Penelope's words were not a mere pebble.
They were a tuning fork, flung with precision, that struck the calm surface of Alan's mental "palace of thought," sending ripples of exact and resonant vibrations outward.
Professor Flitwick…
In public…
Evaluating my theory…
Each word was like an independent packet of data, swiftly unpacked, analyzed, and reassembled within Alan's mind. He had always treated his "Magical Programming" theory as a black box ahead of its time—a dimensional strike so advanced that the current wizarding world could not possibly comprehend it right away.
He had imagined countless responses: confusion, doubt, caution, even outright denial.
Sharing the theory with the twins had been like showing calculus to monkeys; what he valued was their unmatched drive and disregard for rules, not their ability to grasp the essence.
But "recognition"? That possibility had never been included in his predictive models.
Especially not recognition from Filius Flitwick.
The Charms Professor of Hogwarts. A living legend of magical history. An authority in the academic world.
Such affirmation, coming from the very top of the intellectual hierarchy, outweighed a hundred successful business ventures. It meant that Alan's research path was not a road leading into nothingness.
It could, in fact, be understood.
A powerful urge to investigate crushed the inertia pulling him back to the common room.
Even with the greasy taste of dinner still lingering on his tongue, Alan had already turned on his heel. His steps were firm, his goal crystal clear.
The Library.
He needed every scrap of information about Filius Flitwick.
The library was as quiet as ever, filled only with the soft rustle of parchment and the scratch of quills across paper. The air carried the unique fragrance of old paper, leather, and dust—the scent of knowledge itself, settled over centuries.
Madam Pince, the absolute guardian of this domain, swept Alan with her hawk-like gaze. Yet upon hearing his request, her eyes softened, the vigilance easing.
A first-year who voluntarily sought staff records was far preferable to those trying to sneak into the Restricted Section.
"Hogwarts Yearbooks, Section K-7, third shelf,"
she said tersely, pointing the way.
Alan thanked her and made straight for the indicated shelves. The yearbooks were thick, bound in dark hard leather, the gilt crests already flaking. He gathered nearly fifty years' worth of volumes, carrying them to a desk far from the others, and began sifting through them one by one.
The opening sections were bland: years of service, courses taught, academic honors—the usual. His fingers skimmed swiftly over the dry text, until a photograph made him pause.
A yellowed black-and-white photo.
A much younger wizard, taller than he was now, stood upon a lofty podium. Though his frame was not broad, his entire being radiated a sharpness so fierce it seemed to pierce through the photo itself. He raised a massive golden trophy high above his head, his smile brimming with confidence and defiance, eyes blazing with the fire of conquest.
The caption beneath was cold and factual:
Filius Flitwick, Champion of the International Wizarding Dueling Competition.
Duel Master.
The aggressive, destructive weight of that title clashed violently in Alan's mind with the image of the small professor who always stood on a stack of books, gently instructing them with his soft voice: "Flick the wrist, enunciate clearly."
It was fascinating—but not enough.
A dueling champion might admire destructive power, but that alone could not explain his appreciation for the structural theory of "Magical Programming."
Alan's logic chain was still missing its final, crucial link.
He replaced the yearbook and moved on to the journal section.
The Charms Today.
The wizarding world's most authoritative academic journal, equivalent to Nature or Science in his past life. He began flipping through dusty bound volumes of back issues, working backward year by year. The paper beneath his fingertips grew ever more brittle and yellowed.
What he sought was a spark of Flitwick's thought, the origin of his academic journey.
At last, in a magazine more than thirty years old, he found it.
"On the Possibility of Modular Spell Structures"
By Filius Flitwick.
Alan's breath caught.
The entire library seemed to fall silent. In his world, only that single line of ink existed, bridging across time and space. His blood surged, heart pumping harder, sending waves of heat and energy racing through every vein.
He devoured the article almost greedily.
It was not an easy paper—laden with obscure terminologies of charmcraft and intricate logical proofs. But Alan understood. Not only the surface meaning of the words—he understood the mind behind them: solitary, pioneering, far ahead of its era.
"…We must admit, the current spell system is bloated and inefficient. A wizard could spend his whole life and master only a finite number of spells. But if we shift our perspective—at their core, are not all complex and powerful spells merely specific combinations of a limited set of basic magical instructions?"
"These basic instructions are the 'bricks' that make up the magical world. On their own, they might seem trivial—a cleaning charm, a fire-starting spell, the simplest levitation charm. But when combined in a specific sequence and structure, they can construct magnificent magical palaces."
"As long as we can decipher all the most fundamental 'bricks' and determine the correct 'formulas' for combining them, in theory, we could even create any new spell we desire! This… would be a complete revolution!"
Alan's fingers unconsciously traced the phrases "basic magical instructions" and "combination formulas" in the text.
This…
Isn't this just code and functions?
Isn't this exactly what he has been researching—the concept of treating runes and spells as a programming language: Magical Programming?!
Professor Flitwick, thirty years ago, used the terms "modular" and "combination." Yet at its core, the thought process—the way of piercing through countless complex spell manifestations to reveal their underlying logic—aligned almost perfectly with what Alan was doing.
An indescribable shiver ran down his spine.
He had once thought of himself as a lonely pioneer on this path of exploring the essence of magic—a traveler from another world, carving a completely new path across unknown wilderness with every step.
But now, he looked down and saw the footprints.
Deep and clear footprints, left thirty years ago.
It turned out that long before him, there had already been a predecessor—a true scholar whose brilliance had been overshadowed by the halo of a dueling champion—who proposed a strikingly similar grand vision.
Alan slowly, almost reverently, opened the old journal.
The slight tremor in his fingertips betrayed the storm of emotions roiling inside him.
He lifted his gaze, looking past the towering shelves toward the Charms classroom.
At this moment, Filius Flitwick's image in his eyes was completely transformed.
He was no longer just the kind, respectable teacher he had known.
He was, in this world, the only person who might truly understand the thoughts Alan had been pursuing.
~~----------------------
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