The spring sun was finally beginning to assert itself over the Hogwarts grounds, casting long, lazy shadows across the stone courtyard where Albert and Isobel walked side by side. It was a picturesque scene—two of the school's most brilliant minds strolling past the fountain, deep in a conversation that sounded, to any passerby, like the standard academic banter of overachievers.
"So," Isobel said, her voice light but carrying that familiar edge of sharp intuition, "was the Grey Lady looking for a private tutoring session, or have you finally started a ghost-led study group?"
Albert gave a non-committal hum, adjusted his robe, and offered a faint smile. "I just did her a small favor. You know how it is—ghosts have a lot of unfinished business, and sometimes they just need a living pair of hands to sort through the dust."
He had no intention of being more specific. He'd given Dumbledore his word that the diadem affair would remain under lock and key, and Albert was a man who took his promises to powerful wizards very seriously. Besides, the mission was already a success in his eyes.
Dumbledore had been more than generous. Not only had he dumped fifty points into Gryffindor's tally—much to the visible distress of every Slytherin within a five-mile radius—but he had also granted Albert a Special Contribution Award.
Albert wasn't particularly bothered about the house cup; he viewed the colored sand in the hourglasses as more of a social barometer than a real prize. But that award? That was a different story. The "Triple Threat" achievement on his internal task board required three such awards before graduation, and he knew they weren't handed out for just showing up to class on time. Handing over a piece of the Dark Lord's soul was a shortcut he couldn't pass up.
Of course, there was the 'Voldemort' factor to consider. Albert had zero desire for the Dark Lord to return next year, look at the trophy room, and realize a third-year Ravenclaw-turned-Gryffindor had been smashing his horcruxes for sport. Confronting a dark deity was Harry Potter's destiny, and Albert was perfectly happy to let the Boy Who Lived keep that particular spotlight.
Isobel raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, her gaze lingering on him. "A 'small favor' that resulted in a fifty-point jump and a shiny new plaque in the trophy room? You're a terrible liar, Albert."
She didn't push, though. She was far too intelligent to waste her breath on questions she knew he wouldn't answer. She also respected the mental wall he kept around himself; despite her own natural aptitude for Legilimency, she knew that trying to peek into Albert's mind was a one-way ticket to a ruined friendship. Nobody likes a voyeur in their head.
"It's just not the right time for the full story," Albert said mysteriously. "I'll give you the highlights when the dust settles. I promise."
"I'll hold you to that," Isobel replied, turning her gaze toward the Forbidden Forest. "By the way, any word on Professor Smith? The staff room is awfully quiet about her disappearance."
"Nothing," Albert said, and there was a strange, subtle relief in his tone that Isobel didn't miss. "I've asked around, poked a few ears... but it's like she's just been erased from the map. No signs, no trail. Whoever handled her exit was incredibly thorough."
Isobel let out a soft breath she seemed to have been holding. "Maybe that's for the best. In this climate, staying missing is probably the safest thing she could do."
They pivoted their conversation to the Wildsmith family, a topic they used as a sort of intellectual shorthand. Between the two of them, they realized their knowledge was surprisingly shallow. Professor Brood had been dangling carrots of information in front of them all term, but she'd yet to actually let them into the garden. They both had invitations for her summer seminar, which was looking more and more like a high-stakes orientation for a club they didn't quite understand yet.
"If she wanted us to know the secrets of the lineage, she would have told us by now," Isobel said with a shrug of self-assured indifference. "If she's keeping us in the dark, it's probably because she thinks we're more useful when we're hungry for answers."
Albert nodded, though his mind was already drifting toward the Bronze Book he'd been dissecting. "Speaking of secrets, do you remember that Runestone Prophecy we discussed? The one about the 'unseen path'?"
Isobel glanced at him skeptically. "The one you said was a coincidence? Prophecy is a shaky branch to stand on, Albert."
"I used to think so, but the further I get into the Bronze Book, the more I think Runestone Divination is different," Albert lowered his voice as they neared a group of younger students. "It's not like staring into a crystal ball and seeing ghosts. It's more like... reading the logic of the world before it happens. The book has a section on it that makes Trelawney's tea leaves look like finger painting."
"You've certainly spent a lot of time with that book," Isobel noted, a faint trace of envy coloring her words. "I could only get through the first few chapters before the syntax started giving me a migraine. My understanding of ancient runes clearly isn't at your level yet."
"It's a steep climb," Albert admitted. He reached into the inner pocket of his robes and pulled out a small, intricately carved object. He handed it to her.
Isobel took it, her fingers brushing against the cool, smooth stone. It was a tiny, resting Griffin, carved with a level of detail that seemed impossible for its size. "What's this? An early birthday present?"
"A prototype," Albert said. "It's an amulet I've been working on—latest research into protective runes. I've hit a bit of a wall with the energy stability, though. I was hoping you could take a look. Two sets of eyes are better than one, especially when one set belongs to the brightest witch in her year."
Isobel smiled, tucking the griffin into her pocket. "Flattery will get you everywhere. But I think your fan club is getting impatient."
She nodded toward the far end of the courtyard, where Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were waving frantically, looking like they were trying to signal a low-flying aircraft.
"I'd better go," Albert said with a sigh. "They probably think we're planning a secret wedding or something."
Isobel laughed. "And how did you answer them the last time they asked?"
"How do you want me to answer?" Albert threw the question back over his shoulder as he began walking toward the twins, leaving Isobel with a thoughtful look on her face.
As soon as he was within earshot, George practically pounced. "For God's sake, Albert, what have you done this time?"
Albert blinked, looking perfectly innocent. "What have I done? I was just having a conversation about runes. Is that a crime now?"
"Not the girl, you git!" Lee Jordan chimed in, his voice vibrating with excitement. "Kenneth Towler was in the trophy room earlier, scrubbing the silver as part of his eternal detention, and he saw it. Your name. On a second Special Contribution Award. The ink is barely dry!"
"He's probably hallucinating from the fumes of the polish," Albert said, rolling his eyes. "You know Kenneth—he's not exactly a reliable narrator."
The trio wasn't buying it. They crowded around him, their voices dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Come off it," Fred said. "We saw the hourglasses. Gryffindor just jumped fifty points in a single morning. The Slytherins are currently holding a protest meeting in the dungeons. Snape looks like he's about to spontaneously combust."
"Everyone is saying there's a conspiracy," Lee added. "They think Dumbledore is just handing you points because you're his favorite."
"A conspiracy?" Albert asked, looking offended. "I'm not a professional scapegoat, you know. I can't help it if the Headmaster recognizes true talent when he sees it."