Izabel found herself cycling through the most complex dictionaries in her mind, only to discover that the knowledge she possessed was simply a dead language compared to the living geometry Albert and her uncle were utilizing.
Can he possibly understand this, or is this some elaborate collaborative hoax? Izabel's sharp, analytical mind struggled to accept the truth. Albert was a child, yet his participation was not only accepted but essential.
Professor Brod, observing her struggle, offered a confirmation that shattered her remaining denial. "He reads and internalizes this text with greater facility than Mog, Izabel. He is operating at a level that, in a few short years, will place him beyond ninety-nine percent of the entire wizarding population in the field of Ancient Runes. Once he comes of age, I will personally endorse his application to publish a new seminal work."
Izabel opened her mouth, ready to object, to call it hyperbolic nonsense, but the words caught in her throat. She had witnessed Albert debating the precise structural integrity of a rune-based alchemical sequence with Mog, her world-class uncle. The evidence was irrefutable.
"Don't compare your progress to his. Once in a generation, a mind like his appears—it is truly astonishing," McDougal said, giving Albert a knowing nod. "Don't you agree, Mr. Anderson? The world requires your insight, not just your silence."
Albert lowered his quill, stretching his arms. "Writing a book? I'll think about that only after I graduate from Hogwarts. I have no time for academic publishing right now." He paused, however, the idea taking root in his mind.
Perhaps a quick introductory text would be beneficial. He could synthesize the theoretical knowledge he gained while adding points to his Rune skill—a practical Quick Start Guide to Functional Runes, making the initial study less tedious than the existing "Easy Introductions," which were anything but easy.
Izabel's facial muscles tightened at Albert's casual rejection of an academic honor she would have killed for. She wanted to accuse him of arrogant boasting, but the truth was terrifying: he could likely execute the entire process quickly and flawlessly.
The intense session continued until well past noon, the rhythmic scratching of three quills being interrupted only by occasional, terse debates in the ancient script. Lunch arrived courtesy of the House-Elves—a magnificent, silent spread of savory tarts, roasted fowl, and fresh vegetables—which they consumed quickly, still surrounded by the sprawling project.
During the post-lunch discussion, Albert finally gained a full appreciation of McDougal's grand, complex vision. Mog wasn't just writing one book; he was creating a self-regulating academic ecosystem. First, they would publish this current text, a dense, nearly impenetrable tome designed purely for preservation and proof-of-concept.
Then, Mog would write several comprehensive interpretive volumes to slowly help the next generation of scholars decode the original, allowing the most brilliant minds to bridge the knowledge gap over decades.
The pressure of being one of the only three people who could currently read the document was immense. It was a pressure Izabel could no longer sustain. She had successfully navigated lunch, helping the House-Elves clear the dishes and organizing several stacks of parchment by date, but her mind was screaming for stimulation she could actually comprehend. After a brief, mumbled excuse about a pressing Ravenclaw study session, she quietly slipped away.
"Izabel has departed," Professor Brod observed, barely looking up from a diagram showing the alchemical interaction of Wunjo and Dagaz runes. "She lasted even longer than I anticipated."
Albert merely grunted, rubbing his eyes, and returned to his task of finding flaws in McDougal's elaborate theoretical structures.
"She will return," McDougal said softly, sensing Albert's exhaustion. "If she wishes to truly understand, or ever participate in work of this magnitude, she will need to significantly elevate her mastery of Ancient Runes. Izabel requires a little external stimulus."
"Stimulation?" Albert's lips twitched slightly. He knew that for Izabel, nothing was more stimulating than seeing a rival succeed where she failed. He quickly changed the topic, the familiar wall of frustration rising up.
"I feel like I still can't cross that final conceptual threshold, Mr. McDougal. I'm finding the flaws in the architecture, but I can't yet build the true Stabilization Sequence myself. I feel that something essential is still missing from my core understanding."
"Don't worry. Once we finalize the theoretical framework of this book, I am absolutely certain you will grasp its deepest secrets," McDougal assured him, his voice radiating confidence. He had clearly recognized Albert's unique block—the curse of knowing how something is done without knowing the why of its origin.
"I sincerely hope so," Albert sighed, taking out his pocket watch. It was almost 3:30 in the afternoon. "I have to go now. I promised to attend the Apparition class."
"You are wasting valuable time," Professor Brod said, shaking his head dismissively. "Apparition is far too physically and mentally demanding for a first-year. The magical energy required alone makes it too dangerous."
"Listen and learn; the theory is always useful!" Albert insisted, already gathering his notes.
