The outcome of the meeting with Hertok Dagworth had been far smoother and swifter than Albert had prepared for. The renowned Potions Master hadn't just yielded; he had practically crumbled, terrified by the glimpse of Albert's calculated ruthlessness.
Dagworth had clearly grasped the core threat: that Albert possessed the leverage and the network—via Brod and the implicit approval of the likes of Dumbledore—to turn a minor legal grievance into a career-ending scandal for an unsuspecting Ministry official.
Yet, this very ease felt strangely unnerving to Albert. Usually, when navigating such high-stakes interpersonal conflicts, there was an expected period of tense back-and-forth, a final negotiation that cemented the win. This time, Dagworth's surrender was absolute and immediate, like watching a sophisticated clockwork mechanism simply seize up. It was too clean. It almost felt... pre-empted.
Albert paused before the portrait of the Fat Lady, his mind still running simulations of the possible diplomatic moves Dagworth might attempt next. He checked the status on his internal task panel—the ubiquitous, nagging System that tracked his progress.
The mission to "Resolve the Financial Harassment Issue" was still annoyingly active, signifying that the problem hadn't been fully purged from the Ministry's system, and thus, the Golden Membership Card remained his collateral.
"You're lingering, dear," the Fat Lady's oil-painted mouth twitched in annoyance. "If you don't have the password, step aside; I have other guests to attend to."
"Oh, my apologies, ma'am," Albert murmured, snapping out of his analytical fog. "Password is: Singer."
With a groan of turning canvas, the portrait swung inward, and Albert slipped through the hidden archway, stepping back into the warm, slightly chaotic haven of the Gryffindor common room.
The air was thick with the scent of burnt firewood and a faint, sweet overlay of licorice wand sparks. The room was buzzing, having reached that perfect post-dinner state where energy levels are high and homework avoidance is paramount.
"Oi, Albert! Over here!"
It was George, lounging in an armchair by the fire. He was watching Fred and Lee Jordan engaged in a fierce, albeit casual, battle of Wizard Cards on a low, battered coffee table. George waved him over, his face still flushed with excitement from the earlier tryouts.
Albert approached and leaned against the back of George's chair. "Well, spill it. The good news and the bad news. Who survived the Charlie Weasley Gauntlet?"
George grinned, detailing the finalized selections with the enthusiasm of a sports commentator. "The main lineup is confirmed. Fred and I, the magnificent Weasley bludger beaters. Angelina Johnson, our speed demon chaser. Wood, the captain and brick wall, of course, sticking to Keeper. And Charlie picked Danny and Paris as the secondary chasers, they were solid enough."
"As expected," Albert nodded. The core team was powerful and known.
"But the drama was in the specialty positions," George continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Aria Spinnett was stellar; she's in the running for Seeker, which is brilliant, but she's got stiff competition from a surprise entry: Katie Bell, a first-year. She's tiny, but she flies like a mad thing.
And then there's Cormac McLaggen, who's now only being considered as a backup Keeper. He's massive, but a bit too full of himself. And, of course, they had to count on you, the most unreliable Seeker candidate on the planet, to actually show up."
"My attendance record for competitive sports is exemplary in its non-existence," Albert conceded dryly. "It's about priorities, Georgie. How are things on the other front—the reason I was with Dumbledore?"
"It was the same issue, then?" George asked, intrigued.
"The same messy entanglement, yes. But Mr. Hertok has finally seen the light and agreed to resolve the entire matter. I expect the bureaucratic hassle to clear up soon." Albert shifted his attention to the lively girl who had just joined the card players. "Congratulations on making the Chaser squad, Angelina. Good flying."
Angelina, looking flushed and happy, offered a grateful smile. "Thank you, Albert. But I still can't believe you didn't even turn up to tryouts. We could really use your eyes on the pitch. Aria especially was hoping you'd be there."
"I had a more pressing political engagement," Albert replied with a slight shrug. "The world of arcane politics, unfortunately, cares little for the timing of school sports."
