The echoes of the banquet eventually faded into the night. One by one, the luminaries of the wizarding world had vanished into the green flames of the Floo or stepped out into the crisp winter air to Apparate home. The grandeur of the evening left behind a lingering scent of expensive tobacco and vintage wine.
"I can't thank you enough for the invitation, Professor Broad," Albert said, standing by the fireplace as the last sparks of emerald light flickered out.
Professor Broad, looking every bit the tired patriarch of a long-standing legacy, gestured toward the plush armchairs by the hearth. "No need for formalities now, Albert. The guests are gone. Come, sit. I suspect your head is spinning with more than just the wine."
Albert didn't argue. He sank into the chair, the heat from the dying fire warming his legs. "It's not spinning, exactly. But it is... full. Alchemy is a far deeper rabbit hole than the textbooks lead you to believe. It's not just about changing metals; it's about changing the nature of things. It's captivating."
"Captivating, yes. And dangerous," Broad said softly, his eyes reflecting the orange glow of the embers. "You've likely realized by now that your greatest enemy isn't a lack of talent, but a lack of time. Your youth is a brilliant flame, but you're trying to light the entire world with it all at once."
Albert leaned back, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You're saying my knowledge limits my potential."
"In a way. Most wizards don't even look at a transmutation circle until they've finished their N.E.W.T.s. They spend their school years learning how to wave a stick, and their adult years forgetting why they did it in the first place. Very few have the stomach to dedicate a lifetime to the 'why' instead of the 'how'."
"What about the Unspeakables?" Albert asked, his eyes sharp. "Surely they spend their time on the 'why'?"
Broad's eyebrows shot up, a genuine look of surprise crossing his aged features. "The Department of Mysteries? Where on earth did you pick up that term?"
"The Ministry sent me a rather... pointed warning letter earlier this year," Albert said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'm a firm believer in the old Muggle adage: know your enemy. I did some digging into the people who sign the 'restricted' notices."
Broad chuckled, though it lacked his usual warmth. "The Unspeakables... they are a curious lot. They research the grand concepts—Death, Time, Love, Thought. But if you're looking for practical results that actually help the wizarding world, don't look toward the Department of Mysteries. They are hoarders of secrets, not sharers of them."
He leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "I wouldn't recommend that path for you, Albert. Don't waste your brilliance in a basement. Dumbledore spent a brief stint there in his youth, but even he realized that the sun shines brighter than the lanterns of the Ministry. You'll find your way into those domains eventually—talent like yours is a magnet for the 'grand secrets'—but don't go looking for them yet."
Albert nodded noncommittally. In truth, he didn't care much for the Department's philosophical navel-gazing. He was a pragmatist. If he was going to build something, he wanted it to be useful—preferably something that made his own life easier or more profitable. Selfless research? That wasn't in his vocabulary. He had lived one life as a cog in a machine; in this one, he intended to be the mechanic.
"I know you're trying to be a polymath," Broad continued, sensing Albert's internal gears turning. "You want to be deep in every subject, like a modern-day Nicolas Flamel. But Nicolas is an anomaly. He had six centuries to get his PhDs. Most of us, even the ones you met today, have to pick a lane. If you try to run in every direction at once, you'll just end up standing still."
"I'll keep that in mind, Professor," Albert said. He didn't mention the System Panel humming in the back of his mind. He didn't need six centuries; he just needed enough Experience Points.
"And then there's Rowena," Broad sighed, his voice dropping an octave. "Smith... he's a brilliant man. Truly. He had a gift for Alchemy that rivaled my own at his age. But he let... certain events derail him. He became obsessed with things that are best left in the past."
Albert stayed silent. He knew Broad was referring to Professor Smith, but the way the old man spoke—indirectly, almost fearfully—suggested a history that was far more tangled than a simple teacher-student relationship.
"Do you remember those Ancient Runes I had you translate?" Broad asked, abruptly shifting gears.
Albert nodded. "The ones concerning the 'hidden heart' of the castle?"
