The spring sun had finally managed to burn through the highland mist, turning the Great Lake into a sheet of polished sapphire. After the long, suffocating tension of the Easter holidays, the change in weather was almost therapeutic. Students had abandoned the stuffy silence of the library in droves, opting to sprawl across the lawns and soak in the rare warmth, leaving their half-finished essays to flutter in the breeze.
Albert had just trudged back from Hagrid's hut, his boots caked in the rich, dark mud of the forest edge. The Forbidden Forest had been suspiciously quiet lately, as if the local inhabitants were still recovering from the "Banshee's Wail" incident. Hagrid, ever the storyteller, had cornered him for the third time this week to recount his latest heroic exploit: how he'd put an arrow through the knee of a rogue werewolf named Yorman and hauled him into custody single-handedly.
"Proper menace, he was," Hagrid had boomed, beaming with pride.
The Ministry, however, had proven to be less than heroic. They'd refused to pay out a single Knut for the capture, claiming Yorman hadn't been on their official "high-priority" bounty list. Albert found the whole thing cynical. The Ministry was happy to have the threat removed, but they weren't about to part with their gold if they could find a loophole.
Entering the Great Hall, Albert found the usual buzz of activity. At the Gryffindor table, Fred and George were locked in a heated battle of Wizard Cards. A small crowd had gathered around them, drawn by the flash of the new, limited-edition cards the twins were showcasing. Ever since Albert had helped them refine the "Game Balance," interest in the card game had exploded.
Lee Jordan was sitting nearby, a copy of The Daily Prophet spread out in front of him. He looked up as Albert sat down, his expression a mix of awe and frustration.
"Still nothing," Lee said, tapping the front page. "The entire Wizarding World is playing 'Where in the World is Rowena Smith?' The bounty is up to a thousand Galleons now. A thousand, Albert! Imagine what I could do with that kind of gold. I'd buy out the entire stock of Zonko's."
"Money like that usually comes with a catch, Lee," Albert replied, pulling the paper toward him. "Usually, it involves finding something that doesn't want to be found—or something that can't be."
He scanned the headlines. Rita Skeeter was in top form, weaving a narrative that blamed Dumbledore's "lax security" and "eccentric hiring practices" for the Professor's disappearance. It was classic Skeeter: long on sensationalism, short on facts, and perfectly designed to sell papers to people who liked to see the great fall.
"Dad says Skeeter would sell her own grandmother for a front-page quote," Fred chimed in, not looking up from his hand. "He reckons she makes up half the quotes herself."
"I just don't get it," George added, throwing down a 'Red Dragon' card. "How does a witch like Smith just vanish? She was tough, smart, and knew her way around a duel. It's like she stepped into a closet and the closet disappeared."
Angelina Johnson reached over and snagged George's deck. "Maybe she had enough of teaching you lot and moved to the Bahamas. Or maybe Albert's right." She looked at him expectantly. "What's your latest theory, oh Wise One?"
Albert leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "In this world, people only disappear for two reasons. Either they are hiding because they've done something terrible, or they've been taken by something more dangerous than themselves. Given Smith's reputation, I'd bet on the latter. Kidnapped, or... worse."
"Don't start that, Albert," Fred groaned. "Your 'likely possibilities' usually end up being true, and I'd rather not have a ghost Professor haunting the corridors."
"I'm just being a realist," Albert said, standing up. "I'm going to see Professor Broad. See if he's heard anything through the grapevine."
That was, of course, a total lie. He knew exactly where Rowena Smith was—or rather, what had become of the stone she'd been turned into. But he had business with the Wildsmiths, and Broad was the gateway.
Walking into the Defense Against the Dark Arts office felt different now. The cold, clinical air Smith had brought with her was gone, replaced by Broad's familiar scent of old parchment and expensive tea.
"You're patient, Albert. More than I was at your age," Professor Broad said, looking up from a stack of papers. He looked more relaxed now that he was back in the "curse-breaker" seat, albeit temporarily. "Sit. Tea? Or perhaps that milk tea you seem to favor?"
"Mr. Mogg said things would be explained," Albert said, ignoring the small talk as he sat down. He stirred his tea slowly, watching the vortex in the cup. "He was a bit late to the party in the woods, wasn't he?"
Broad chuckled, reaching into his desk and pulling out a heavy, clinking bag of gold. He slid it across the desk toward Albert. "He was only confirming you were still breathing. You see, the Wildsmiths have a certain... safety net. If things had gone truly south, Gerber was prepared to use a Time-Turner. Not just one, but a coordinated effort to go back and prune the problem at the root before it ever touched you."
Albert raised an eyebrow. "Going back to change the past? That's messy. I thought that kind of magic drove people into madness and paradoxes."
"For an individual, perhaps," Broad admitted. "But when you have a collective intent and the right knowledge, the timeline becomes much more... pliable. However, you handled it without us having to break time. That's why there's an extra hundred Galleons in that bag. A 'bonus' from Gerber for your efficiency and, frankly, for the trouble."
Albert didn't argue. he tucked the bag into his lizard-skin pouch. Gold was gold, regardless of the source.
"Now," Broad said, his tone shifting to something more academic. He pulled a wooden box from beneath his desk and set it on the table. Inside was a book that looked like it had been forged in a furnace and then left at the bottom of the sea. It was made of heavy, verdigris-coated bronze. "The Book of Bronze."
Albert leaned in, his fingers itching to touch the ancient metal. "The one from the Ravenclaw Secret Chamber?"
"The very same," Broad nodded. "It contains the foundational applications of Ancient Rune magic—specifically how to anchor spells into physical objects. Mogg has finished his transcription, and now, it needs to go back. It belongs to the school, after all."
"And you want me to be the delivery boy?"
"I want you to be the custodian," Broad corrected. "You have the access. You have the trust of the house. It's safer in your hands than in a Ministry evidence locker."
Albert traced the etched runes on the cover. They hummed with a low-frequency vibration that resonated in his teeth. "Can I read it first?"
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," Broad smiled. "But read it where it belongs. The magic in those pages doesn't like being away from the ley lines of the castle for too long. And Albert... after the term ends, I want you to stay with me for a few days. We have much to discuss regarding your future."
"Is this where you tell me I'm the 'Chosen One' for the Wildsmith legacy?" Albert asked dryly. "Because I might just give my spot to Isabelle. She's more into the family drama than I am."
Broad gave him a wink, a look of genuine amusement in his eyes. "Don't be so quick to decline. You're still in the observation phase, but I think you'll find the 'legacy' is quite different from what you imagine. Even I was startled when I first saw the truth of it."
"You think I'll make the cut?"
Broad didn't answer. He just sipped his tea and gestured toward the bronze book.