The domestic tug-of-war finally reached a shaky truce. Daisy, ever the protective mother, was vehemently opposed to the idea of Albert spending the remaining weeks of summer roaming around London or staying with "magical acquaintances." To her, the boy was still her son who needed regular meals and a bedtime, not a burgeoning wizard-prodigy with a social calendar that rivaled a diplomat's.
However, Albert had long since mastered the art of gentle persuasion. He leaned on the "educational necessity" of his upcoming third-year electives, and as a strategic masterstroke, he coordinated with Grandpa Luke. The old man "accidentally" mentioned how lonely the house had been lately and invited Nia to stay with him and Sansa for a few days.
Nia was the only one who wasn't thrilled. While Sansa was overjoyed at the prospect of having a "normal" grandchild around—one who would presumably go to a prestigious secondary school and become a doctor or a lawyer—Nia felt like she was being sidelined while the boys went off to play with dragons.
"And don't you dare give Tom any of those greasy bacon rinds!" Albert warned as Nia helped the fat cat out of the car at Grandpa Luke's. Tom looked at Albert with a betrayal so deep it was almost comical, his tail twitching in annoyance.
"Just bring me back something that actually glows," Nia retorted, pouting as she adjusted her grip on the feline. "And don't get eaten by a three-headed dog."
"I'll do my best," Albert laughed, giving her a quick hug before jumping back into the car with Herbert.
The drive to London was filled with Herbert's usual pragmatic advice. Having spent time with the Delacours, Herbert was no longer intimidated by wizards, but he was still a lawyer. He viewed the magical world through the lens of liability and infrastructure.
When they finally stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, the atmosphere was noticeably thinner. The usual rowdy crowd had been replaced by a few hushed regulars, and the air felt heavy with a sort of communal paranoia. Albert's eyes immediately drifted to the notice board.
A fresh wanted poster was pinned there, the ink still smelling of damp parchment. It wasn't the high-stakes, five-figure bounty you'd expect for a Gringotts break-in. It was a measly thousand Galleons for information on "The Vault Intruder."
"A thousand?" Albert muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips. "The Goblins are more embarrassed than they are angry. They're offering just enough to look like they're trying, but not enough to suggest that the thief actually took anything of value."
In reality, the Goblins were clueless. The only evidence left behind was a scorched vault door and the lingering, foul stench of Fiendfyre. To them, it was clearly a Dark Wizard, but without a face or a signature, they were throwing darts in the dark.
"Is that the place you keep your money?" Herbert asked, eyeing the poster with a professional skepticism. "Doesn't look like their 'unbreakable' reputation is holding up too well."
"It's a theater of security, Dad," Albert whispered as they tapped the brick wall to enter Diagon Alley. "Gringotts relies on the fear of their caves and their dragons. But their biggest flaw isn't the physical locks—it's their arrogance. They forget that magic doesn't have a single set of rules. A house-elf can pop in and out of places that would trap a wizard for eternity, yet the Goblins treat them like furniture. It's only a matter of time before someone truly clever exploits that."
The Alley itself was buzzing, though the crowd seemed to move with a bit more urgency today. Security was out in force. Gringotts had stationed several "hit-wizards" at the entrance, tall men with stern faces wielding silver-tipped metal rods that hummed with a low magical frequency. They were scanning every person who entered, checking for Polyjuice or concealment charms.
It was a slow, irritating process. By the time Herbert and Albert managed to exchange their pounds for a heavy bag of Galleons, Herbert was visibly annoyed.
"They treat every customer like a suspect," Herbert grumbled as they stepped back onto the cobblestones. "If I ran my firm like this, I'd be bankrupt in a month."
"They're trying to save face," Albert said, winking. "If word gets out that Gringotts isn't the safest place on earth, the entire wizarding economy collapses. They have to make a show of it, even if those rods couldn't catch a cold, let alone a master of disguise."
As they moved toward the center of the Alley, a familiar shock of red hair caught Albert's eye. The Weasleys were huddled together near the entrance of the bank, looking like a bright orange flame against the white marble.
"Albert!" Fred and George shouted in unison, waving him over with enough enthusiasm to draw glares from the security guards.
"Mr. Anderson, good to see you again," Arthur Weasley said, stepping forward to shake Herbert's hand with genuine warmth. Arthur looked exhausted but exhilarated, his eyes darting around at the "Muggle-born" father with his usual fascinated intensity. "Are you... are you also a wizard, sir?"