As Albert reached the door, McDougal called out to him.
"What is it, Mr. McDougal?" Albert stopped, turning back to the elderly wizard.
McDougal rose, walked over, and placed a small, heavy black notebook—bound in what felt like rough, magically reinforced dragonhide—into Albert's hand.
"I believe this notebook will be of profound assistance to you," Mog said softly, his eyes twinkling with secret knowledge. "It contains the personal notes of a very dear, departed friend regarding alchemical geometry and foundational stabilization charms. It is not for public consumption."
"Thank you, I appreciate it," Albert said, feeling the immense weight of the implied trust. He quickly tucked the precious object into his inner robe pocket and left the office, heading straight for the Great Hall.
When Albert arrived at the Great Hall, it was already bustling. Vicky Tykroth, a tall, thin wizard with an unnervingly calm demeanor, was concluding the theoretical portion of the lecture. He was gesturing dramatically with his wand, conjuring a simple, old-fashioned wooden hoop for each of the sixth and seventh-year students present.
Albert quietly moved to an isolated corner near the Ravenclaw tables, carefully positioning himself so as not to be directly in the path of any errant Apparition attempts. He leaned against the wall, listening intently.
"Remember, when attempting Phantom Manifestation, the most critical components are the Three D's," Tykroth's voice boomed, emphasizing the vital importance of Destination, Determination, and Deliberation—the core mental framework required to successfully navigate non-spatial travel.
"Destination—focus entirely on the target location. Determination—resolve to occupy that space. Deliberation—enter a state of absolute, calm emptiness, and move with composure," Albert murmured to himself, reciting the mantra from his notes. He visualized the process repeatedly, trying to force his Skill Panel to recognize the experience.
"Now, please focus your attention entirely on your goal, stepping through the hoop, and repeating my count," Tykroth instructed.
"One... Two... THREE!"
The Great Hall immediately filled with a cacophony of "pop!" and "CRACK!" sounds. Students spun, vanished, and reappeared.
Only a handful of students managed to Apparate successfully across the short distance, and even those often missed their mark, landing inches off-center or losing small, non-essential body parts in the process—a chipped fingernail, a few strands of hair, or a corner of their eyebrow.
Many more students simply spun violently in place and collapsed onto the stone floor, their failed attempts eliciting bursts of embarrassed laughter from the observing younger years.
Then came the inevitable, sickening sound. A loud, wet tearing sound, followed by an immediate, collective gasp.
A poor Hufflepuff boy was suspended several feet in the air. His upper torso and shoulders were present near the hoop, but his lower body—from the waist down—had manifested a full three feet in front of the rest of him. He was a perfect example of a Splinch.
The prefects and Tykroth immediately swarmed the unfortunate student. There was a loud, controlled BANG and a dissipating cloud of purple smoke, followed by the Hufflepuff boy's screams as the two sections were painfully, magically rejoined.
While the attention of every single person in the hall—Tykroth, the prefects, the watching students—was completely fixed on the traumatized Hufflepuff boy, Albert seized his opportunity.
He focused entirely on an empty spot several meters away, away from any students. He did not spin. He fixed his mind on the Destination—the smooth stone floor. He felt the cold Determination to occupy that space. He tried to enter the state of Deliberation and push off.
There was no "pop," no "CRACK." There was only a profound silence and an immediate, frustrating realization that he was still standing exactly where he started. The spell failed entirely. His concentration was perfect, but the raw magical framework required for self-Apparition was simply not yet functional.
Albert wasn't overly disappointed; failure on a first, unassisted attempt was the expected result. He quickly checked his skill panel, still hoping for a hidden ability. But no, the Phantom Appearance skill remained absent.
I need to experience the magic itself.
Albert suddenly recalled the incident with the Goblin-made Armor. He hadn't mastered the Self-Repairing charm until he had been wearing the object while it was activated. He needed to be subjected to the magic of Apparition, not just the theory.
"That's it! Maybe this is the only way to activate the skill!" Albert muttered to himself, a spark of reckless genius igniting in his mind. If I could be forcibly Apparated, or travel alongside someone else... that instantaneous non-spatial transfer might register as a skill unlock.
It was a profoundly dangerous, possibly rule-breaking idea, but the freedom and utility of instant travel were worth the risk. He immediately thought of the one person who would not only have the skill but might also appreciate the dangerous pursuit of unconventional knowledge.
He immediately turned and walked directly toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, his path tracing a desperate arc back to the two powerful wizards he had just left. He needed to ask one of them for a forbidden favor.