She looked at Alan deeply, her expression impossible to describe—layers of complexity and astonishment. Then her gaze returned to the incredible parchment, as if she wanted to memorize every single symbol.
Finally, she lifted her head and, with the utmost gravity, announced to the class:
"Gryffindor, due to Mr. Scott's exceptional, groundbreaking innovations in Transfiguration theory, you receive 20 points!"
As the end-of-class bell rang like a horn of absolution through the ancient Transfiguration classroom, the energy the students had restrained all lesson exploded. Chairs scraped against the stone floor, parchment was rolled up haphazardly, and the room was filled with the chaotic relief of release.
Amid the clamor, a clear, calm voice, imbued with undeniable authority, cut through the noise:
"Mr. Scott, please stay behind."
McGonagall's voice was not loud, yet the entire room seemed to drop in temperature.
The students filed out, curiosity flicking between Alan and McGonagall, but no one dared linger. Soon, the heavy wooden door closed behind the last student.
Click.
McGonagall flicked her wand, and the door sealed shut.
The classroom was left with just the two of them. Dust from the chalk hung in the sunlight streaming through the windows, drifting lazily. It was quiet enough to hear each other's breathing.
McGonagall did not return to the podium. Instead, she stood still, looking at him with a gaze Alan had never seen before: serious, cautious, even slightly wary, stripped of all teacher-student sentiment, leaving only pure inquiry.
"Mr. Scott, now, I need you to answer me honestly."
Her voice was flat, devoid of warmth, each word measured precisely.
"The theory you wrote on that parchment, regarding the 'Conservation of Transfiguration Energy'—where did the idea come from?"
She leaned forward slightly; the invisible pressure intensified. She was not questioning Alan's talent, but the source of his knowledge. In the wizarding world, some ancient, forbidden theories could distort a wizard's perception of reality far more dangerously than Dark Magic.
Alan's Mind Palace activated instantly. Streams of data surged, simulating consequences of various possible answers.
Option 1: Claim the inspiration came from a fabricated ancient tome. Risk: High. McGonagall knows Hogwarts Library inside out. 98.7% chance of being exposed. Consequence: trust shattered, under close surveillance.
Option 2: Remain silent, refuse to answer. Risk: Extreme. Implying a secret exists. Consequence: triggers top-level investigation, possibly alerting the Ministry.
Option 3: State partial truth, guide her to a safe understanding. Risk: Low. Core logic comes from Muggle science; her knowledge system has blind spots. Potential benefit: establishes a unique, safe "genius" persona.
Decision made in 0.01 seconds.
"Professor, this theory does not originate from any magical text."
Alan's answer was clear and honest, meeting McGonagall's gaze without flinching.
"It is simply a basic hypothesis based on the Muggle principle of the conservation of matter."
He explained calmly, as if delivering an academic lecture:
"In the Muggle world, there is a fundamental understanding: matter can neither be created nor destroyed. It only transforms from one form to another. During this transformation, the total energy remains constant—it is conserved. I simply wondered if this law, repeatedly verified, also applies in the magical world."
"Conservation of matter… energy…"
McGonagall's lips moved.
This was not the work of a magical prodigy. This was true wisdom, seeing through phenomena to the essence.
Such talent, if misdirected, could be devastating. But with proper guidance, the potential was limitless.
A thought, a sudden yet profound decision, formed in McGonagall's mind.
She straightened her back, her eyes glowing brighter than ever—a mix of admiration and exhilaration at discovering a rare treasure.
"Mr. Scott."
Her title remained, but her tone had radically shifted.
"Hogwarts has an unwritten tradition: for those few who demonstrate extraordinary talent in a specific field, far surpassing peers—even older students—they are granted special, private guidance."
She looked at Alan, speaking deliberately:
"I have decided to establish an Advanced Transfiguration Theory Research Group, which I will personally supervise."
She emphasized "Advanced" and "Theory."
"This group does not belong to any club or student society. Its sole purpose is the pursuit of cutting-edge, pure theoretical exploration. Members will be carefully selected by me from the top students across all grades."
Her gaze locked on Alan, weighty and unflinching:
"Now, as the group's mentor, I formally invite you, Alan Scott, to be the first—and only—first-year member."
These words carried weight far beyond a mere invitation.
It was recognition, nearly equivalent to a passing of the torch.
"I am deeply honored, Professor."
Alan's reply was crisp and immediate.
Ding! [Detected: Key figure 'Minerva McGonagall' has given deep recognition; special mission line triggered.] [You have joined the 'Advanced Transfiguration Theory Research Group', unlocking deep academic interaction privileges with Minerva McGonagall.] [Transfiguration skill tree greatly enhanced; related experience gain efficiency permanently increased by 50%.]
When the classroom doors were unlocked, Alan stepped out calmly. Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were like ants on a hot pan, pacing anxiously.
"So? She didn't turn you into a slug, did she?"
Fred rushed up, scrutinizing him nervously.
"No," Alan shook his head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile appearing.
"On the contrary," he said, "the Professor invited me to join an academic research group. I need to go to the library to review relevant materials in preparation for the group's first activity."
He glanced at his watch—precise, efficient movements.
"Also," he added, "to make some theoretical preparations for the first-years' flying experience organized by Charlie Weasley this afternoon."
"Flying?" George's face was full of confusion. "You need to prepare for flying? Isn't it just… feeling?"
Alan only smiled mysteriously, saying nothing.
He passed the three bewildered students, walking straight toward the library. His posture was upright, his steps precise and measured, each stride deliberate, radiating purpose.
~~----------------------
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