"He really thinks I'm a charity, doesn't he?"
Albert stared at the crumpled piece of parchment in his hand, a sharp, dry laugh escaping his throat. The ink on the letter was smudged, likely from Mundungus Fletcher's greasy fingers, and it smelled faintly of stale ale and cheap tobacco.
Mundungus had written back, claiming he had successfully "liberated" a prime specimen of Swamp Digger fur. The catch? The price tag was a staggering twenty Galleons.
Twenty Galleons. To a wizarding family like the Weasleys, that was a small fortune. To Albert, it wasn't a sum that would break the bank, but the principle of the thing stung more than the price. Twenty Galleons for the hide of a creature that was essentially a magical pest found in any decent-sized marsh was beyond an "upcharge." It was a blatant attempt to see just how deep the "genius boy's" pockets really were.
Had Mundungus's greed finally overtaken his survival instinct? Or did he truly believe that Albert, for all his academic brilliance, was just another sheltered schoolboy who didn't understand the exchange rate of the black market?
Whatever the reason, it was a mistake.
Albert had intended to groom Mundungus into his primary "off-the-books" supplier. There were certain alchemical ingredients and dark-tinted artifacts that simply couldn't be ordered through the Daily Prophet's classifieds or bought at Apothecary shops without raising a dozen red flags. Mundungus was the perfect middleman—unscrupulous, well-connected, and cowardly enough to be controlled.
But a partnership only works if both parties understand the hierarchy. Albert didn't mind Mundungus taking a generous cut; everyone has to eat, and risk deserves a premium. But being fleeced was an insult to his intelligence. If Mundungus was too stupid to realize he was biting the hand that intended to feed him for years to come, then Albert would simply have to find a new hand. Or, perhaps, a more obedient dog.
He didn't feel the need to argue. Power, after all, made things very simple. With a flick of his wrist, Albert pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward him and dipped his quill into the inkwell.
His reply was short and cold. He told Mundungus to go back and check his math—and perhaps his sanity. If the price didn't drop to a realistic figure by the next owl, the "partnership" was dead before it even began. Albert wasn't worried about being lied to; once they eventually met in person, a quick, silent Legilimency probe would strip Mundungus's secrets bare.
"Shera, come here, girl," Albert called, whistling softly.
The snowy owl ruffled her feathers, hopping from her perch to his shoulder. She looked significantly more robust than she had at the start of the term.
"Take this to our 'friend' in London," Albert said, stroking her soft head. "And try to fly a bit faster on the way back, would you? You're starting to look a bit like Tom. If you get any rounder, you'll be more of a feathered boulder than a messenger."
Shera let out a sharp, indignant hoot, nipping his finger playfully before snatching the letter in her beak. She spread her wings, the powerful beat of her pinions sending a small gust of air across the desk, and vanished into the gray winter sky.
Albert watched her go for a moment before closing the window against the chill. He wasn't wrong about her weight; his letters were becoming more frequent—to Professor Broad, to the twins, to various bookstores across Europe. Success, it seemed, was heavy.
He walked downstairs, the wooden steps creaking slightly under his feet. The atmosphere in the living room was a stark contrast to the cold calculations of his correspondence.
Nia was hunched over the coffee table, surrounded by a chaotic spread of textbooks and half-finished worksheets. Beside her, Tom the cat had achieved his final form: a sprawling, ginger rug draped over a hot water bottle. He looked like a creature that had forgotten the concept of bones.
"Tom, if you keep this up, the vets will want to study you as a new species of land-based jellyfish," Albert joked, picking up the cat. Tom didn't even wake up; he merely let out a soft, vibrating purr as Albert bounced him slightly to gauge his weight.
He turned to Nia, who was chewing the end of her pen with a look of intense frustration. "Nia, no more snacks for the feline vacuum cleaner. He's already at his caloric limit for the decade."
"Tell him that," Nia mumbled, her eyes glued to a particularly nasty algebra problem. She looked up, her expression a mix of desperation and hope. "Albert... how on earth do you solve for 'x' when 'y' is being this much of a pain?"
Tom, sensing he was being discussed, rolled over and stretched his paws, landing directly on top of Nia's workbook.
"See? He's protesting," Nia sighed, trying to push the heavy cat aside.
"Don't let him bully you," Albert said, lifting the cat and placing him on a separate cushion. "Leave the ones that are giving you a headache for now. I'll go over them with you once I've cleared the tea things."