"Hogwarts is a living entity, Albert. On the eighth floor, tucked away behind a tapestry of a man trying to teach trolls to dance, there is a room. Some call it the Room of Requirement. Others call it the Come-and-Go Room. It was Rowena's greatest architectural achievement, and within it lies... a Treasure Trove."
Albert's expression remained flat, though inside, his mind was racing. He already knew about the Room of Requirement—he'd used it more than once. But Broad's description of it as a "Treasure Trove" belonging to Rowena (the ancestor, not Smith) was a new layer.
"You don't seem surprised," Broad noted, a bit of amusement returning to his face. "I suppose a boy who finds his way into my dinner parties would find his way into a secret room. But know this: Rowena MacDougall went to teach at Hogwarts for a reason. She left something behind. Something that requires a specific key to unlock."
"If it's a matter of Ancient Runes," Albert said carefully, "surely Mr. MacDougall or Professor Smith could have opened it by now?"
Broad shook his head. "They failed. Both of them. It requires more than just reading the script; it requires a certain... temperament. One I believe you possess."
Broad's gaze became piercing. "I have a request for you, Albert. A commission of sorts."
"Does Professor Smith know about this?" Albert asked immediately.
"He does not. And it is vital that he remains in the dark," Broad whispered. "Rowena—the current one—has an... aggressive streak. He is driven by a need to prove himself, and that kind of hunger can blind a man. If you find what is hidden in that room, bring the knowledge to me first."
[System Notification: New Quest!] Quest Name: The Hidden Legacy (Chain)Objective: Clear the second stage of 'Rowena's Treasure Trove of Knowledge' within the Room of Requirement. Condition: Do NOT inform Professor Smith of your progress. Reward: 3,000 Experience, +500 Reputation with Bard Broad, 1x Mystery Alchemical Blueprint. Status: Pre-requisites met. (Stage 1 Completed).
Albert stared at the blue screen. The quest was already marked as partially done because he had already cracked the first layer of the room's secrets earlier in the term. He felt a chill go down his spine. Why was Broad being so secretive? Why the distrust of Smith?
"Is it dangerous?" Albert asked.
"Secrets are always dangerous," Broad smiled mysteriously, rising from his chair. "But you're a Gryffindor, aren't you? You're supposed to enjoy the risk. For now, let's leave it at that. You'll know when you've reached the center of the maze."
"I understand," Albert said, standing up as well. "I won't say a word."
"Good. Now, I imagine you're eager to see your family. The Christmas holidays are short, and time with those who love us for who we are—not what we can do—is the most precious resource of all."
Broad gestured to the library. "Take a few books with you. Consider them a loan for the winter. My carriage will take you to the station tomorrow morning."
The transition from the magical manor to the Anderson household was like stepping from a technicolor movie back into a cozy, sepia-toned photograph.
For the remainder of the holiday, Albert forgot about Ancient Runes, political smear campaigns, and the "Ma Bo" legacy. He traded his wand for a remote control and his dragon-hide boots for wool socks.
He spent his afternoons on the sofa, a plate of his mother's homemade biscuits on his lap and the fat, ginger cat Tom purring like a freight train on his chest. His sister, Nia, would chatter away about her school friends, and his father would read the newspaper, occasionally grumbling about the economy.
It was mundane. It was quiet. It was perfect.
In the wizarding world, Albert was a "Genius," a "Rising Star," and a "Ma Bo." He was a piece on a very large, very dangerous chessboard. But here, in the dim light of the living room with the TV flickering in the corner, he was just Albert.
He watched a sitcom he'd seen a dozen times in his previous life, laughing at jokes that were twenty years old. He teased Tom with a piece of string, watching the cat tumble off the sofa in a clumsy heap.
"You've been so busy lately, honey," his mother said, ruffling his hair as she walked past. "It's nice to have you back on the ground for a while."
Albert leaned back into the cushions, closing his eyes. The taste of home wasn't in the lavish French delicacies of Professor Broad's table; it was in the simple, dusty warmth of a family living room.