The heavy, midday heat of Diagon Alley was starting to seep through the brick walls of the Leaky Cauldron by the time Albert and the twins made their return. The pub was slightly more crowded now, though the atmosphere remained hushed, as if everyone was waiting for a second shoe to drop after the Gringotts break-in.
Herbert was sitting at a corner table, engaged in what looked like a very intense debate with Arthur Weasley. Between them lay a pile of brown-paper packages and several empty glasses. Seeing his son approach, Herbert's shoulders dropped an inch in visible relief.
"Back already? I was starting to think you'd been recruited by a traveling circus," Herbert joked, though his eyes scanned Albert for any new, magical injuries. "Did you manage to find everything on that shopping list of yours?"
Albert set his own bags down, pulling a small, brightly wrapped parcel from the top of the stack. "I did. And if Mrs. Weasley was as efficient as she looked, I should have enough books to start my own library. This is for everyone at home," he added, handing the parcel to his father. "A bit of magical distraction for the long August evenings."
"Mrs. Weasley was a marvel," Herbert noted, gesturing to the stack of heavy tomes by his feet. "She managed to find every single one of those bizarre titles you requested. She's currently out getting a few last-minute things for the youngest boy."
"I'm heading back now, Albert," Herbert said, standing up and giving his son a firm pat on the shoulder. "Your mother will be pacing the floor until I walk through the door. Be smart. Don't let these two lead you into any literal or metaphorical dragon pits."
"We're in the safest hands in Britain, Dad," Albert assured him with a grin.
Arthur Weasley stood up to see Herbert out, watching the Muggle car pull away from the curb with a look of pure, unadulterated longing. "A remarkable man, your father," Arthur said, his voice tinged with genuine emotion. "Most Muggles I encounter tend to look at me as if I'm speaking a foreign language when I ask about the mechanics of a toaster. But Herbert... he explained the entire concept of a circuit board using only a napkin and a quill. I feel like I've finally seen behind the curtain."
"He's a lawyer, Mr. Weasley," Albert said, settling into a chair as Arthur ordered a round of butterbeers. "Being able to explain complex, often nonsensical rules to confused people is practically his superpower. Plus, he's had two years to get used to me. Nothing surprises him anymore."
Arthur chuckled, but his expression sobered quickly as he glanced at the daily newspaper sitting on the table. The Gringotts headline was still staring back at them.
"The Ministry is in a right state over this," Arthur whispered, leaning in. "Everyone is convinced it was a high-level Dark Wizard. The Goblins are foaming at the mouth because they can't find a single footprint or a drop of blood. It's like the intruder was a ghost."
"The Prophet says nothing was taken," Albert remarked, tracing the condensation on his glass. "That seems like a lot of effort for a thief to leave empty-handed. Unless, of course, the target was moved just in time."
Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't know about that, Albert. Highly classified business, that."
"You know, the Goblins are looking at this all wrong," Albert said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. Fred and George leaned in instantly. "They're hunting for a thief, but they should be talking to the owner of the vault. The intruder didn't go on a shopping spree; they went straight for Vault 713. That means they weren't looking for gold. They were looking for that specific item. And if the item was gone, it means the owner knew someone was coming for it."
"He's got a point," Fred whispered. "The thief wasn't just guessing."
"Exactly," Albert continued. "There are no coincidences in a heist like that. Whoever owns that vault has a very dangerous enemy, and that enemy knows their way around high-security wards. If the Goblins want the culprit, they just need to ask the owner who wants them dead the most."
Arthur looked at Albert with a mixture of admiration and wariness. "You have a very... analytical mind, Albert. It's a good thing you're on our side."
The conversation was cut short by the arrival of Molly Weasley, who came trailing Ron and Percy like a mother duck with particularly unruly ducklings. Percy was carrying a brand-new owl in a cage, looking even more self-important than he had an hour ago.
