone. His days were now punctuated by intense, high-level discussions with a world-renowned expert, dealing with concepts that routinely overwhelmed his first-year peers.
The relentless mental pressure of delving into the deepest, structural secrets of Ancient Runes had become a formidable burden on Albert's brain. This burden was visibly manifested in his recent listlessness and a perpetually exhausted look that even his best glamours couldn't fully mask.
However, this high-load cognitive situation was yielding profound dividends. Albert's Rune Skill Experience had surged by nearly 1,000 points in less than half a month, a phenomenal rate of intellectual absorption.
Most importantly, he felt he was finally within reach of mastering the knowledge he craved: the true functional magic of ancient runes that McDougal had briefly alluded to—the knowledge of how to make runes not just translate, but perform.
Albert knew he could immediately upgrade his Rune Skill to Level 3 using his Experience Pool, instantly acquiring that theoretical mastery. But he chose to wait.
The sheer cognitive restructuring required to assimilate such a vast amount of specialized, complex knowledge instantly would be a punishing blow to his concentration and mental balance. The slow, painful, incremental absorption via study was preferable to the jarring, sudden download.
Moreover, the Experience Pool was his ultimate strategic reserve. It was not merely a vault for quick skill boosts; it represented his primary backup plan and his safeguard against every unforeseen magical or financial disaster.
Tapping it recklessly, even for a core skill, was a risky move. He budgeted the instant-level-up ability for practical, life-saving skills (like Alchemy Level 2) and strategic, high-value systems (like Economy and Finance). If the outflow exceeded the inflow, his foundation would inevitably crumble.
Albert would only risk the high cost of a Level 3 jump when the theoretical work was nearly complete, making the instantaneous mastery a mere final step, not a massive, taxing leap.
"What's been wrong with you lately, Albert? You look like you haven't slept since the last Full Moon," George asked, nudging Albert sharply in the ribs as they sat down to breakfast.
"It's nothing, just exceptionally busy," Albert replied vaguely, his eyes tracing an imaginary runic sequence on the tablecloth. "Could you please push that orange marmalade over here to me?" Albert piled his plate high with a strange combination of two sausages, a fried egg, and half a diced fried tomato.
George suspiciously handed over the marmalade. He then watched, utterly bewildered, as Albert smeared a thick, unsettling layer of sweet orange preserve not on his toast, but directly onto the heavily spiced sausage. Albert took a massive, distracted bite.
"Here we go again, staring at the little black book," Fred commented with a grin, observing Albert pull out his diary. "By the way, there's an Apparition class this afternoon. Do you want to go watch?"
"I remember the last one," Lee Jordan chuckled, recounting the grotesque incident. "That poor Hufflepuff bloke, he was completely… dismembered! They had to peel him off the floor!"
"It's 'spliced,' not 'dismembered,' Lee," Angelina Johnson, sitting across from them, corrected him with a distinct look of disdain. "Don't use such a violently inaccurate word to describe a minor magical mishap."
"I think that guy's name was Figg," Lee Jordan insisted, rubbing his chin.
"It's Figo," Albert corrected weakly between bites of his marmalade-sausage. He pushed the last of his fried egg aside, already feeling a strange disconnect from his surroundings.
"How did you know?" Lee Qiaodan asked, his competitive streak flaring.
"Last time, I met a friend from Hufflepuff in the library—a rather tall fellow, cough, cough," Albert replied cryptically, trying to steer the conversation away from his extracurricular activities.
"You have Hufflepuff friends? You really do know everyone," Alicia Spinnet observed, impressed by Albert's expansive network.
"Who doesn't have a few acquaintances outside their house?" Albert shrugged.
"I remember! It was that tough guy who punched the Ravenclaw prefect—Boggins—down the stairs last time," Lee exclaimed.
"It was Truman," Fred supplied dryly. "Seriously, Lee, your memory is abysmal."
The mention of Truman immediately refocused the twins' attention on Albert, their expressions turning secretive. "Albert, be honest," George whispered, leaning in. "That whole mess—the punch, the fight—was that your… suggestion?"
Albert, pretending not to hear, focused his gaze on his diary. His attention landed on a critical entry. He looked up at George, his tone abruptly serious. "The copy of Uric's Biography from last time—the one that couldn't be repaired. You never told me what you did with it. Have you managed to fix it and return it?"
George's face instantly went rigid, his eyes flicking nervously toward the main doors. "It wasn't fixed, no, but it was returned. Madam Pince didn't notice a thing."
"We had to make a bold, regrettable decision," Fred explained, his voice low but thick with audacious pride. "We surgically tore that damaged page out completely. As long as no one deliberately flips to the missing section, it appears merely as a page tear, not a failure of spellwork."
