The remaining week at the French resort was a strange blend of Alpine charm and the inevitable awkwardness of cross-cultural magic. The Delacour and Anderson families spent several afternoons together, though the "cultural exchange" was mostly Adrian Delacour attempting to explain the nuances of French skiing to Herbert through a frantic combination of broken English and interpretive dance.
The Delacours were surprisingly approachable for a family with Veela blood. They lacked the cold, aristocratic distance Albert had expected from the "Elite" of the wizarding world. In many ways, they reminded him of a more polished version of the Weasleys—warm, slightly chaotic, and fiercely proud of their heritage. Adrian, despite his title as a Potions Master, was the life of every dinner party, treating the "non-magicians" with a genuine curiosity that made Herbert and Daisy feel like honored guests rather than confused tourists.
However, the harmony didn't extend to the younger generation. Nia was currently in a state of quiet, simmering warfare.
Fleur—or Louise, as she went by in the Muggle village—had taken a sudden, sharp interest in Albert. It wasn't just the "prodigy" status; it was the fact that he was the only boy in the resort who didn't trip over his own feet when she walked by. She frequently cornered him on the terrace, launching into rapid-fire French about alchemical theory or the curriculum at Beauxbatons.
"Your brother is quite the enigma, little one," Fleur remarked once to Nia, her voice carrying that melodic, hypnotic lilt.
Nia, who couldn't understand the French but could certainly read the room, had simply glared and pulled Albert away by his sleeve. To Nia, Fleur wasn't a beautiful magical being; she was a distraction, a silver-haired barrier that made Albert feel even further away than he already was. The two of them would fall into deep, intellectual conversations in a language Nia didn't speak, leaving her to sit and watch the snow, feeling like a stranger in her own family.
Herbert and Daisy watched this with a mix of pride and growing apprehension. Seeing Albert navigate a conversation with a French Master was impressive, but it confirmed their worst fears: their son wasn't just "talented," he was a celebrity in a world they couldn't touch.
"Adrian says his fame is mostly 'academic,'" Herbert mentioned to Daisy one night as they watched the kids from the balcony. "Apparently, the big names in their world all talk to each other. Albert's name keeps coming up like a recurring theme in a song. They all know him, even if they've never seen him."
"It's too much for a twelve-year-old," Daisy whispered. "He should be worrying about his grades, not whether a French Potions Master likes his research."
By the end of July, the magic of the Alps had faded into the reality of the British summer. The Anderson family flew back to England, swapping the crisp, pine-scented air for the heavy, humid heat of a London suburb.
The transition was brutal. The heat seemed to trap everyone's temper in a pressure cooker. For Nia, the rising temperature was matched only by her rising anxiety. August was the month of the "Judgment." Every morning, she was awake before the sun, sitting by the window and watching the sky with the intensity of a hawk.
Albert understood the feeling. It was the same hollow, nauseating dread he'd felt in his previous life before major exam results. For an eleven-year-old, this wasn't just a school choice; it was a verdict on who she was. If the letter came, she was a witch—a peer to her brother. If it didn't... she was just Nia.
"Nia, you're going to give yourself a migraine," Albert said, walking into the living room one afternoon. He was carrying a small, plastic handheld device he'd convinced Herbert to buy at the airport. "Here. It's Tetris. Focus on the blocks, not the sky."
Nia took the game console mechanically, but her eyes never left the window. "What if the owl gets lost? Or what if they sent it to the wrong address?"
"Owls don't get lost, Nia. They have a magical GPS that would put a satellite to shame," Albert sighed, sitting beside her. He reached out and gently moved Tom, who was currently sprawled across the Daily Prophet like a furry paperweight.
"You're miserable," Albert noted. "If it's eating you alive this much, I can just ask."
Nia turned to him, her eyes wide. "Ask who? The mailman?"
"No. I'll write to Professor McGonagall. She's the Vice Headmistress and she handles the registry for new students. If your name is on the list, she'll know."
Nia's face flickered with a brief spark of hope, quickly replaced by terror. "But... what if she says no? Right now, there's still a chance. If you ask, and she says no, then it's over."
"Nia, you can't live in 'maybe' forever," Albert said softly. "Whatever the answer is, wouldn't you rather know it now than spend the next three weeks jumping every time a pigeon flies past the house?"
Nia bit her lip, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Ask her."