The journey to the Burrow was a blur of emerald green flames and the dizzying sensation of being squeezed through a straw. Albert emerged from the fireplace at the Burrow first, stumbling slightly as he stepped onto the stone hearth.
Before he could even wipe the soot from his glasses, he heard a frantic pattering of feet from the floor above.
"Mum? Did you get the—"
A small girl with a mane of fiery red hair skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. She stared at Albert, her eyes widening in a mixture of shock and extreme shyness. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the wallpaper.
"Nerve-wracked already, Ginny?" Fred joked as he popped out of the fire behind Albert. "This is Albert. The one we told you about. The genius who's going to help us pass our exams so Mum doesn't turn us into footstools."
"H-hello," Ginny squeaked, before turning tail and sprinting back into the kitchen toward her mother.
Albert laughed softly, looking around the living room. The Burrow was everything he imagined—warm, slightly crooked, and humming with a chaotic, lived-in magic. A set of knitting needles was working away by themselves in a corner, and a clock on the wall had nine hands, all pointing to things like 'Lost' or 'Home' instead of numbers.
"It's incredible," Albert said, watching a self-washing frying pan scrub itself in the sink. "Your house has more personality than most people I know. Where's Charlie? I was hoping to ask him about the Romanian sanctuary."
"Missed him by a few days," George said with a sigh. "He's already out there chasing dragons. We saw him off at the station last week."
"A train?" Albert asked. "I thought you lot just used Portkeys for international travel."
"Only if you like feeling like your stomach is being turned inside out," Arthur said, finally stepping out of the fireplace. "Trains are slower, but far more dignified for long distances. Now, let's get you settled. You'll be taking Charlie's old room tonight."
"Nonsense, Dad," Fred interrupted. "Albert's staying with us. George can have Charlie's room if he's so desperate for peace and quiet."
"Hey! Why do I have to move?" George protested, though he was already picking up his bags.
Fred didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed Albert's arm and led him up the winding, creaky stairs. The house felt like it was held together by sheer willpower and a few well-placed charms. As they reached the second landing, the air began to smell faintly of gunpowder and something sickly sweet.
"Welcome to the lab," Fred said, kicking open the door to their bedroom.
The room was a disaster zone. Scraps of parchment, half-melted cauldrons, and jars of unidentifiable slime covered every available surface. It was the bedroom of two boys who were either going to be millionaires or blow themselves up before their seventeenth birthdays.
"Remember that 'portable mischief' idea you mentioned on the train last year?" Fred asked, sitting on his bed and tossing a brightly colored candy to Albert. "We've been working on it all summer."
Albert caught the candy, sniffing it. A sharp, chemical scent hit his nose, followed by the unmistakable metallic tang of an Expansion Potion. "You're trying to put Potion effects into confectionery? That's ambitious. And slightly illegal, if I remember the Ministry's stance on experimental food."
"Only if we get caught," George said, leaning against the doorframe. "We tried enchanting the sugar directly, but the magic wouldn't stick. So we moved on to Potions, but the taste... well, let's just say it's hard to hide the flavor of powdered moonstone with just lemon flavoring."
"It smells like a hospital ward," Albert noted, peeling back the wrapper. "And the texture is a bit... rubbery. Are you using a stabilizing agent?"
"We tried a Swelling Solution first," Fred admitted, a pained look crossing his face. "But that stuff is literal poison if you don't dilute it right. I couldn't feel my tongue for three days. My voice sounded like I'd swallowed a bag of gravel."
"So we switched to the Expansion Potion," George continued. "It's safer, but it's harder to mask. This batch is the closest we've come. We call it the 'Skiving Snackbox' prototype."
"We were going to test it on the gnomes in the garden tomorrow," Fred whispered, looking at Albert with a glimmer of mischief. "But since we've got a bona fide Potions expert in the room... care to help us refine the delivery system?"
Albert looked at the candy, then back at the twins. This was exactly the kind of "practical" magic he loved—low stakes, high creativity, and just a little bit chaotic.