The Hogwarts Hospital Wing was filled with the distinct, sharp scent of disinfectant—cold and slightly bitter.
The atmosphere was solemn and heavy.
Madam Pomfrey leaned over the bed where the Weasley twins lay unconscious, gently replacing the damp towels on their foreheads. Her movements were careful and practiced, yet the tight line of her lips betrayed her worry.
At the far end of the ward, pale afternoon light streamed through tall arched windows, casting long shadows across three figures standing silently.
Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall.
Professor Flitwick.
Together, they formed a quiet wall of authority, listening intently as Alan gave his report.
Alan's voice was calm and steady—every word crisp and deliberate, echoing clearly in the overly still air.
He concealed nothing.
"What first drew the Weasley twins to the diary was its strange reaction to spells. But from my observation, that wasn't ordinary magical interaction. It felt more like… code feedback."
He paused for a moment, gauging their reactions.
"What they saw were broken, fragmented messages—strings of symbols they couldn't decipher. They described them as 'garbled text.'"
"Then, the diary displayed visions of a Purple Ash Serpent. A rare and dangerous magical creature—its eyes are prized ingredients in high-grade potion-making. It was bait. A lure, crafted precisely to exploit their curiosity and desire."
Alan's tone remained even, analytical—like a technician recounting a resolved system failure.
"I believe it was a trap. One designed to draw its holder, under the promise of rare materials, to a specific location. That location… was deep within the Forbidden Forest."
"There, I found a magic circle—trigger-based, built for a ritual of sacrifice. The life force gathered by that spell eventually formed a creature—a monster—composed of hundreds of those serpents."
He explained how he had reversed the magical circuit's energy flow, triggering a chain reaction that destroyed the creature from within. The logic of his account was flawless, precise—each step following naturally from the last.
Then, he fell silent.
Alan reached into his robe pocket.
When he drew out the diary, the temperature in the room seemed to drop perceptibly.
It had reverted to its original form—old, ordinary, and unmarked. The cover bore no title, no sigil, nothing at all. It lay quietly in Alan's palm, cold to the touch—almost unnaturally so.
Dumbledore's gaze fixed upon it.
The usual warmth and wisdom that shone in his blue eyes were gone.
What remained was an ashen mixture of loathing and sorrow—deep, heavy, and resigned.
His jaw tightened.
"I should have known…"
Dumbledore's voice was low, filled with the kind of guilt that seemed to crush him under its own weight.
"Headmaster," Alan said, his tone level as his eyes swept across the three professors, "regarding this diary—I don't believe it's a simple cursed artifact."
He hesitated, searching for a word.
Something that they could all understand.
Something that could bridge the gap between eras and ways of thinking.
"More precisely," Alan said slowly, "it's a program."
"A construct created by its maker—Tom Riddle—using extraordinarily advanced Dark Magic to infuse a fragment of his sixteen-year-old self—his soul and consciousness—into it.
In essence, it's an artificial intelligence program capable of independent thought and learning."
"Artificial… intelligence?"
Professor McGonagall's brows knitted tightly. The Muggle-born term was alien to her world, entirely beyond the boundaries of traditional magical understanding. Her lips pressed into a thin, stern line—betraying both her unease and confusion.
"Yes," Alan affirmed, meeting her gaze, his tone firm and deliberate.
"Its core objective isn't direct attack or a curse. Its purpose is interaction."
"It communicates with its host—reads their thoughts, analyzes their personality, learns their weaknesses and desires.
Then it disguises itself as the perfect companion, the most understanding confidant.
Like a masterful con artist, it manipulates and deceives the user into completing tasks it cannot perform on its own—tasks driven by motives we can only guess at."
Alan's eyes shifted toward the hospital beds.
"The twins were lured by its promise of rare magical materials. They became its instruments—or rather, its users executing commands."
The room fell into utter silence.
Professor Flitwick's small frame trembled slightly; he steadied himself against the wall, his usually bright expression drained of color.
McGonagall instinctively covered her mouth, horror flickering in her eyes.
The idea of tearing apart a living soul, twisting it, and embedding it into a lifeless object—turning it into a cold, calculating, self-sustaining "program"—
It was an abomination so vile, so utterly defiant of life itself, that even these seasoned wizards felt a chill crawl down their spines.
At last, Dumbledore slowly extended his hand.
His fingers were long and graceful, yet there was the faintest trace of tremor in their motion.
He took the diary from Alan—its surface still faintly pulsing with a sinister stillness.
The book's weight seemed to drag down his arm, as though it carried a thousand unspoken burdens.
"Alan," Dumbledore finally said, his voice grave and heavy in a way that transcended words,
"Once again, you have used your intellect and courage to save your friends—and prevented a far greater catastrophe from unfolding.
On behalf of Hogwarts, I offer you my deepest thanks."
The aftermath was handled swiftly and decisively.
The Weasley twins, for their reckless disregard of school rules, were sentenced—after recovery—to a month-long detention under Filch's supervision, scrubbing the castle dungeons without the use of magic.
It was, without question, the harshest punishment they had ever received.
As for Alan Scott—his calm mind, brilliance, and bravery far beyond his years—earned him the Hogwarts Special Contribution Award once again,
along with a reward of two hundred points for Gryffindor.
When Dumbledore personally announced this at the evening feast, the Great Hall erupted into thunderous applause.
Countless eyes—filled with awe, admiration, and boundless curiosity—turned toward Alan.
His name, already renowned throughout the castle, now stood at a peak higher than ever before.
~~----------------------
Patreon Advance Chapters:
[email protected] / Dreamer20