Professor Flitwick's eyes, magnified by his spectacles, gleamed with a pure, scholarly fervor. His gaze locked tightly onto Alan, as though he intended to see straight through him, inside and out.
The opportunity had come.
Alan's heart remained calm, but his mind raced, instantly constructing a framework of logic for his response.
"Yes, Professor."
His voice was clear and steady, strangely out of place in the tense atmosphere.
"I used a small rune array to control the frequency of energy release."
Following Flitwick's train of thought, Alan began laying out carefully prepared bait. He didn't mention the prankish magical device directly; instead, he steered the conversation straight toward its underlying principle—a deeper, more academically valuable subject.
"By embedding a miniature resonant rune group into the spell model, I can set a specific threshold for magical output. When the spell activates, most of the energy follows the conventional path of release, but a small portion is absorbed and stored by the rune group, then re-released at a completely different frequency. This creates the effect of delayed and fluctuating energy output."
Flitwick nodded repeatedly, excitement bursting out of his small frame. His expression, once mere curiosity, now transformed into the joy of discovering a new continent.
"Resonant runes! Brilliant! How did you solve the compatibility issue between the runes and the spell model? That usually causes magical conflict and efficiency decay!"
He even pulled out his wand, sketching shining trajectories in the air. The glowing lines wove into intricate magical symbols, simulating the flow of power.
From a distant corridor corner, footsteps grew louder—slow, dragging, and heavy—accompanied by the low, throaty rumble of a cat.
Filch and his Mrs. Norris.
Cold sweat instantly soaked Fred and George's backs. They exchanged a desperate look; the sweat in their palms nearly made their wands slip.
"Oh, I nearly forgot the real matter."
It seemed only then that Professor Flitwick tore himself away from his pure academic excitement. He glanced toward the end of the corridor, and a flicker of mischief flashed in his eyes.
"Mr. Scott, since we're having such an 'academic discussion,' standing around here hardly seems proper." He paused, smiling meaningfully. "Why don't we go somewhere more suitable? The library, perhaps? I'd very much like to see your rune diagram—on paper, not in the air."
The twins' fate was sealed, but for Alan, a golden path stretched out before him.
Flitwick, smiling, gestured for Alan to follow. With a spring in his step, he led the boy grandly toward the library.
They collided head-on with a fuming Filch in the middle of the corridor.
The caretaker's wrinkled face twisted with anger, while Mrs. Norris arched her back, hissing menacingly, her eyes fixed on Alan.
"Good evening, Mr. Filch," Flitwick greeted cheerfully, as if out for a stroll in his garden.
"I'm taking Mr. Scott to consult some references. An urgent topic on advanced rune applications."
Filch was notorious for barking even at professors and the Headmaster, but at that moment, one look at Flitwick's authoritative expression—and another at Alan's lowered eyes and "model student" innocence—choked the fury in his throat.
He opened his mouth, Adam's apple bobbing, but no words came out.
At last, he forced out a muffled grunt between clenched teeth, turned with his cat, and stomped away, his dragging steps echoing bitter frustration.
Thus, in a way no one could have foreseen, Alan entered Hogwarts Library after curfew with full legitimacy.
Moonlight spilled through the tall Gothic windows, casting long, quiet shadows across the floor. The air was thick with the unique fragrance of old parchment and ink.
Flitwick wasn't merely humoring him.
He pulled Alan to a long table near the windows, and together they plunged into a deep discussion of the forward-looking subject of "magical automation."
"…So, your theory is that by standardizing rune modules, most basic spells can be 'programmed'? Like Muggle machines—set the program, and it runs automatically?"
"Not just automatically, Professor," Alan corrected. "It's also about achieving more precise control and more efficient energy usage. For example, with a cleaning charm, the rune array could define its effective range down to the millimeter. The energy output would be calibrated to remove only dust, without the slightest damage to the object itself."
The conversation lasted for over half an hour.
From the possibilities of rune programming, to the limits of energy conversion efficiency, to the parallel processing of multiple spell models—Flitwick's expressions shifted from delight, to contemplation, and finally to admiration.