Albert went to his room, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment and his quill. He kept it brief and professional. He didn't want to sound like a nagging parent, but he knew McGonagall had a soft spot for sincerity.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
I hope your summer is going well. I'm writing on behalf of my sister, Nia. As the time for acceptance letters approaches, she has become quite overwhelmed with anxiety regarding her own status. Could you please clarify if she has been registered for the upcoming term? It would go a long way in restoring the peace in our household.
Warm regards, Albert Anderson
He showed the letter to Nia, who read it three times as if looking for a secret code.
"Is that it?" she asked. "It's so short."
"She's a busy woman, Nia. She doesn't need a three-page essay on your feelings. She just needs a name and a question," Albert explained. He whistled for Sheila, his owl, and watched as the bird took flight into the humid afternoon air.
"How long?" Nia asked, her voice small.
"A day, maybe two. Go play your game. Try to clear your head."
Albert tried to follow his own advice, but he found it hard to concentrate on his own Potions homework. He kept glancing at the Daily Prophet. He knew that around this time, the wizarding world was about to get a lot more dangerous. Quirrell's attempt on Gringotts was looming, or perhaps it had already happened. The news cycle in the magical world was fast, but the goblins were notoriously private about their failures.
The answer arrived the very next morning.
The family was gathered around the breakfast table. The air was thick with the smell of burnt toast and tension. A sharp tap-tap-tap at the window sent Nia's chair flying backward as she scrambled to open it.
It was Sheila. She was carrying a single, thick envelope.
Nia's hands were shaking so hard she almost dropped it. She looked at the address. Mr. Albert Anderson.
The light in her eyes died instantly.
"It's for you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's your book list."
Albert took the letter, his heart sinking. He reached into the envelope and pulled out two sheets. One was his second-year equipment list, and the other was a short, handwritten note on heavy parchment.
He didn't need to read it to know what it said. The look on his own face must have given it away. He handed the note to Nia.
Herbert and Daisy stopped eating, their eyes fixed on their daughter. A heavy, suffocating silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator.
Nia read the note. It was kind, polite, and devastating.
Dear Mr. Anderson, I regret to inform you that your sister's name does not appear on the Book of Admittance. While I understand this is difficult news, please remind her that there are many paths to a fulfilling life outside of magic...
Nia didn't finish reading. She let the paper flutter to the table and stood there, her small frame trembling.
"Nia, honey..." Daisy started, reaching out to her.
"I'm not a witch," Nia said, her voice sounding hollow, like she was speaking from the bottom of a well. "I'm just... me."
The dam finally broke. Nia let out a ragged, heartbroken sob and buried her face in her hands. Daisy immediately pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair as the girl wept. Herbert looked away, his jaw tight, a mixture of relief for her safety and profound grief for her disappointment visible in his eyes.
Albert sat perfectly still. He felt a cold, sharp pang of guilt. He had magic. He had the "system." He had the fame. And his sister, who had watched him flourish in this secret world for a year, was being told she was barred from the gates.
"Cry it out, Nia," Albert said softly, his own voice thick. "It's okay to be angry. It's okay to hate it."
"It's not fair!" Nia shrieked into Daisy's shoulder. "Why you? Why not me? I studied just as hard! I watched all the movies, I read the books! Why am I left behind?"
There was no answer for that. Not in the Muggle world, and certainly not in the magical one. Justice wasn't a law of the universe; it was just a word people used to make themselves feel better.
After a long time, the sobbing subsided into ragged gasps. Nia pulled away from Daisy, her eyes red and puffy, her face a mask of exhausted misery.
Albert stood up and walked over to her. He took her hands in his.
"Listen to me, Nia. Hogwarts is just a school. It's a building with moving stairs and bad food. It doesn't define who you are."
"Easy for you to say," she sniffed. "You get to go back."
"Yes, I do," Albert said firmly. "And that's why I need you here. Do you remember what we talked about? About the 'Anderson Agency'? About managing the things I can't touch while I'm away?"
Nia looked at him, a flicker of something—not hope, but perhaps a sense of purpose—returning to her gaze.
"The world is changing, Nia. Magic is coming out of the shadows, and I'm going to be right in the middle of it. I need someone I trust more than anyone else to be my eyes and ears here. Someone who isn't distracted by wands and spells. Someone who sees the world for what it really is."