Alan ultimately accepted Charlie's invitation.
He gained an entirely new role, one that had never existed in the history of Hogwarts Quidditch: Chief Tactical Consultant.
Saturday afternoon, in the Gryffindor Tower changing room, the familiar mix of old wood, broom bristles, and sweat hung in the air. The players lounged on benches in small groups, relaxed and ready for what they thought would be the same tactical meeting as every year.
It would be nothing more than listening to Captain Charlie Weasley review a few key mistakes from last season, followed by some motivational words, and then everyone would grab their brooms and head to the pitch for the first recovery training.
But when Alan walked in, the idle chatter in the room came to an immediate, subtle halt. His presence was destined to overturn everything here.
"Today, we won't do flying practice."
Alan's voice was calm, yet every player heard it clearly. He ignored the puzzled expressions on their faces and simply gestured for Charlie to clear the longest bench in the center of the room.
Charlie obeyed immediately.
Under a dozen curious gazes, Alan stepped into the empty space and flicked his wand. He did not speak any incantations. The wand tip traced a series of intricate, dazzling patterns in the air. Light flowed, magic coalesced in a visible, precise form.
A huge blank sheet of parchment unfolded in midair, suspended as if by invisible hands.
Then, the parchment began to twist, fold, and rise. Its surface grew a perfectly scaled miniature Quidditch pitch at astonishing speed.
Three golden goalposts rose from one end, precise in height and curve. At the other end, three matching goalposts mirrored them. The grass was so finely detailed that one could see the subtle angles of each blade catching the sunlight.
"Wow!"
An uncontrollable exclamation came from the crowd. Some players instinctively stood, craning their necks to see more clearly.
And that was only the beginning.
Alan flicked his wrist, and a small bag of multi-colored pebbles flew from his pocket, hovering in front of him.
With a tap of his wand, those plain pebbles sprang to life. They morphed and stretched into tiny player models in red and green uniforms, floating silently above the sand table, awaiting instructions.
"All right." Alan's voice was steady, devoid of emotion, carrying the calm precision of a surgeon about to dissect. "Now, we can start the review."
As he spoke, the red pebbles representing Gryffindor players began to move. He didn't analyze any tactics verbally; instead, he pierced the team's raw wounds with cold, unflinching data.
"Here."
His wand pointed to the left rear of the Gryffindor goal. A pebble representing Keeper Oliver Wood quivered slightly.
"Wood's habitual defensive blind spot. When Bludgers strike within this 35–45 degree fan-shaped area, his neural reflexes and muscle responses lag by 0.2 seconds—enough time for opposing Chasers to make a high-quality shot. Last season, we conceded 150 points in total, 62 of which came from this area. That's 40%."
Wood's cheek muscles twitched involuntarily. The data was so precise it felt offensive, yet undeniable.
Alan's wand then pointed at the two Beater pebbles.
"And here: the previous Beaters, the Weasley twins. When performing cross-position defense, their coordination and anticipation deficiencies create a fan-shaped vacuum lasting 1.2 seconds. This vacuum cost us the final in the previous season against Slytherin."
His wand traced a clear arc above the sand table.
The atmosphere in the changing room grew tense. Some senior players' faces revealed clear displeasure. Being publicly corrected in such a nearly humiliating way by a first-year seemed unbearable.
Finally, one burly Chaser could no longer contain himself.
"Hey, kid," he said, his voice dripping with provocation. "Anyone can talk tactics on paper. Real matches are unpredictable and way more complicated than your pile of rocks!"
Alan slowly lifted his head. He did not get angry nor rebut. He merely stared calmly with those bottomless eyes at the speaking player.
"You're right."
He nodded, his tone perfectly even. "So, let's do a visualized review."
He waved his wand.
Instantly, the sand table models representing all players sprang to life.
Step by step, Alan began reconstructing last season's match where Gryffindor lost to Slytherin—the final, fatal point.
The Slytherin Chaser's passing routes.
The Bludger's tricky arcs in the air.
Every Gryffindor player's exact positioning and missteps in that moment.
Everything was perfectly recreated.
When the green pebble representing the Slytherin Chaser dove through the so-called "fan-shaped blind spot" to touch the golden Snitch pebble, the entire changing room fell silent.
Time seemed to stop.
The humiliation of losing, the bitter frustration of failure, was amplified and forced into every player's heart through this exquisite sand table.
The air was so heavy it was almost suffocating.
"But…"
Alan's voice cut like a surgical blade, precise and unrelenting.
"What if we had employed my zone-linked defense tactic then?"
He waved his wand.
All the models on the sand table instantly reset.
The simulation restarted.
This time, the red pebbles representing Gryffindor players moved in a pattern no one had ever seen. They no longer acted as isolated points but formed a connected network.
Goalkeeper pressed forward to cover gaps left by Chasers. Beaters fell back to block potential Chaser breaks. Chasers maintained a dynamic, constantly adjusting triangular formation.
They compensated for each other's weaknesses, supported each other's flanks.
Finally, under everyone's eyes, the previously unstoppable Slytherin Chaser was perfectly intercepted outside the "fan-shaped blind spot" Alan had indicated. He could not advance.
And the Bludger Wood would have missed was effortlessly intercepted by a Chaser who had anticipated its trajectory.
A previously lost match had been transformed.
A godlike simulation of analysis.
A visualized optimization from defeat to victory.
The impact left every player stunned to their core.
Their eyes, when looking at Alan, no longer held the slightest doubt or skepticism.
Especially Captain Charlie Weasley. His chest heaved violently, his heart pounding like a drum. He stared at the calm first-year in front of the sand table, and one thought crystallized clearly in his mind:
This boy was not bringing just a victory.
He was bringing a revolution.
In the corner of the Gryffindor common room, the fire crackled, casting flickering shadows across the players' stunned and exhilarated faces.
Alan's astonishing "tactical sand table" simulation had dissected everything they knew about Quidditch. The cut nerves were still twitching in the air.
The players' gaze toward Alan had completely changed.
~~----------------------
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