Chapter 79
Albert muttered to himself as he walked along the quiet corridor,
"It's truly a shame… his descendants and the students of his House embraced the very thing Slytherin despised. Even my greatest enemy, Voldemort, clung to that same twisted pride, all because of his love for Slytherin."
With the basilisk dissolved into dust, Albert felt as though a great stone had been lifted from his chest. In the original story, those who had been petrified had been victims of that same serpent. For weeks, he had carried the heavy dread of the butterfly effect, fearing that his presence in this world might accidentally claim the life of a fellow student.
But now… the greatest threat was gone, and what lay ahead was a blissfully peaceful Christmas holiday. Albert hummed softly to himself as he strolled out of the dormitory, feeling lighter than he had in months.
---
The rest of the holiday passed in satisfaction and quiet joy. Albert successfully joined Fred and George Weasley's experimental research team. His extensive knowledge of potions and herbology made him an invaluable collaborator on several of their more… chaotic projects.
One of their most promising prototypes was the Vomitous Candy, a sweet capable of inducing vomiting without causing actual harm. The only flaw, however, was that there was no antidote yet, and the user simply had to wait for the effect to pass.
Albert also considered sneaking into the Room of Requirement, drawn by the thought of the basilisk fangs he now possessed. They could destroy Horcruxes, and he knew Ravenclaw's diadem—Voldemort's hidden Horcrux—rested in that room.
Yet after a long moment of thought, he decided against it. The diadem had survived for decades in the original timeline, unmolested, and even endured Fiendfyre before its eventual destruction.
Rushing could be dangerous, he reasoned.
Unlike the crude diary Horcrux created by a teenage Tom Riddle, the diadem was a treasure of Ravenclaw, infused with Voldemort's dark magic and layered protections. Even Albert, with his growing strength, could not guarantee his own safety in trying to destroy it prematurely.
Still, for peace of mind, Albert made a silent inspection of the room. The ugly old bust stood where it always had, and atop it, the silver diadem rested, glimmering faintly.
No sinister energy stirred. No cursed whispers reached his ears. The Horcrux slept, oblivious to his presence.
Relieved, Albert left the room—but not entirely empty-handed. Among the forgotten tomes and scrolls, he discovered an old, cursed journal, its final pages filled with bitter lines about betrayal and heartbreak. He understood now why the owner had abandoned it: even in the wizarding world, emotional wounds could break a person more than any spell.
He shrugged, pocketed the journal, and returned to the dormitory.
---
The days flowed gently. Without looming threats, time seemed to soften, and before he knew it, the spring term had begun.
Classes returned to their usual rhythm, though one persistent annoyance remained: Gilderoy Lockhart.
The man's obsession with theatrical "demonstrations" had escalated into full-blown classroom performances. This week, he had decided to stage a mock haunting and volunteered Hermione to play the ghostly maiden.
Unfortunately for Lockhart, Hermione was in a foul mood that day. When the bumbling professor stumbled and shrieked his way through the performance, she lost her patience. With a flick of her wand and a sharp word, the charade went spectacularly wrong.
Lockhart's feet slipped. He pinwheeled backward, smacking his head against the doorframe, and collapsed unconscious.
Albert gave Hermione a discreet thumbs-up.
"Well done."
Hermione flushed, caught between embarrassment and pride.
Moments later, Professor McGonagall arrived to escort Lockhart to the hospital wing, muttering under her breath. The classroom buzzed with whispers. Many students, by now, had lost all faith in Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons.
---
That evening, during their self-organized study session, Ginny suddenly rose to her feet.
"Hermione, Albert… can you teach us how to actually learn Defense Against the Dark Arts? Because these… acting exercises aren't helping at all."
Colin Creevey and several other first-years nodded eagerly. Everyone knew that Hermione and Albert were the true pillars of their year: she with her encyclopedic knowledge, and he with his practical skill and raw magical power.
Hermione nodded seriously.
"I think real Defense is about practice. Understanding the theory is important, but nothing replaces hands-on spellwork."
Albert added with a small smile,
"First, talk to each other. Compare notes. Then ask the upper years for advice. And if all else fails—any professor but Lockhart will do."
He watched with quiet amusement as Ginny and Colin practically skipped over to Harry, thrilled at the excuse to learn from their idol.
Albert leaned back in his chair, feeling a rare, easy comfort. Life at Hogwarts, at least for now, was calm.
---
Easter approached, bringing with it a major milestone for the second-years:
Elective course selections for their third year.
That weekend, after his usual combat practice session, Albert returned to the common room to find Harry and Ron already bolting toward the Quidditch pitch for a casual game. He chose to remain behind, relishing the quiet.
Noticing Hermione alone with a stack of timetables, Albert invited her for a sunlit walk by the Black Lake.
"If I stay cooped up in this castle all day," he said, "I'll start turning into a ghost myself."
As they sat by the lake, Hermione chewed her lip, holding out the third-year schedule.
"I think our course selections will affect our future," she said. "I want to choose carefully. Or… maybe I'll just take them all."
Albert chuckled softly.
"I wouldn't recommend it. Energy is limited, and true wisdom isn't in hoarding everything—it's in learning to let go. Most people who chase everything learn… nothing."
Hermione hesitated, staring at her parchment.
"But I feel like every subject is important."
Albert leaned back against the sun-warmed grass.
"Then tell me this—if you believe this choice shapes your future… what do you want your future to be?"
Hermione froze.
For a girl of twelve, the question was a distant one. She stared at the rippling water, brow furrowed.
Albert wished he had a camera; it was rare to see Hermione look uncertain.
Finally, after a long pause, she whispered:
"In the short term… I want to protect the people I care about. And in the long term… I want to change our world. To break the deep prejudice against Muggle-borns."
Albert considered her words, then nodded.
"It's hard… but not impossible. Then focus on the classes that give you the tools for that fight. The rest? Let it go."
Hermione glanced at him, determination slowly replacing doubt.
"Then which courses would you call… truly useful?"
Albert smiled faintly, the sunlight glinting in his eyes.
To be continued …