The transition from the magical corridors of Hogwarts to the mundane world of British transportation was, in Albert's opinion, far more jarring than any Portkey or Floo journey. In the wizarding world, things usually worked by intent; in the Muggle world, things worked—or failed to work—based on the quality of French engineering and the questionable maintenance schedule of a budget travel agency.
The Anderson family was currently stranded on the shoulder of a scenic mountain road, surrounded by the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the Alps. Their tour bus, a vehicle that had been advertised as "state-of-the-art," had groaned its last breath twice already. Now, it sat steaming like a tired dragon while the driver poked at the engine with a wrench, muttering curses that were definitely not in the official brochure.
"I've seen more reliable machinery in a junkyard," Nia grumbled, her forehead pressed against the cold glass of the window. She had been staring at the same pine tree for forty-five minutes. "If this is the 'luxury' experience, I'd hate to see what the economy passengers are doing. Probably walking uphill in the snow."
Daisy let out a long, weary sigh, shifting in her seat. "I told you, Herbert. The Isle of Wight was perfectly lovely last year. We could be sitting on a beach right now instead of waiting for a bus to decide if it wants to be a vehicle or a permanent roadside monument."
Herbert, sensing the dangerous territory he was in, didn't dare make eye contact. He kept his gaze fixed on a map he had already memorized. "It's a minor setback, dear. Besides, the agency said these buses were brand new. Clearly, they should have invested in German parts. You can't go wrong with German engineering."
Albert, sitting in the back with Nia, wasn't nearly as bothered. While the other passengers were growing increasingly restless and irritable, Albert was occupied with a small, inconspicuous wooden box on his lap. To anyone else, it looked like a simple travel kit. In reality, it was a masterpiece of illegal spatial manipulation.
Albert had never been one for the "Spirit of the Law" when it came to the Ministry of Magic's Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. As long as he didn't fire off a flashy hex in public, the Ministry's "Trace" was surprisingly easy to bypass if you focused on enchanting objects rather than casting active spells. He had spent his evenings perfecting an Undetectable Extension Charm on several containers, allowing him to carry a small library, a chemistry set, and—most importantly—his cat, Tom.
"Here, have a 'sweet' and stop scowling," Albert whispered, pulling a small tin from his pocket and offering it to Nia. "It's from Honeydukes. It'll help with the boredom."
Nia took a candy, her eyes widening as the flavor hit her tongue. "This thing is incredible. You can fit an entire pantry in your pockets, can't you? How's the prisoner doing?"
Albert peeked into the slit of the wooden box. "Tom's fine. He had a bowl of premium salmon about an hour ago and is currently snoring. He's much happier in there than he would have been in a crate in the cargo hold."
"Are you going to smuggle him into Eton, too?" Nia teased. Her grades had been exceptional lately, a direct result of trying to keep up with her "genius" brother. While she still harbored a quiet hope for a Hogwarts letter, she was preparing for the best Muggle education money could buy just in case.
"Eton has enough trouble without a magical cat roaming the halls," Albert said with a grin. "But you'll do great there, Nia. Just don't tell the other students your brother is a wizard, or they'll expect you to turn their teachers into frogs."
"I might tell them just to keep them on their toes," Nia muttered, though she looked cheered up.
The bus finally gave a shuddering roar of life, and the remaining leg of the journey passed in a blur of winding roads and deepening shadows. By the time they arrived at the resort, the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the valley bathed in a twilight blue.
The resort was like something out of a fairy tale. Huge, timber-framed hotels glowed with golden light, and the sound of distant music drifted through the crisp, pine-scented air. As the passengers spilled out of the bus, the frustration of the journey evaporated, replaced by the sheer awe of the Alpine scenery.
After checking into their suite—a cozy, wood-paneled room with a fireplace and a balcony overlooking the slopes—the family reconvened. Albert immediately let Tom out of the box. The cat, looking even rounder in his winter coat, hit the floor with a soft thump and immediately began an investigative tour of the furniture.
"Is he going to be okay in the cold?" Nia asked, watching Tom sniff a decorative rug.
"I've got it handled," Daisy said, pulling out a tiny, custom-made padded jacket she'd sewn herself. "Look at this. It's got a fleece lining."
Nia held the jacket up against Tom, who was currently trying to climb the sofa. "Mom, this is way too small. It looks like it's for a kitten, and Tom is... well, he's a mountain."