Angelina leaned over and tugged the sleeve of a tall, dark-haired fourth-year girl who was watching the game with intense focus. "Aria flies really well, Albert. She has this effortless grace in the air. I told her if she'd trained with us consistently last term, we would have an unstoppable team this year. She's a natural talent."
"It's a rare sight to see two, potentially three, excellent girl Chasers, and now a girl Seeker candidate," Albert noted, observing Katie Bell's name on a scrap of parchment George was fiddling with. "Girls seem poised to dominate the Gryffindor Hunter position for years to come. That's a highly unusual trend in Quidditch history, I dare say."
"That's true, and brilliant!" George agreed enthusiastically. "But, listen, Wood needs a keeper who can play backup and not break the equipment when he's practicing. McLaggen thinks he's going to steal Wood's spot. That's why I asked about Dumbledore—we were hoping you might have influenced the decision against him."
"Not my jurisdiction," Albert chuckled. "But if McLaggen is being scouted for Keeper, he's probably in for a very, very long wait."
"Why?" Fred suddenly chimed in, tossing down a card with a dramatic flourish.
Albert was slightly irritated by the interruption, not because of the question, but because Fred had paused the game.
"Use your head, you idiot. Wood is obsessed. He will undoubtedly be the Quidditch Captain until he graduates in three years. Unless he suffers a severe injury, he never gives up his position. Charlie simply needs a reliable replacement, a failsafe, to avoid the embarrassing mess of last year where we had no Keeper depth. McLaggen will sit the bench and complain loudly for the next three years."
"Ah! That makes perfect, horrifying sense," Fred conceded, his eyes now sparkling with a new understanding. "Well, now that the strategic talk is done, want to lose a few Galleons to the better Weasley?"
"Perhaps another time," Albert responded. "My card collection is currently stored in my dormitory, and frankly, there aren't enough unique cards in the current circulation to keep me interested."
"See!" Fred whined to Angelina. "Nobody wants to play with him anymore! He just breaks the game! We need more cards, Albert. Go develop the next expansion pack."
"I'll create my own deck another day when the mood strikes," Albert promised, standing fully upright.
Angelina, however, was hooked. She was shuffling the rudimentary deck that Fred and Lee were using—the deck Albert had initially designed. "This game is actually far more engaging than Gobstones. The tactical depth is fascinating, even if the artwork is a bit… crude."
"It's in its early access phase," Albert corrected lightly. "Say, Angelina, would you and Aria be interested in joining the Wizarding Card Club?"
"What is this now? Is this another one of your secret study groups?" Angelina asked, looking genuinely surprised.
Albert gestured around the table. "As the name suggests, it's a loosely organized club of enthusiasts. Right now, it consists of these three clowns and me. We meet once a month, usually the last weekend, to integrate new card expansions, debate complex rule interpretations, and occasionally, host a small, overly competitive tournament. That's about the long and short of it."
"Did you literally just invent this club right now?" Lee Jordan questioned, looking skeptical.
"No, I vaguely mentioned the concept on the train back in September. It was merely an inevitable consequence of creating a widely successful, highly addictive magical pastime," Albert said, spinning a ridiculous yarn with a straight face.
"Don't listen to his pretentious nonsense, Angelina, he just wants to justify his latest obsession," Fred interjected, slamming down his current play. "Your turn, Aria."
Aria Spinnett, the Seeker candidate, who had been listening silently, finally spoke. "I don't know. I'm quite focused on Quidditch right now. The time commitment…"
"It's minimal," Albert assured her. "But I came down here for a reason. Aria, you were mentioned in the tryouts, and you were involved in the Card Game discussion. I need to create a new card based on you. I need your permission to print your image and magical attributes onto the next expansion pack."
Aria looked astonished. "My own card? Isn't that… a bit much?"
"Of course not. It's a necessary component of the Quidditch Expansion Set," Albert explained, treating the process like a formal transaction. "One moment."
He returned to his dormitory, procured a blank card, and quickly used a self-inking charm to create the Aria Spinnett card, etching her likeness and unique effect onto the parchment.
Effect: Reversible Momentum. Each time a Quidditch Player card in your possession is sent to the Graveyard (destroyed), Aria Spinnett's Health value increases by 1 for the remainder of the duel.
