I can't understand it at all.
Izabel McDougal felt a cold knot of dread tighten in her stomach. She stared at the unrolled parchment that Professor Brod had momentarily entrusted to her—a document written entirely in Ancient Runes—and realized, with crushing clarity, that she was entirely lost.
This was more than a matter of vocabulary. Even with the aid of the most extensive rune dictionary available in the Ravenclaw common room—which Izabel practically had memorized—she couldn't even decipher the fundamental contents.
The script wasn't merely translated; it was arranged into complex, geometric formations that changed the meaning of the individual characters. Without a deep understanding of runic matrices and geometric sequencing—the very language of the book—the parchment was meaningless.
Can this guy in front of me really comprehend it?
Izabel expressed skepticism, but only internally. After all, Albert's age—a first-year, barely eleven—was a factor that should cap his academic achievement. Even if he possessed an exaggerated genius, there had to be a natural limit imposed by cognitive development and sheer study time.
Yet, Albert's demeanor suggested no pretense whatsoever. He sat across the room, completely absorbed, a frown of concentration etching his forehead as he held a quill. He wasn't decoding; he was critiquing.
He was actually marking up Uncle Mog's (the preeminent runic scholar of their time) semi-finished parchment, adding his own annotations and detailed counter-arguments on specific alchemical stabilization sequences.
Occasionally, he would debate a point with Professor Brod, the conversation flowing entirely in the rapid, technical shorthand of Ancient Magical Script. There was no hesitation, no need for any "Magic Phonetic Table" or cross-reference. He was speaking the language of theoretical magic fluently.
"What is going on with this person?" Izabel was truly mystified. She couldn't fathom how Albert had achieved such mastery of a subject that required years of dedicated, tedious scholarly effort. His rapid ascent was too abnormal, too unsettling.
The silent, brilliant witch found herself sinking into a deep pool of self-doubt and professional jealousy. Her entire identity was tied to being the most precocious student in her year, yet Albert was operating on a completely different plane of existence.
Izabel's momentary intellectual paralysis was broken by a sudden, violent eruption of green flames from the office fireplace.
"I apologize for my delay, Brod. I didn't anticipate an emergency session at the Wizengamot," Mog McDougal announced, emerging from the fire, brushing the pale Floo ashes from his impeccably tailored robes. He looked exasperated. "You were notably absent. Did you genuinely not receive the notification?"
"I received the decree suddenly this morning," Professor Brod admitted, smirking faintly. "But it arrived so abruptly that I chose to feign ignorance. It wasn't a matter of immediate national security, after all. Since they neglected to notify me with proper advance notice, I felt no compulsion to drop everything and attend."
"That is a remarkably convenient excuse, Brod," Mog replied, nodding thoughtfully, perhaps considering how he might deploy it himself in the future.
"And what was the final resolution of the matter?" Brod asked, turning serious.
"What else could it be? A hefty fine, and another decade in prison," Mog said with a weary wave of his hand. "They permanently revoked Carlotta Pinkston's wand privileges. Another ten years in Azkaban tacked onto her sentence."
"Ten years?" Professor Brod sounded surprised. "I thought the consensus was leaning toward a life sentence. This isn't the first time Pinkston has brazenly violated the Statute of Secrecy in front of Muggles, and I recall her wand was snapped on a previous conviction."
"Carlotta simply acquired another wand," McDougal explained, his tone laced with exasperation at the inefficiency of magical bureaucracy.
"Now, the Ministry has issued a decree specifically stripping her of the right to wield a wand in the British magical jurisdiction. The consensus, however, is clear: if Carlotta commits another offense against the Secrets Act, she will be given a permanent, mandatory bed in Azkaban."
Upon hearing this, Albert couldn't help but interject, the discussion hitting close to his own preoccupations with magical law. "Does the Ministry often resort to snapping wands? I mean, when people violate the Statute of Secrecy, or other laws?"
Professor Brod and Mog McDougal exchanged a knowing look, a brief, silent communication about the realities of power. Finally, Mog answered, choosing his words carefully: "For standard, accidental, or one-off violations? No. At most, a small fine and a memory charm for the Muggle witnesses."
"And what about the Law on the Reasonable Restraint of Underage Wizards?" Albert pressed, his voice deceptively casual.
Mog leaned back, settling into the sofa. "Section 3 of that particular law states that intentionally and knowingly using magic in the presence of Muggles in Muggle-populated areas is a serious offense." He paused.