"You're in luck, then," Albert said, genuinely speechless at the audacity of their solution. He had assumed they would find a way to repair it properly; their method was far more reckless, but effective.
"I wonder which unlucky student will eventually take the fall for the missing page," Albert mused aloud, unable to resist a cynical jab.
"Ahem, that's not our current priority," the twins said in embarrassed unison.
George quickly switched the subject back to the afternoon's event: "So, Apparition class? Are you going to watch?"
"I will go. It's always beneficial to attend the lectures; one can always learn the underlying theory," Albert nodded. He was eager to see if witnessing the spell's effect might trigger an associated system skill in the form of a phantom ability on his skill list. He knew the theory required Vicky Tykroth's notorious Three D's for successful Apparition: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation.
If I could just try it myself, Albert thought with profound frustration. Unfortunately, due to stringent Ministry safety protocols, only sixth and seventh-year students were allowed to enroll.
"You're probably lamenting again why we can't sign up for the Apparition course yet," George said, successfully reading Albert's thoughts.
"The opportunity is indeed rare," Albert admitted. "However, the magic itself is genuinely difficult for younger students. We simply don't possess the raw magical power and mental discipline required to sustain such a demanding spell without risking severe physical damage."
He sighed, frustrated by the institutional barriers. Unlike his peers, his magical power was not the issue; only the systemic block prevented him from instantly mastering the skill via his Experience Pool.
"You could always try the Disillusionment Charm and sneak in!" Fred whispered, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Don't be ridiculous, Fred. Do you think a basic Disillusionment Charm could fool a Professor as sharp as McGonagall or Tykroth?" Albert rolled his eyes.
"Even if you learned it today, you couldn't use it during the summer holidays," George pointed out, adopting a tone of serious responsibility.
"Why not?" Shanna, the Muggle-born, asked, puzzled by this seemingly arbitrary rule.
"That's Ministry of Magic regulation. The first violation gets you a severe written warning; the second often results in expulsion and a hefty fine of Galleons," George reminded her solemnly.
Percy Weasley, having just arrived, sat down next to George and took the opportunity to lecture. "That's simply how the Ministry stipulates it. Once you receive your official notification during the summer, you cannot use magic until you turn seventeen. It is a vital measure to prevent unauthorized magical use and safeguard the Statute of Secrecy."
Albert stirred his now-cold milk tea, then interjected softly, offering the critical legal loophole. "Actually, if magic is used in a wizard-dense area like Diagon Alley or within a recognized pure-blood residential ward, you generally won't receive a warning, and certainly not an expulsion threat. The Ministry's detection method simply cannot distinguish who cast the spell."
"How do you know that?" Shanna asked, staring at Albert with sudden, intense interest, while Percy next to her looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"I only learned this after that unlucky Truman faced a near-expulsion over an incident," Albert explained, dismissing the issue with a wave of his hand.
"I paid special attention. I spoke to upper-years and even read a few law texts. The Ministry uses something they call 'The Trace.' It's a specialized spell woven into our individual magical signatures at birth, specifically designed to monitor our magical energy expenditure. When a minor uses magic in a Muggle-populated area, the sudden spike of localized magical energy in a low-magic environment triggers the Trace's alert system. They can pinpoint the exact location and assume the minor is responsible."
"So, if magic is used in Diagon Alley or a place already saturated with magical activity, the Ministry simply can't figure out who did it?" Shanna asked, her voice quiet but sharp.
"Yes, that's precisely it," Albert nodded.
"That's fundamentally unfair!" Shanna exclaimed, her indignation blazing. "The Ministry is essentially admitting that its laws only apply to children from Muggle families or those in Muggle proximity. They rely on the honor system for pure-bloods who can cast spells with impunity at home, but we are monitored like criminals simply because of where we live."
"Wizarding families have a tradition of self-discipline and respect for the law," Percy explained with a dry, pompous cough, adhering to the Ministry's talking points. "It's about maintaining the integrity of the Wizarding World."
"If self-discipline were truly useful, why would the Ministry of Magic need to enact so many laws in the first place?" Shanna sneered, her tone dripping with biting sarcasm.
"I like what you said, Shanna," Albert couldn't help but laugh, admiring her sharp philosophical insight. "How wonderfully cynical! Don't you all agree?" His laughter was thin, however.
Shanna's point highlighted a severe structural flaw in the Wizarding World's governance—a systemic gap that granted privileged impunity to the old families while tightly controlling those newly introduced to the world.
It was an unbalanced system ripe for exploitation, and Albert, the one who meticulously studied the system's rules and loopholes, was already planning how to take advantage of the Ministry's hypocritical reliance on The Trace.