When he confirmed that Alan's knowledge and theories far exceeded the bounds of a student—and even inspired him, a seasoned professor—he finally rose in satisfaction.
"Mr. Scott," Flitwick said solemnly, patting Alan's shoulder, "for the sake of research, Hogwarts Library is always open to you. Including…" He cast a glance toward the Restricted Section. "Those areas requiring special permission."
It was the highest clearance possible.
Once Flitwick's light footsteps faded at the library doors, Alan immediately rose and headed for a row of tall shelves deep inside.
From the shadows of the stacks, Fred and George emerged, their faces still showing relief and awe for Alan's quick thinking.
"As thanks for your help," Alan said quietly, "I'll show you that 'method.'"
Silent as shadows, the three of them crept past row after row of shelves until they reached the iron-grated door of the Restricted Section, bound in heavy black chains.
The chains glimmered faintly with bluish wards, radiating a clear warning: Do Not Trespass.
"Hogwarts' defensive enchantments," Alan murmured with clinical calm, "are like the Muggle world's 'firewalls'—precise and powerful.
"But any program, if written by man or goblin, may contain a flaw. And this sealing spell on the Restricted Section's chains has… a tiny 'logic delay.'"
Alan extended a finger—not touching, but pointing to a brighter energy node on the chain, its glow flickering at a slightly different frequency from the rest.
"Look here."
The twins leaned closer, holding their breath.
"This is the trigger node of the alarm system. When it detects the magical fluctuation of an unlocking spell, the alarm doesn't activate instantly. The system allows for a very brief window—about two seconds—to confirm the intensity and nature of the intrusion magic. If the strength is too high or carries hostility, the alarm triggers instantly. But if it's just a faint, probing attempt…"
A curve tugged at Alan's lips.
"That's our chance."
He looked at the twins and issued precise instructions.
"Fred, you'll cast the most basic unlocking charm—Alohomora—on the lock. The incantation must be complete, but keep your magical output at the absolute minimum."
"George," he turned to the other, "at the exact moment your brother finishes the spell, you'll fire the faintest interference jinx you can at this energy node I've shown you. Remember, your magic must be so weak it's almost undetectable. We're not trying to destroy it—we just need the system to 'lag' for a moment, like a Muggle computer that freezes when handling too many tasks at once."
The twins exchanged a look.
They only half-understood the theory, but Alan's absolute confidence left them no choice but to trust him.
They moved into position exactly as instructed.
Fred raised his wand, took a deep breath, and gathered the faintest trace of magic at its tip.
"Alohomora!"
The instant the final syllable left his lips, George's wand sent out a thread of almost invisible magical fluctuation, striking the designated node with precision.
And then—something wondrous happened.
The heavy chain spell flickered violently, its bluish glow rippling in chaos. A rune representing the alarm lit up halfway on the gate, but then froze—caught between activation and failure. Neither fully glowing, nor extinguished.
At the same time, the massive brass lock, which seemed utterly unbreakable, gave a sharp, crisp click.
The shackle sprang open.
The whole process took less than three seconds.
The iron gate swung open, and yet the deadly alarm never sounded.
The twins' jaws dropped, their eyes wide as galleons. They felt as though their entire worldview had been overturned tonight. What they had learned from Alan in this single evening was more shocking than everything taught in a year of Charms class combined.
Alan wasted not a second.
With a flicker, he slipped into the Restricted Section. Thanks to his memory palace and flawless recall, he didn't even need to consult the catalog. The rows of shelves became coordinates in his mind. Without pause, he went straight to the third row, seventh shelf, and pulled out a thick, weighty tome bound in deep purple leather.
On its spine, gilded archaic letters gleamed with the title:
"Fortress of the Mind: Advanced Occlumency and the Construction of Mental Defenses."
Grasping the book, he didn't linger. Silent as a shadow, he withdrew just as smoothly as he'd entered. The entire operation flowed seamlessly—without the slightest trace of unnecessary sound.