The rain turned the path between the castle gates and Hogsmeade into a landscape of slick mud and shifting grey light. It was the kind of weather that usually kept sensible people indoors, but for Albert and Isabelle, it provided a convenient veil. Albert pulled his wand from his sleeve, a quick, fluid motion of his wrist, and conjured a sturdy, charmed umbrella that expanded to cover them both.
As the fabric shimmered into existence, Isabelle turned, the movement graceful despite the uneven ground. Their eyes met, and the quiet tension that had been building since they left the common room finally broke into a shared, knowing smile. Albert didn't hesitate; he reached out, his hand finding hers. Her skin was cool, but as he interlaced his fingers with hers, he felt the faint, betraying tremor in her grip.
"You know," Albert began, his voice steadying the rhythm of their walk, "the primary reason I spent so much time mastering Summoning Charms in my first year was just so I wouldn't have to carry an umbrella on days like this. Laziness is the true mother of invention, I suppose."
Isabelle let out a musical, soft laugh. "Is that so? I always assumed you were just showing off for the professors."
"Hardly. It was purely for the comfort of not getting soaked," he teased.
As they moved deeper toward the village, the ambient noise of the rain was punctuated by the hushed, excited murmurs of passing students. It was impossible not to notice the way heads turned, the way groups of students slowed down as if they'd forgotten where they were heading. The news of two of Hogwarts' brightest minds being seen together was clearly traveling faster than the weather.
Isabelle leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They're watching, you know. Everyone wants a piece of the story."
"Let them," Albert replied calmly. "They'll be bored of the speculation by Monday."
"I'll tell them we're just collaborating on Ancient Runes," Isabelle offered, her eyes dancing with mischief. She wasn't entirely lying; they were speaking in Runes, a rhythmic, complex language that sounded like static to the uninitiated.
"A thin veil, but I suppose it'll do for the gullible," Albert conceded. He felt the weight of her hand in his. "It's a shame, really. There's a certain stigma in being a fifth-year girl seen with a third-year boy. People like to talk when they feel threatened."
"They're not threatened by our age, Albert. They're threatened because you're impossible to categorize," she pointed out, her tone shifting to something more thoughtful. "You're wealthy, you're talented, and you seem to have an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what everyone is going to say before they say it. It makes people nervous."
"I don't set out to be a disruptor," he said, though he didn't deny her assessment.
"You don't have to," she laughed. "You just exist, and it forces everyone else to work a little harder to keep up."
As they reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade, the mud became increasingly treacherous. Albert stopped, tapped his wand against the lizard-skin pouch at his waist, and pulled out his Nimbus broom. "Walking is a losing battle in this muck. Shall we?"
Isabelle didn't hesitate. She stepped onto the broom with a fluid, practiced motion, wrapping her arms firmly around Albert's waist. With the umbrella still held high over them, shielded by a subtle Disillusionment Charm that prevented any prying eyes from getting a clear look, they lifted off. The sensation of flying through the rain, close enough to feel the warmth of Isabelle against his back, felt like a private sanctuary.
"I have to ask," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. "Katrina. Have you noticed the way she looks at you? It's not just academic admiration."
Albert remained silent for a heartbeat. "Intuition?"
"It's more than that," she said, a hint of melancholy coloring her tone. "It's the look of someone who realizes they've missed their chance before they even knew the game had started."
"It's a common enough story," Albert said, steering the broom gently toward a clearing near the village entrance. "I have a sister back home, you know. She's a Muggle. I keep her as far away from this world as I possibly can. I don't want her life to be shaped by the same politics and petty rivalries that consume people here. I just want her to find someone who makes her happy and live a life that belongs entirely to her."
Isabelle tightened her hold on him. "I think I understand that better than you realize."
They landed smoothly just outside the village. As the spell faded and the umbrella came down, Isabelle looked at him with an inscrutable expression. "So, where to? Shall we head to Madam Puddifoot's, or are we trying to avoid the clichés today?"
Albert recognized the challenge in her eyes. "Puddifoot's it is. If we're going to be a topic of gossip, we might as well do it properly."
The tea shop was exactly as he remembered: aggressively, suffocatingly pink. It was a space designed for a specific kind of performative romance, one that felt jarring compared to the sharp, intellectual connection they shared. As they found a secluded table by a window clouded with condensation, Albert caught sight of Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater tucked away in a corner, far too engrossed in each other to notice their entrance.
"Penelope was the one who suggested this spot," Isabelle remarked, gesturing toward the pair with a subtle tilt of her head.
"Clearly she has a taste for the theatrical," Albert muttered.
As they ordered, the conversation drifted back into the safe, dense territory of their shared interests—Runes, the mechanics of magical objects, and the subtle, often exhausting game of being a genius in a school full of people who wanted to label them.
"You were right about one thing," Isabelle said, stirring her tea with a rhythmic click of the spoon against the porcelain. "Most people are terrified of being 'tested.' They want to live in a comfortable delusion where everyone's intentions are clear. But you... you don't play that game."
"I don't have the time for it," Albert admitted. "I'm looking for something that lasts. A partner, not a passing interest."
Isabelle paused, her gaze locking onto his. "You're very bold to say that out loud. Most people wouldn't dare."
"I find that honesty saves a lot of time," he replied, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his.
The door to the shop jingled open, and in walked Fred, George, and Lee, looking harried and soaked. They stopped dead when they saw Albert and Isabelle, their mouths hanging open in a display of exaggerated shock. They didn't approach; they simply stood there, clearly trying to process the sight of Albert sitting in a pink tea shop with a girl who looked, at a distance, exactly like Katrina.
"They look like they've seen a ghost," Isabelle observed, not bothering to look back at the trio.
"They're just confused," Albert said, smiling. "They expected me to be off somewhere pulling a heist, not enjoying a quiet cup of tea."
After they finished and stepped out into the crisp, cool air, they made their way to Scrivenshaft's to stock up on supplies. Albert picked up a Quick Quote Pen, turning it over in his hand with a critical eye.
"You know, that's not half as useful as you think," Isabelle warned, leaning against the counter. "It has a habit of embellishing every sentence until it sounds like a bad romance novel."
"That's exactly why I want it," Albert said, a glint in his eye. "I want to take it apart. If I can figure out the mechanism behind the transcription, I can build something that actually tells the truth."
"Ambition, as always," she said, smiling.
They left the shop, bundled in their new scarves, only to be stopped in the middle of the street by a familiar voice. Katrina stood before them, flanked by a friend, her expression one of utter disbelief. She looked from Albert to Isabelle, then back again, her face struggling to register the scene.
"Are you two..." Katrina started, her voice faltering as she gestured between them. "Are you on a date?"