The walk back to the castle was a strange, disjointed experience. The adrenaline that had sustained Albert through the duel was beginning to curdle into a cold, heavy fatigue, and beside him, Isabelle was a ghost of herself. She moved mechanically, her eyes fixed on the distant, glowing windows of Hogwarts.
It was one thing to dream of revenge; it was quite another to stand in the mud and watch the life leave a person's eyes while giant spiders clicked in the background. Isabelle was brilliant, yes, but she was still just a girl who had spent more time with ancient runes than with the messy reality of death.
"We need to stay focused," Albert whispered as they crossed the stone bridge. "The job isn't done until Katrina is safe."
They slipped inside, moving like shadows through the corridors. The castle was quiet, filled with the low hum of students cramming for their holiday exams in the common rooms. No one looked up as they passed. No one saw the dried mud on Albert's hem or the haunted look in Isabelle's eyes.
"Are you absolutely certain she's in the Room of Requirement?" Isabelle asked, her voice barely audible. "I've checked the Map a dozen times. Her name isn't there."
"That's exactly why she has to be there," Albert explained, checking the parchment one last time. "The Room is the only place in the castle that effectively 'doesn't exist' as far as the Map's tracking magic is concerned. Rowena was thorough, but she wasn't original."
They reached the seventh floor. Isabelle paced in front of the blank wall, her lips moving in a silent, desperate prayer: I need a place to find my sister. I need a place to find Katrina. But the door didn't appear. The wall remained stubborn stone.
"Let me," Albert said, stepping forward. The Felix Felicis was a dying ember in his system now, but there was just enough heat left to guide his intuition. He didn't think about "finding someone." He thought about the destination Rowena Smith would have chosen—a place of privacy and Ravenclaw pride.
The Ravenclaw Private Library.
After three passes, the heavy oak door shimmered into existence. Isabelle didn't wait; she practically threw herself inside.
"She's here!"
Albert followed her into the dim, parchment-scented room. Katrina was slumped in a velvet armchair, her breathing deep and rhythmic. She looked like she was simply taking a very long nap over a dusty tome.
"She's just stunned," Albert said, his fingers brushing Katrina's wrist to check her pulse. "Rowena didn't need her dead; she just needed her out of the way. The Imperio should have broken the moment its caster died."
They moved her to a more comfortable conjured bed. Isabelle sat by her sister's side, her hand trembling as she stroked Katrina's hair.
"We can't tell her," Isabelle said firmly. "Not the truth. Not what happened in the woods."
"I agree," Albert said, pulling up a chair. He reached into his lizard-skin bag and pulled out a large, chilled flagon of butterbeer and two pewter mugs. He needed the sugar and the normalcy of a drink to stop his own hands from starting to shake. "We'll modify the timeline. In her head, I brought her here to practice with the Time-Turner. A simple False Memory Charm. I'll take the heat for the 'prank' if she gets suspicious later."
He poured a foaming mug and handed it to Isabelle. "Drink. You look like you're about to faint, and I'd rather not have to carry two MacDougalls back to the tower."
Isabelle took a long, slow sip, the color finally returning to her cheeks. She looked at Albert over the rim of the mug, her expression unreadable. "You're a very strange person, Albert Anderson. You talk about murder and memory modification like you're discussing a Transfiguration essay."
"I'm a practical person," Albert corrected. "And I hold grudges. Rowena tried to erase my future; I just made sure she didn't have one. If you hadn't done it, I would have."
"I know," she whispered. "And thank you. For... everything."
"What's next for you?" Albert asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the graveyard. "Now that the ghost of your father's killer is gone, what do you do with all that extra brain space?"
"I'm going to finish his work," Isabelle said, her eyes gaining a flicker of their old fire. "His experiments with spell-crafting. I think I finally understand the missing pieces."
"Do you need a lab assistant?" Albert asked with a grin.
Isabelle actually smiled—a real, genuine smile that made the room feel significantly warmer. "I think I might. If you can keep your ego in check long enough to follow directions."
Albert laughed, reaching out to take her hand. "No promises."
He took a moment to check his mental "panel," the interface flickering to life as he claimed the rewards for Isabelle's favorability. The notifications were a waterfall of light in his mind.
By the time they finished the butterbeer, the tension had bled out of the room. They woke Katrina with a gentle Rennervate, and while she was still groggy, Isabelle expertly wove the new memories into her sister's mind. To Katrina, she had simply lost track of time while Albert was showing her a secret library.
As they split up to return to their respective dorms, Lee Jordan intercepted Albert in the common room, handing him a short, cryptic note from Professor Broad.
The loose ends are tied. The forest has a way of swallowing secrets. Rest well, Mr. Anderson.
"Efficiency," Albert murmured, tucking the note away. The Wildsmith family didn't move like the Ministry; they moved like a scalpel. Clean and final.
He dodged Fred and George—who were demanding to know where the Marauder's Map had gone—and retreated to the Room of Requirement for some privacy. He needed to see the full extent of his "harvest."
The "Ulterior Motive" quest was marked as complete. He hit the 'Claim' button for the random skill reward, his heart racing. Give me something legendary, he thought. Give me a master-level Transfiguration or an ancient ward.
Skill Obtained: [Cruciatus Curse - Level 1] Description: The first of the Unforgivable Curses. Requires intense desire to cause pain.
Albert stared at the screen, a sour taste in his mouth. "Are you kidding me?"
Between the duel and the aftermath, he had now "collected" all three Unforgivables. He had used the Killing Curse in the woods, mastered the Imperius to get through the month, and now he had the torture curse as a prize.
A new, dark-bordered quest popped up immediately.
The Rise of the Dark LordRequirement: Master all three Unforgivable Curses before graduation. (3/3 Complete) Objective: Use Dark Arts to 'influence' others. (0/10) Reward: 2,000 XP, Designated Dark Arts Skill, +100 Reputation.
"Reputation?" Albert hissed. "Yeah, the kind that gets you a life sentence in Azkaban. No thanks."
He had no intention of following in Voldemort's footsteps. Being a "Dark Lord" sounded like a lot of paperwork and a very high risk of being killed by a teenager in a prophecy. He'd much rather be a wealthy, respected scholar who happened to be dangerous.
He moved on to the "Wrong Decision" reward, which gave him a Muggle-Repelling Charm. Better than a torture curse, but hardly groundbreaking.
Finally, he turned to the "Counterattack" reward. This was the big one. A designated skill from Rowena Smith's own repertoire. He opened her skill list and felt his jaw drop. It was miles long—Advanced Duelling, Ancient Runes Mastery, Potion Crafting... and then he saw it.
Spell Mastery.
It wasn't a single spell. it was a passive ability that reduced the mental strain of casting complex magic and allowed for more fluid transitions between different branches of spells. It was exactly what he needed to bridge the gap between "talented student" and "true master."