"He's not fat, he's fluffy," Albert defended, though he nudged Tom with his foot. "Besides, the cold is good for him. It'll burn off some of those treats Nia keeps sneaking him. It's a fitness retreat for cats."
Tom let out an indignant "Meow" and hunkered down on the sofa cushions, looking like a very grumpy loaf of bread.
After a massive dinner of fondue and local French delicacies in the hotel's ballroom, Herbert and Daisy decided to turn in early. The altitude and the stressful bus ride had taken their toll. Albert, however, felt a surge of restless energy. He grabbed his coat and gestured to Nia.
"Want to see the town? The brochure says there's a night market near the rink."
Nia didn't need to be asked twice. They stepped out into the night, the air so cold it felt sharp in their lungs. The resort town was alive. String lights crisscrossed the streets, and the windows of the boutiques were filled with expensive watches and designer ski gear.
Albert led Nia past the overpriced tourist traps, using his own senses to find the more interesting corners of the resort. They found a small equipment rental shop tucked away on a side street that was half the price of the hotel's recommended vendor.
"The brochure lied," Nia noted, checking a price tag on a pair of skis. "It said the hotel shop was the 'best value in the valley.' This is miles better."
"The hotel gets a commission, Nia. Welcome to the world of business," Albert said, leading her toward a small café with a massive floor-to-ceiling window. The café overlooked a floodlit practice slope where a few night-owls were still carving lines into the snow.
They sat at a corner table with two steaming mugs—coffee for Albert, hot cocoa for Nia. For a while, they just watched the skiers. It was peaceful, a world away from the chaos of the Forbidden Forest or the pressure of Hogwarts.
But then, the atmosphere in the café shifted. It wasn't a noise, but a sudden, heavy silence.
Albert looked toward the window. On the practice slope, a lone figure was gliding down the snow. She wasn't just good; she was mesmerizing. She moved with a fluidity that didn't seem human, her long, silver-blonde hair cascading behind her like a silk banner.
In the café, every conversation died. Men who had been mid-sentence stared blankly at the window, their mouths slightly agape. Even the waiter stood frozen with a tray in his hand, his eyes glazed over.
"Don't look," Nia whispered, her voice tight with a strange annoyance. "That woman... she's weird. Look at everyone. They look like they've been lobotomized."
Albert didn't look away, but he didn't look mesmerized either. He observed her with a detached, analytical curiosity. As she reached the bottom of the slope and glided toward the lights, the effect intensified. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but it was an aggressive, supernatural beauty that felt like a physical weight in the room.
"She's certainly striking," Albert said calmly, taking a sip of his coffee.
Nia looked at him, surprised. "You're not... drooling. Why aren't you drooling like a complete idiot? Look at those guys over there; their wives are literally hitting them, and they aren't even blinking."
"I have a very strong will, Nia," Albert lied easily. He knew exactly what he was looking at. That wasn't just a beautiful woman. That was a Veela, or at the very least, a half-Veela. The aura she projected was unmistakable—a magical allure designed to captivate the male mind.
He remembered Fleur Delacour from the stories, the Triwizard champion who would one day have this same effect on his schoolmates. This woman looked older, perhaps a cousin or a relative, but the magic was the same.
"She's a witch, isn't she?" Nia asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she watched the woman unclip her skis.
"What makes you say that?"
"Because that's not natural," Nia said, pointing at a man who had just walked into a lamppost because he was looking backward at the silver-haired woman. "That's magic. She's doing it on purpose."
"It's not always on purpose," Albert explained softly. "Some people are born with a certain... magnetism. In the wizarding world, we call them Veela. They don't have to try to be attractive; it's just part of what they are. But yes, she's almost certainly part of our world."
"Can you do that?" Nia asked, a hint of jealousy in her voice. "Could you make everyone stare at you if you wanted to?"
Albert laughed, reaching across the table to pat her hand. "I'd rather people listen to what I have to say because I'm right, not because they're in a trance. Besides, you're far more attractive than someone who needs a magical aura to get attention. You've got the Anderson charm—it's much more permanent."
Nia pouted, but the tension in her shoulders vanished. "Hmph. Flattery will get you everywhere."
"Come on," Albert said, standing up and pulling his scarf tight. "We should get back before Mom and Dad wake up and think we've been kidnapped by Alpine goblins. We've got a long day of skiing ahead of us tomorrow, and I plan on seeing if you can actually stay upright on those slats."