He returned and handed the card to Aria.
"Why no attack value, Albert?" Fred immediately complained, peering over Aria's shoulder. "She should be able to whip a Bludger at someone!"
"It's about balance, Fred, and thematic accuracy," Albert lectured, ignoring the interruption. "Aria is a Seeker candidate. Her strength is persistence, evasion, and remaining in the game until the critical moment. Her value increases as the duel becomes more desperate. It's an attrition card."
"Just as I suspected," Lee Jordan muttered dramatically, earning a playful cuff from George.
"Alright, you three can continue the playtesting," Albert said, nodding to the table. "I have other, more academic commitments now. I'm already late for the Transfiguration Club."
"Don't forget to swing by the kitchens on the way back!" Fred called out suddenly. "We're out of those ginger snaps the House-Elves keep hidden!"
"Not my route this evening," Albert called back, rolling his eyes at the audacity of the request, and headed toward the portrait hole.
Albert left the noise and warmth of the Gryffindor tower and began the long trek toward the castle's sixth floor. The stone corridors were quiet now, lit by flickering torchlight that cast long, dancing shadows. He passed through the tapestry of Boris the Bewildered, traversed several shifting staircases, and finally, ducked through the secret passage concealed behind the portrait of the one-eyed witch.
He arrived at the door of Classroom 21, the meeting place for the Transfiguration Club, nearly forty minutes late.
He hesitated only a second. Being late was unfortunate, but showing up was mandatory. The Transfiguration Club was one of the few places where he could test the upper limits of his theoretical knowledge against McGonagall's practical experience—and against the efforts of two highly motivated older students.
Raising his hand, Albert gave a quick, sharp rap on the wooden door, pushed it open, and slipped inside.
The club was clearly underway. The small group was clustered around a table at the front of the room. The original number of attendees had shrunk, confirming the club's highly selective nature. In addition to Professor McGonagall and the core members, two new faces were present—or, rather, two older faces.
Katrina, the quiet Ravenclaw with a reputation for potent Charmwork, was seated at a simple, sturdy wooden desk. Beside her, perched rather precariously on a rickety, three-legged stool, was Cedric Diggory, the handsome and highly capable Hufflepuff Prefect.
"Please come in, Mr. Anderson. Don't dawdle," Professor McGonagall said, her tone strict but devoid of any real scolding. "We are barely past the demonstration phase." She gestured toward an empty chair pulled up near the table.
Albert walked quickly to the empty seat beside Diggory, nodding a quick, silent greeting to Katrina and the Hufflepuff. He couldn't help but notice the state of the furniture. Katrina's desk was whole and solid; Diggory's stool looked like it might collapse if he shifted his weight too suddenly.
It was a subtle, almost unspoken indicator of the level of Transfiguration they had been attempting—clearly, Diggory had either struggled to hold a complex Transfiguration or had sacrificed a piece of his existing chair for an earlier exercise. Compared to the rest of the room, their immediate area looked slightly traumatized.
Professor McGonagall, standing at the head of the table, held her wand ready. She was explaining advanced concepts, her voice crisp and authoritative.
"Remember, the key to advanced Transfiguration is not merely the incantation or the wand movement, but the absolute willpower to visualize the object's new form, and the deeper understanding of the molecular cohesion you are altering. We are not just changing appearance; we are fundamentally restructuring the object's essence."
With a sharp flourish, McGonagall tapped the sturdy wooden chair she had been sitting on. "Feraverto!"
In a quick, seamless transformation that left no smoky residue or lingering wobbles, the chair's wood smoothed, darkened, and morphed into a sturdy, black-and-tan Dachshund (sausage dog). The newly formed canine immediately trotted in a tight circle on the desktop, sniffing the air, completely oblivious to its recent existence as an inanimate object.
It was an advanced, complex feat of magic: turning furniture into a living, fully functional creature. The Transfiguration was flawless.
Both Katrina and Diggory gasped slightly, clearly impressed and intimidated. This was a step far beyond the usual matchstick-to-needle or beetle-to-button exercises they were accustomed to in class.