"A secret passage to Hogsmeade!"
Fred's voice rang out in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, carrying a kind of excitement that seemed ready to set the air on fire. He and George stood on either side of Alan's bed, their bodies trembling slightly with anticipation, like a pair of goblins who had just discovered a hoard of treasure.
"Alan, let's go this weekend, what do you say?" George chimed in, eyes gleaming with the hunger for forbidden adventure. "Just imagine it—Butterbeer! Honeydukes! Zonko's Joke Shop!"
From his own bed, Lee Jordan stuck his head out, pumping a fist with unrestrained longing written all over his face. For three lively, fun-loving students, this discovery was nothing short of opening the door to a whole new world.
But the echo of excitement they expected never came.
At the center of their storm of enthusiasm, Alan simply sat calmly on his bed. He didn't even lift his head; his gaze seemed to pass straight through the wall before him, fixed on some dimension only he could see. Deep within his mind, a grand palace of thought was running at full capacity.
[Proposal: Hogsmeade Weekend Raid.]
[Participants: Four.]
[Core Ability Assessment: First-year and third year students, spell proficiency below average, no combat experience.]
[Target Environment: Hogsmeade. Known wizarding village, no curfew, complex population including adult wizards, magical creatures, and potential hostile forces. Security level: unknown.]
[Risk Variable A: Encounter with older students and bullying. Probability: Medium.]
[Risk Variable B: Encounter with a teacher or school governor. Probability: Low. Consequence: Detention, House point loss.]
[Risk Variable C: Encounter with Filch. Probability: High.]
[Risk Variable D: Encounter with uncontrollable magical incidents or hostile wizards. Probability: Unknown, but consequences: fatal.]
The stream of data flashed past at a speed invisible to the naked eye, finally condensing into a single, icy conclusion.
Seconds later, the machinery of the thought palace halted. Alan lifted his head, his eyes clear and calm, as if he had just finished an inconsequential calculation.
"I refuse."
His voice wasn't loud, but it hit like a bucket of ice water, instantly dousing all the excitement in the room.
"What?"
The ecstatic grins on Fred and George's faces froze stiff at the corners of their mouths.
Alan's gaze swept over the three of them. His tone was flat, stripped of all emotion—yet his words carried the weight of a Gringotts risk report.
"According to my assessment, Hogsmeade, as an open wizarding settlement, possesses a level of environmental complexity, population fluidity, and potential uncontrollable factors that far exceed the defensive structure of Hogwarts Castle itself."
He paused briefly, making sure each word landed.
"As a first-year who has been here less than two months, with no effective means of self-protection, leaving the castle's safety zone on our own to enter an unknown environment—one that may include hostile wizards—cannot be defined as 'adventure,' especially when accompanied by older students whose confidence may encourage risky behavior."
Alan raised a single finger and tapped lightly on the bedframe.
"It should be defined as 'inefficient risk-taking.' Its potential dangers and expected rewards are entirely disproportionate."
Looking at his stunned roommates, he delivered the final conclusion in a tone that allowed no argument.
"Every successful action must be built on full preparation and careful risk control. Impulsiveness is the greatest enemy of efficiency."
The analysis, calm to the point of cruelty, left Fred, George, and Lee Jordan speechless. Their mouths hung open, their minds unable to process this alien logic. How had a simple "let's sneak out and have fun" turned into "inefficient risk-taking" and "risk-benefit ratio"?
Disappointment washed over their faces, nearly spilling out of them. That pure, childlike joy was ripped apart, leaving behind only confusion and dismay.
At once, Alan's mind palace supplied a new feedback:
[Communication strategy failure. Pure logic preaching ineffective for current target group. Switch to 'interest-driven' mode.]
He knew he had to give them a step down they could understand and accept.
"However—" his tone shifted, and the stagnant air in the dormitory seemed to flow again, "I'm not completely dismissing this plan. I just think that our current 'preparations' aren't sufficient."
That turn of phrase made a glimmer return to the three pairs of eyes before him.
Alan stood up smoothly, pulling down the heavy Standard Book of Spells, from the bookshelf. The rustling of pages echoed as he flipped them.
"I have one condition."
His gaze locked onto them, those deep eyes shining with something called wisdom—a light that seemed to see through everything and reduce it to pieces on a chessboard.
"If you can, within one week, master the 'elementary defensive spell combination' I'm about to teach you, then next weekend I'll agree to take you to Hogsmeade."
He added, "And I will be the one to plan out a completely safe route, ensuring that every stage of the operation stays within our control."
This proposal was like a stone tossed into dead water, instantly stirring up countless ripples.
Not only could they learn a brand-new spell that already sounded cool, they could also go to Hogsmeade openly and legitimately! The deal was simply too good to refuse.
"It's a promise!"
Fred was the first to leap up, his disappointment replaced entirely by a rush of new enthusiasm.
And so, in the week that followed, the boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower quietly transformed into a miniature, top-secret classroom for magic.
Alan became their temporary teacher.
His teaching style was completely different from that of any professor at Hogwarts. He never demanded rote memorization of incantations or wand motions.
The very first thing he did was deconstruct.
"Shield Charm—Protego."
Alan dipped a quill into ink and sketched a simple humanoid outline on a clean piece of parchment.
"Its essence isn't about creating a wall. You must understand: at its core, you are instantly constructing in front of yourself a tiny, highly dense temporary shield of magical energy. Its purpose is to 'deflect' and 'block,' not to 'withstand head-on.' Therefore, the smaller the casting range, the more concentrated the defense."
Then he drew a second diagram, showing a beam of energy shooting out from a wand tip.
"Disarming Charm—Expelliarmus. Its key isn't raw power, but 'directionality' and 'impact.' It's a highly compressed and targeted burst of magic, meant to act precisely upon the object in your opponent's hand, breaking their grip with a sudden surge. So aiming isn't about your eyes—it's about locking onto your target with your mind."
His explanations cut straight to the underlying logic of magic, far deeper and more fundamental than Professor Flitwick's classroom instructions of "just flick and swish lightly."
Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were enthralled. For the first time, they realized that spells weren't some mysterious talent, but a discipline that could be understood and analyzed like a science.
"What you need to practice isn't casting them individually. That's just homework."
Alan set down his quill and moved to the open space in the center of the dormitory.
"What you must do is connect these two spells in under half a second—forming a complete tactical loop."
He demonstrated personally.
No incantation was spoken.
With a casual sweep of his left hand, a nearly invisible ripple shimmered briefly in front of him.
At the exact same instant the invisible barrier appeared, his right hand had already raised his wand toward a bedpost.
A blinding red light shot out like a scarlet viper from the wand tip.
Bang!
A thick book resting atop the bedpost was struck squarely, knocked backward, and slammed heavily into the wall.
The entire sequence flowed seamlessly, as fast as lightning. Defense and attack fused together with no pause, as though they were two halves of the same motion.
"Defend first—then strike back."
Alan lowered his wand, stating with calm certainty the most basic, yet most brutal, logic of combat.
"This is the first rule for staying alive."
Under Alan's patient, rigorous, and logical guidance, an unprecedented focus settled over the three boys. Even the usually mischievous Weasley twins had set aside their jokes, repeating wand movements and mental focus again and again.
Sweat soaked their foreheads, their arms ached from the repetition—but their eyes shone brighter and brighter.
They were preparing for Alan's very first true adventure outside the school—making the most thorough, and the most rational, preparations possible.
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