To ensure absolute preparedness against whatever challenge Professor Snape might pose in his very first Potions class, Alan's mind palace had long since run a precise simulation.
The conclusion was clear and merciless: merely reviewing the first-year textbook Magical Drafts and Potions was no different than walking into a duel armed only with a fruit knife.
The book's contents were far too elementary—just a simple catalog of phenomena rather than any deep dissection of principles. It taught students how to cook by following recipes, yet never explained why salt enhanced flavor, or why fire could transform raw into cooked. Against a wizard like Snape, who pursued the essence of things, such preparation would be shattered in an instant.
He needed higher knowledge.
Knowledge that would let him stand at the root and overlook the entire system of potion-making.
Thus, he went straight to the Hogwarts library.
The castle's library was a silent sanctuary, its air filled with the mingled scent of old parchment and polished wood. Towering bookshelves cast crisscrossing shadows, dividing the space into countless hushed alcoves. The silence here had weight, suppressing every unnecessary sound, making each footstep ring out all the more starkly.
The library's guardian, Madam Irma Pince, reigned as the absolute sovereign of this quiet domain.
Her gaunt figure was like a moving shadow between the shelves, always appearing without a sound. At this moment, she was seated behind the lending desk, leaning slightly forward, sharp eyes behind a pair of spectacles fixed upon a heavy tome, her posture like a predator guarding its nest.
Alan approached the desk, placing his steps lightly so as not to disturb the order of this place.
"Good afternoon, Madam Pince."
His voice was clear and steady, the volume calibrated precisely: loud enough to be heard, yet not loud enough to disturb the stillness of the library.
Madam Pince did not answer at once. With a thin, bony finger, she slowly folded the corner of the page she was reading, then raised her head.
Her gaze, peering over the rim of her glasses, locked unerringly onto Alan's face.
It was still the face of a boy, but the calm in his eyes did not belong to a first-year.
"I need to borrow a third-year textbook, Advanced Potion-Making," Alan stated directly.
At once, Madam Pince's brows furrowed, fine wrinkles gathering tightly on her forehead.
"No."
Her voice was dry and cold, leaving no room for negotiation.
"Library rules state that students may only borrow books within their grade level."
She turned her gaze back to her book, as though the conversation were already finished. It was an iron law, a barrier that could not be crossed, meant to protect ignorant and reckless young wizards.
"This is to prevent you from overreaching, from accessing knowledge too dangerous for you to understand or control."
It was a perfectly reasonable justification, one impossible to refute. Any student attempting to argue would find themselves colliding against this wall of rules.
Yet Alan showed no disappointment or frustration.
He simply stood there calmly, as though this outcome had already been rehearsed countless times within his mind palace.
From his bag, he retrieved something else.
Not Galleons, nor any token of privilege.
It was a thick stack of parchment, densely covered in writing, the ink not yet fully dry. With both hands, he placed it solemnly upon the desk.
"Madam, I understand your concerns, and I fully respect the library's rules."
His tone was still respectful, but carried a confidence that could not be ignored.
"That is why I took some time to write an 'Analytical Report on the Limitations of First-Year Potion Theory.' I would like you to have a look."
Madam Pince froze in the act of turning a page.
She raised her head again, her eyes full of scrutiny and impatience. She had seen far too many so-called "geniuses," each thinking themselves above others, trying childish tricks to break the rules. To her, this seemed like yet another tiresome prank.
With a hint of perfunctory dismissal, she reached out and took the report.
Yet the moment her fingertips brushed the warm parchment, and her gaze fell upon the first line of the title, her expression froze.
This was not the scribble of a child.
The handwriting was neat as print, the title formatted with scholarly precision, and the opening sentence directly cited an article from British Studies in Potioneering. A tremor rippled through her heart.
Her breath caught for a fraction of a second.
She removed her spectacles, and with a gravity she had never before shown to a student, began to read carefully.
The report was three full pages long.
Not a single wasted sentence. Not one redundant word. It was pure, distilled academic logic, cold and razor-sharp.
It unfolded through seven distinct perspectives, each argument building seamlessly upon the last.
The first section analyzed "The Role of Catalysts in Potion Reactions." It pointed out with precision that in the Shrinking Solution, the powdered daisy root did not function as an ingredient with magical properties of its own, but rather as a biological catalyst—lowering the energy barrier for the fusion of dried fig and rat spleen. Without grasping this principle, a student would never truly understand the mystery of brewing times and heat control.
The second section dissected "The Law of Energy Conservation in Neutralization Reactions." Using the Cure for Boils as an example, it explained how dried nettles combined with snake fangs released an intense exothermic reaction. The textbook merely instructed students to add porcupine quills, but never explained that their purpose was to absorb and neutralize the excess magical energy, preventing the potion from boiling over and failing.
…
The seventh section explored "The Cross-Influence of Magical Properties Among Different Materials."
The chain of logic was unbroken, airtight to the point of suffocation. Each argument was supported with two or three examples drawn directly from the first-year textbook.
At the end, the report included a list.
It clearly catalogued twelve examples from Magical Drafts and Potions whose underlying principles could only be explained using Advanced Potion-Making or even higher-level theories.
Madam Pince's hands began to tremble.
In her decades of service at the Hogwarts Library, she had read countless professors' manuscripts and reviewed innumerable student theses.
But she had never seen anything like this.
This was not something an eleven-year-old child could produce.
Its depth, its rigor, its insight—it went far beyond the scope of "learning." It had already stepped into the realm of "research." This was a paper fit to be submitted to Potioner's Today or The Alchemist's Weekly.
She jerked her head up, eyes locked on the boy before her.
He still stood there calmly, expression steady, gaze clear, as though he had handed over nothing more than an ordinary book request form.
Inside her, a storm was raging.
She finally understood: this first-year was not seeking privilege, nor was he flaunting talent.
He was proving—in the purest, most academic way—that he was not "overreaching." Rather, the foundation he already stood upon could no longer support his climb.
He needed a ladder to reach higher ground.
After the shock came a feeling she had rarely known: profound admiration.
At last, she gave Alan a long, complex look—one carrying astonishment, approval, and, faintly, the quiet satisfaction of a guardian of knowledge.
For the first time in decades, she rose from behind the lending desk.
That gesture alone was the highest recognition she could offer.
She did not tell Alan to fetch the book himself. Instead, she personally led him deep into the library, into sections normally reserved for advanced students and professors.
From a high shelf, she drew down a thick, ancient tome.
Its cover was deep-green dragonhide, the title embossed in gold: Advanced Potion-Making.
She placed the book solemnly in Alan's hands.
"Child," for the first time her voice softened, even warmed, "rules are written for the many. But the doors of knowledge—sometimes, they will open a backdoor for a true seeker."
Alan received the heavy, long-yearned-for book. From his fingertips, he felt the weight and texture of knowledge itself, filling him with a satisfaction like none before.
"Thank you, Madam."
His gratitude was sincere.
Within his mind palace, as the data of the book was scanned and recorded, an entirely new and immense knowledge module began to take shape. At the same time, a system notification rang out clearly in his mind:
[Core Knowledge System Breakthrough Detected…]
[Long-Term Quest Activated: Advanced Alchemist]
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