Alan readily agreed to the twins' adventurous proposal.
His purpose wasn't mere thrill-seeking. The last missing page of The Fortress of Thought had always felt like an unremovable thorn lodged deep in his mind. Cracking Dumbledore's ultimate protective enchantment on the Philosopher's Stone required understanding a completely different magical logic. He deduced that at the core of this logic lay the rejection or neutralization of "magical power" itself.
Therefore, he needed data—data on creatures that were inherently "malicious" toward magic.
"A paper on the limitations of spell application?"
On the way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Fred lowered his voice and nudged Alan with his elbow.
"When did you start caring about boring stuff like this?"
"Knowledge itself is never boring."
Alan's reply was calm, his gaze sweeping across the dark silhouette of the forest in the distance.
"The boring part is those who fail to extract value from knowledge."
To ensure absolute safety for this "data collection," Alan persuaded Hagrid. His reasoning was flawless—a seemingly profound academic paper entitled On Magical Creatures' Unique Reactions to Spells and Their Behavioral Analysis.
Hagrid had little resistance to such things. The moment he heard "academic" and "analysis," the gamekeeper felt certain it must be a serious and important matter. He readily agreed and even felt a small sense of pride at being able to participate in such "advanced" research.
Hagrid did not lead them deep into the Forbidden Forest, where even centaurs feared to tread. Their destination was a small garden at the forest's edge, surrounded by a tall, sturdy wooden fence. The wood was rough and solid, still speckled with wet soil, exuding the scent of damp wood and plant roots.
"This is it."
Hagrid stopped, lowering his massive, fan-like hand, pointing to a small creature digging in the soil inside the garden.
"Be careful. Don't make too much noise."
Following the direction of his hand, Alan saw their target.
The creature looked somewhat like a hedgehog but slightly larger, its body covered in coarse, brown bristles as hard as steel needles. It was frantically clawing at the soil with its front paws, its movements brimming with restless energy.
Sensing the three extra breaths outside the fence, it suddenly froze.
The little creature lifted its head.
It had tiny, disproportionately black eyes. In those eyes, there was no curiosity, no fear—only a near-paranoid, icy vigilance. It stared intently at the three humans outside the fence, its body slightly hunched, every bristle taut like a drawn crossbow, ready to strike.
"This is a Knarl."
Hagrid's voice lowered further, as if afraid of disturbing the sensitive creature.
"They're a very… hmm, how should I say it… extremely paranoid species."
He scratched his unruly beard, as if searching for the right word.
"They're born distrustful of wizards. Any wizard, any magic—even if you only tried a harmless charm to please it—it would immediately see it as the most malicious provocation and attack you without hesitation."
Hagrid's tone carried a hint of headache. Clearly, taking care of this little creature had been a challenge for him.
Alan said nothing. In his mind, the Knarl was rapidly deconstructed and modeled. Size, hair hardness, muscle structure, reaction speed—all data streamed through his brain at incredible speed. He wasn't observing a mere animal but a living system that reacted to magical power.
Suddenly, sharp-eyed Fred whispered urgently, pointing toward a corner of the fence.
"Hagrid, look! There's a gap! It's trying to get out!"
All eyes shifted immediately.
Sure enough, at the base of the fence near the shadows of a bush, a recently dug gap was visible. Small, but enough for the Knarl to slip through.
Upon realizing it was being watched, the Knarl did not stop; instead, it accelerated. No longer hiding, its body pressed low to the ground, it dashed toward the gap with a clear goal—escape.
"Oh, Merlin's beard!"
Hagrid immediately panicked, his anxiety disproportionately large compared to his massive body. He fumbled in his worn coat and pulled out his pink umbrella, the tip aimed at the gap.
"Don't move, little guy! I'll fix this!"
He raised the umbrella, muttering a spell under his breath:
"Restore as…"
"Wait, Hagrid! Don't use magic!"
A calm, decisive voice cut through like a blade, stopping him instantly.
It was Alan.
Hagrid froze, turning back in confusion, his enormous face filled with bewilderment.
"Why? If we don't fix it, it'll run away!"
"You just said it doesn't trust any magic."
Alan's words were calm, deliberate, each syllable carrying an undeniable logical weight. He met Hagrid's eyes directly.
"If you use magic to repair the fence now, in its perception, this isn't 'repairing'—it's a hostile 'imprisonment.' That will confirm all its negative assumptions about wizards. It will only become more desperate to escape, possibly even attacking the nearest wizard in the process."
Hagrid was stunned by this calm analysis. He had never thought of the problem from that perspective. To him, a broken fence should obviously be fixed with a "Restore as Original" spell.
Alan said nothing further.
Before the group could react, he reached into his wizard robes and pulled out a small object. Wrapped in wax paper, it was a piece of cheddar cheese he had deliberately saved from lunch.
He tore off the paper, releasing the rich, heavy aroma of cheese into the damp air.
Fred and George exchanged a glance, completely unsure what Alan intended to do.
Alan didn't approach the fence. He chose a completely safe distance and crouched slowly, in a deliberately small, non-threatening motion. He held the golden cheese in his palm and, in a deliberate, slow, and steady movement, extended his hand toward the gap.
His arm hovered in midair.
The Knarl, just about to sprint, halted its motion.
It didn't look at Alan—it fixed its gaze on the extended hand, or rather, the cheese in his palm. Its nose twitched rapidly, and in those paranoid black eyes, vigilance and desire engaged in a silent battle.
The rich smell of the cheese acted like an irresistible lure.
Time seemed to slow.
Alan remained perfectly still, expression calm as deep water, silent, even breathing gently, minimizing the sense of his presence. He was neither wizard nor man—he was merely a motionless "stone pedestal" holding food.
One minute. Two minutes.
Fred and George were growing impatient, almost ready to urge him on. But Hagrid silenced them with a look. After a lifetime dealing with magical creatures, he finally understood Alan's intention.
This was a primitive, instinct-based communication.
Minutes later, the Knarl's taut body showed the slightest, almost imperceptible relaxation. Its eyes remained cautious, but the lure of food outweighed its fear of the unknown.
Step by step, it cautiously approached Alan's hand. Each paw fell softly on the earth without a sound.
Finally, it reached his hand.
It didn't immediately snatch the cheese. Instead, it paused once more, scrutinizing Alan one last time with its black eyes.
Alan's gaze remained utterly calm, vacant.
Satisfied with the "safety" of this stillness, the Knarl acted like lightning. It darted its head forward, snatched the cheese in one swift motion—its teeth didn't even touch Alan's fingers.
Then, at an even faster speed, it withdrew into the garden, curling into a ball, turning its back to everyone as it began to consume its prize.
At the very instant it turned, Alan moved.
With the same slow, stable, non-threatening motion, he withdrew his hand. Then, with his other hand, he reached for a small, perfectly shaped stone nearby.
He remained crouched, minimizing his silhouette.
Gently, silently, he placed the stone into the gap.
The stone fit perfectly among the soil and wood, sealing the opening tightly.
No spell. No magic fluctuation. Not a single extraneous movement.
Silent. Fluid. Efficient.
Hagrid and the twins were dumbstruck. Their mouths slightly agape, minds struggling to process what they had just witnessed.
They watched as the paranoid creature, which had given even Hagrid headaches and regarded all wizards as mortal enemies, was effortlessly guided to abandon its escape attempt by Alan—using the simplest, most primal method that any Muggle could have accomplished.
A profound, silent shock hung over the three of them. They looked at the black-haired boy crouched calmly on the ground, brushing dirt from his hands, and for the first time realized: magic isn't the only solution to every problem.
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