"In fact, 'intentionally and knowingly' is often interpreted as having already received at least one formal written warning. If the offense is minor, the matter is usually concluded with an interview with the head of the Office for the Prohibition of Magical Misuse. A fine, usually. However, if the offender has a prior record, or a history of repeated serious misconduct, that's when the trouble escalates quickly."
"What about Muggle-born wizards?" Albert asked, pushing the limit of the conversation. "If I were to violate the Law on Reasonable Restraint twice in a row, is it genuinely possible for me to be expelled from school, as the threat implies?"
"Why the intense interest in the legal ramifications, Albert?" Mog asked, a slight, knowing curve to his eyebrow.
"It's merely contingency planning," Albert stated smoothly, offering a fabricated explanation. "If I ever find myself crossing legal lines, I intend to understand the exact loopholes to exploit. My family are lawyers, you see—Muggle legal defenders. They taught me the law is only as strong as its enforcement, and that precision in language always provides an escape route."
"You seem to possess a remarkably dim view of the Ministry of Magic's justice system," Izabel commented, shaking her head. She found his calculated approach to law cynical but dangerously intelligent. She was realizing that Albert wasn't just a powerful wizard; he was a strategic manipulator.
"Before the start of the term, I had a profoundly unpleasant experience regarding an official letter from that Ministry office," Albert said, letting the implied injustice hang in the air.
"Was it related to the Trace?" Mog asked.
"Yes."
"They could potentially go as far as expulsion, depending on the severity," Professor Brod answered Albert's original question. "The final decision rests with the Director of the Office for the Prohibition of Magical Misuse. They do have a formal process to ensure fairness, but—"
"If you ever find yourself in trouble, Albert, I will help you resolve it. Provided you finish this damn book for me," Mog cut off Brod abruptly, sensing the shift in the young man's mood. He smiled disarmingly.
"The situation at the Ministry is indeed as you suspect, Albert, but the Reasonable Restraint Law is primarily a protective mechanism aimed at those in Muggle residential areas. Young children often cannot reliably control their burgeoning magic, and the Trace is simply the easiest way to monitor that unpredictable element and preserve the Statute of Secrecy."
Mog continued, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Once you grow up and enter the full wizarding world, you'll find that wizards rarely interact with Muggles at all—not even the most Muggle-friendly families. The Trace becomes irrelevant."
"So, it still comes down to connections and power, then?" Albert stated the implication plainly, his eyes unwavering.
"Precisely. If you encounter minor issues, sufficient connections and power ensure that nothing sticks. At most, a minor fine," Mog confirmed, speaking with the brutal honesty of an insider. He added a dramatic wink: "Of course, if you happen to know the Minister for Magic and have a good relationship with him, he will happily overlook almost any infraction, provided it doesn't lead to a global crisis."
"Are you thinking of exploiting this by..." Izabel began, suddenly realizing the connection between his legal questions and his earlier inquiries.
"Actually, I am profoundly interested in mastering Apparition," Albert stated, finally revealing his core motivation. "If I could learn it and use it reliably, I would never have to worry about the Trace's jurisdiction or the arbitrary rules of the Ministry again, regardless of where I am staying." The ability to instantly transport himself was the ultimate freedom from surveillance.
"I suggest you write to the Knight Bus and ask it to pick you up on the side of the road," Mog quipped with a laugh, demonstrating how a true wizard overcomes transportation issues. "To flag the bus, simply hold your wand out toward the air."
"No, no, Mog, I think Albert just wants the ultimate shortcut," Professor Brod saw through the desire immediately. "Apparition is still too cognitively and magically demanding for you right now, regardless of the Ministry's rules."
"Alright, I think we should return to the true matter at hand—the reason you're here!" Mog declared, waving his wand. A stack of fresh, densely written parchment appeared out of thin air and landed on the table with a soft thud.
"This is the Second Draft. It incorporates Albert's geometric corrections and my revised stabilization theory. Now, let us find out what new errors we have introduced."
Izabel, seeing the daunting stack of complex, incomprehensible work, felt a strange mix of terror and professional curiosity. Her rivalry with Albert had just been elevated from a school-level competition to a struggle for recognition among the greatest minds in the Wizarding World.
She picked up a loose page, determined to try and decipher even a single runic sentence before her Uncle realized she was entirely out of her depth. The cost of admission into this world of genius, she realized, was perpetual, grinding exhaustion.