He went to the kitchen, the familiar sounds of the kettle and the clink of porcelain providing a soothing backdrop. When he returned with two steaming mugs, he glanced at Nia's notes. She had left a significant portion of the page blank.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is this a genuine struggle, or are you hoping I'll just 'magic' the answers into your head?"
Nia pouted, taking her mug. "I'm thinking about the future. Does algebra even matter if you're going to be a world-famous wizard's sister?"
"It matters more," Albert said, sitting down opposite her. He moved his tea away from Tom's tail, which was flicking dangerously close to the rim. "Have you actually thought about it? What you want to do when you're out of this house?"
"Not really," Nia admitted, her voice dropping. "Everything seems... smaller since you went away to that school. It feels like the world is moving in two different speeds, and I'm stuck on the slow one."
"Then come work for me," Albert said. He didn't hesitate. The idea had been forming in his mind for a while.
Nia looked up, blinking. "Help you? With what? I can't wave a stick and make things fly."
"I don't need someone to wave a stick. I have a wand for that," Albert said, leaning forward. "I need someone to manage the things wizards are too arrogant to understand. Money, logistics, the Muggle side of the economy. I'm going to have resources, Nia. A lot of them. And I'd rather trust my sister than some goblin in a subterranean bank."
Nia poked Tom's belly, her brow furrowing. "You have money? Beyond the pocket money Mom gives us?"
"I will," Albert said with a confidence that left no room for doubt. "A wizard with a bit of foresight and no fear of the rules is never poor. But I need someone who knows how the 'real' world works to keep things balanced."
Nia seemed to consider this, her displeasure softening into curiosity. "So... I'd be like your manager? Your accountant?"
"My Chief Operating Officer," Albert corrected with a wink. "But I can't hire a COO who can't solve for 'x'. Set a goal for yourself, Nia. Get into a top-tier university, learn how the markets breathe, and understand the flow of wealth. Don't do it because I told you to—do it so that when I hand you a pile of gold, you don't lose it all in a week."
He pointed at her workbook. "Now, take another crack at it. Use your brain, not your pen, and only ask me when you've truly hit a wall."
Nia huffed, grabbing her book back. "You're so bossy. Do you talk to your wizard friends like this?"
"Only the ones who owe me money," Albert teased.
"Hmph. I'm not a child, you know. You don't have to use your 'wise older brother' voice on me." She played with Tom's tail for a second before looking up again. "Are you really going to stay in our world when you graduate? Or will you disappear into one of those hidden castles forever?"
Albert paused, his gaze drifting to the window. "I'll be in both. There are... restrictions. The wizarding world likes its walls; they think they're protecting themselves, but they're really just trapping themselves in the past. I'm looking for the cracks in those walls. Legal loopholes, magical shortcuts... I plan to live where I want, when I want."
"Wizards are so weird," Nia mumbled, scribbling a formula. "They have magic that can literally rewrite reality, yet they still use quills and parchment. It's the twentieth century! We've been to the moon, and they're still worried about owl post."
"That's the trap of magic," Albert explained, his tone shifting to something more philosophical. "When you can solve every problem with a flick of a wand, you stop innovating. You stop asking 'how can we do this better?' and start asking 'where did I put my wand?'. Their pace of life is slow, Nia. They're like Tom—perfectly content to sit in the sun while the rest of the world evolves around them."
He gestured to the fat cat, who was now snoring softly.
"The population is small, the traditions are suffocating, and the ego is massive. If it weren't for the occasional 'muggle-born' bringing in fresh ideas, wizarding civilization would still be stuck in the 1400s. I don't plan on being stuck with them."
"How are you going to make all this money then?" Nia asked, her eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. "Are you going to rob a bank? Use a potion to turn lead into gold?"
"Nothing so crude," Albert laughed. "And definitely nothing illegal. Well... nothing illegal by my standards. Magic is the ultimate tool for a man with a bit of imagination and zero integrity. But don't worry about that yet. Your job is to make sure you're ready to handle the result."
He watched her dive back into her homework, her pen moving with a bit more purpose now. He knew he was essentially dangling a carrot in front of her, but he didn't care. He wanted her to have a reason to excel, a reason to look past the mundane nature of her school life.
Whether she actually ended up managing his future empire or decided to become a doctor or an artist didn't matter. What mattered was that she didn't let her spark die out just because her brother was a "special" case.
In the quiet of the Anderson living room, the two worlds sat side-by-side: a boy dreaming of alchemical empires and a girl rediscovering her drive, while a fat cat slept through it all, blissfully unaware of the shifts in the tide.