"Just a lawyer, I'm afraid," Herbert said smoothly, giving Arthur a firm, professional handshake. After the Delacours, Herbert had developed a 'Wizard Voice'—calm, slightly patronizing, and very effective. "I see you're here for the school rush as well."
"Indeed! Though the bank is a bit of a nightmare today," Arthur said. "Look, I've got to help Molly with the vault, but I'd love to pick your brain about the function of a 'parking meter' later. Would you care for a drink at the Cauldron? My treat!"
Herbert, ever the social chameleon, agreed. The two fathers moved off toward the pub, leaving Albert with the Weasley brood.
"Congratulations, Percy," Albert said, turning to the oldest brother present. "I heard the news. Prefect. That's a big responsibility."
Percy stood a little taller, his chest puffing out just enough to make the shiny silver badge on his robes catch the sunlight. He extended a hand with a practiced, solemn dignity. "Thank you, Albert. It's an honor, of course. I intend to uphold the standards of Gryffindor with the utmost rigour."
Albert shook his hand, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Percy looked like he was auditioning for a role in a Shakespearean tragedy.
"Oh, he's been rigorous, alright," Fred whispered loudly. "He polished that badge so much yesterday I could see my own reflection in it. It was terrifying."
"He's even started walking differently," George added, demonstrating a stiff-legged, robotic strut that had Ron giggling in the background. "The 'Prefect Prowl.' Very intimidating."
"Shut it, you two!" Percy snapped, his face turning a shade of red that matched his hair.
Mrs. Weasley emerged from the bank shortly after, her face flushed from the heat and the stress of the crowd. She handed Percy a small pouch of ten Galleons—a reward for his new position—which earned him a chorus of envious groans from the twins.
"Albert, dear, would you like me to pick up your books while I'm at Flourish and Blotts?" she asked kindly. "It'll save you the trouble of the queue."
"That would be wonderful, Mrs. Weasley," Albert said, handing her his list and a pouch of gold.
She scanned the list, her eyebrows climbing higher with every line. "Good heavens, Albert! This is nearly twice as many books as Percy's! Are you sure you're taking all these electives?"
"I'd hate to miss out on something interesting," Albert replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I figure if I find one boring, I can always drop it later. But for now, I want to see what's on the menu."
"You're a glutton for punishment," Ron muttered, looking at his own much shorter list with relief.
"Keep an eye on these two for me, won't you?" Molly said, gesturing to the twins as she led Ron away. "Don't let them wander into Knockturn Alley!"
"We wouldn't dream of it!" Fred called out, though his fingers were already crossed behind his back.
Once the adults were gone, the real shopping began. Albert led the way to Florian Fortescue's, where he bought three massive strawberry-and-chocolate sundaes. They ate them as they navigated the crowded streets, the twins pointing out the newest prank items at Dr. Filibuster's. Albert made a mental note to buy some 'No-Heat Fireworks' for Nia—something magical but safe enough for a Muggle house.
They stopped at Madam Malkin's so Albert could get his robes resized (he was growing faster than he'd realized), and then he dragged them to the Apothecary to restock his basic ingredients.
Finally, they ended up in a dusty, dimly lit corner of a shop that dealt in second-hand magical supplies. It smelled of old parchment and ozone.
"What are we doing in here?" George asked, looking at a pile of rusted brass scales. "This place is a graveyard."
Albert didn't answer. He was rummaging through a bin of "unpaired" wands—old, discarded things that had lost their owners or been traded in for newer models. He picked up several, feeling the wood. Most were dead, the cores disconnected from the grain, but then he felt a faint hum.
He pulled out a wand made of dark, weathered walnut. It was shorter than his current one, and the balance was slightly off, but it responded to his touch with a warmth that felt like a distant hearth fire.
"You've already got a wand, Albert," Fred said, looking baffled. "A better one, too. Why are you buying a piece of scrap?"
"Wand-lore is a fascinating field," Albert said, tossing a single Galleon to the shopkeeper. He tucked the old walnut wand into a hidden holster in his sleeve. "And besides, it never hurts to have a spare. If you're ever in a tight spot and your primary wand is taken, people usually forget to check the left sleeve."