THE ALCHEMIST OF HARRY POTTER

Summer vacation always flew by too quickly. In the blink of an eye, it was already the end of August, and soon, Albert would be boarding the Hogwarts Express from King's Cross Station.

To say he wasn't excited about going to Hogwarts would be a lie—though, if given the choice, he'd prefer to stay home a little longer, spending time reading under the apple tree or sneaking sweets from his mother's kitchen.

But time waits for no one.

When it comes to magic, self-study is never ideal—it's like a Muggle trying to navigate Knockturn Alley blindfolded. No one knows what dangers lie ahead.

Albert had already read every textbook on his list from cover to cover, but theory could only take him so far.

He still maintained a steady pen-pal exchange with Truman, a Hufflepuff he had met through a correspondence program for young wizards. They exchanged letters every three days.

Truman's grades were rather mediocre, and his knowledge of magic was quickly exhausted in their conversations.

From their exchanges, Truman speculated that Albert would be sorted into Ravenclaw, given his insatiable curiosity for magical theory. Though, as a Hufflepuff, Truman couldn't help but wish Albert would join his house.

Albert, however, wasn't too concerned about which house he would be placed in.

Anything but Slytherin.

After all, Slytherin House had a well-known bias against Muggle-born wizards. Though, given his background, it was unlikely the Sorting Hat would send him there.

"Thank you. Get some rest," Albert murmured as he stroked Shera's head, his owl, before dropping a few pellets of Owl Treats into her cage.

He was quite satisfied with Shera—especially since, after repeated scoldings, she had finally stopped bringing dead mice home as gifts.

Albert was fairly certain that his mother, Daisy, would not appreciate finding a severed rodent tail while tidying up.

Shera gave a tired hoot before hopping into her cage to eat, completely unfazed by the watchful gaze of Tom, their short-haired tabby cat.

"Don't bother Tom," Albert said, picking up the cat before heading downstairs for breakfast.

His father, Herb, was home today, leisurely flipping through a copy of the Daily Prophet, a moving newspaper that had recently caught his fascination.

Daisy, too, had taken an interest in the magical world and often read over Herb's shoulder, absorbing every detail she could.

"For breakfast, I made corn soup," Daisy announced with a smile, placing a steaming bowl in front of her son. She knew Albert loved it.

"Then I don't have to drink milk, right?" Niya, Albert's younger sister, asked hopefully. She detested her morning glass of milk.

"Of course, you still have to drink it," Daisy replied, setting a full glass in front of her.

"Has Albert learned any new spells?" Niya quickly changed the subject, glancing warily at her milk.

She had learned this trick from Albert himself—distracting their mother to avoid something unpleasant.

She was already plotting how to pour the milk into Tom's dish the moment Daisy wasn't looking.

"Niya."

Daisy's voice was sharp, her hands on her hips as she caught her daughter in the act.

"Mom, I was just giving Tom some milk. He loves it," Nia said, attempting to weasel out of the situation.

"It's fine, Niya. I have another glass right here," Daisy said, pouring a fresh serving and placing it in front of her daughter. "And you're going to drink it all."

"I hate drinking milk every single morning," Niya grumbled.

"Albert drinks it every day without complaint," Daisy pointed out.

"That's different! I've never seen Albert refuse food," Nia muttered, pouting. "You always compare me to him, but he's not normal."

"Yes, your brother didn't like cheese before," Daisy said, raising an eyebrow. "But now he eats it just fine."

"Lies." Niya was skeptical. After all, Albert's favorite potato pancakes contained a ridiculous amount of cheese and ham.

"It's true," Herb chuckled. "Albert used to avoid certain types—especially the really smelly ones—but now he eats pretty much everything."

"That's because kids who eat well grow taller," Albert said casually, taking a sip of his milk.

"Who needs to be tall?" Niya shot back.

"Taller people look more elegant," Albert said, smirking. "Just look at Mom."

Daisy beamed at the compliment.

"Suck-up," Niya mumbled, but under Daisy's watchful eye, she reluctantly downed her milk.

However, she poured half of it into Albert's glass, insisting that he drink more so he could grow tall and handsome like Dad.

Daisy and Herb were both fairly tall and always well-dressed, given their Muggle professions. It was no surprise that they still looked youthful.

Herb had originally planned a trip to the zoo, thinking it would be a nice family outing before Albert left for Hogwarts.

But when Albert declined, and Niya admitted the zoo was boring, the plan was scrapped. Instead, they spent the day lounging in the living room, chatting and watching TV.

At one point, Niya tried to ride her toy broomstick, but Herb strictly forbade it, reminding her that she nearly crashed into the TV last time.

The living room was too small, and riding a broom outside would be risky—what if a Muggle neighbor saw?

In the end, Herb locked the toy broom away, much to Niya's frustration.

Albert had once tried it himself, but the low-altitude hovering felt ridiculous, making him question his life choices. He never touched it again.

Niya, however, was fascinated by flight. The idea of soaring freely on a broomstick was too tempting to ignore.

Later, as Daisy prepared black tea and cakes, the family gathered in the living room, reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

It was a wizarding fairy tale collection, quite different from Muggle stories.

For instance, their version of Sleeping Beauty told of a jealous banshee who cursed a princess with an enchanted Draught of Living Death, keeping her in a coma until a wizard kissed her after taking an Invigoration Draught.

Not exactly romantic, but still entertaining.

At the moment, they were reading The Tale of the Three Brothers. Each family member took turns reading aloud, making the experience all the more enjoyable.

"Do you think there's really a stone that can bring back the dead?" Niya asked, wide-eyed.

The wizarding world was full of impossibilities—and if Nicolas Flamel could live for hundreds of years using the Philosopher's Stone, then maybe, just maybe, a Resurrection Stone could exist.

"Niya, magic has limits," Herb reminded gently. "Besides, the second brother's lover wasn't truly revived—she remained a shadow of her former self."

"This is just a fairy tale," Albert said with a smirk.

Niya huffed. "Albert, you're so annoying! Can't you let me have a little hope?"

Of course, she knew it was just a story.

But still…

It was fun to believe.