June at Hogwarts carried a peculiar scent , a mix of parchment, old ink, and tightly wound nerves.
Final exams hung over the castle like storm clouds. In every corner of every corridor, students clutched thick textbooks, muttering under their breath, eyes dull from lack of sleep.
The fate of the House Cup, like the final weight on a trembling scale, stretched tension among the four houses to its very limit.
And yet, amid this frenzy, Alan stood apart, an island of calm in a sea of chaos.
He even found time to gather his dormmates, whose sanity was barely holding up under revision, and announced the launch of something he called his "Graduation Practicum Project."
The seed of this plan had been planted long ago, when he deciphered Ravenclaw's Logic Core. It was a seed nurtured not by ambition, but by curiosity, and mischief.
He wanted to see, with his own eyes, what would happen when ordinary young wizards, so used to waving wands to solve every problem, found themselves face-to-face with a barrier made entirely of logic, with no magic to help them.
"Are you sure this thing even works?"
In a corner of the Gryffindor common room, Ron Weasley was staring skeptically at a palm-sized wooden box he held in his hands.
The box was crafted from smooth ash wood, its surface etched with rings of strange, rune-like symbols, burnt into it with a branding iron, like the markings of some ancient ruin.
The lid fit perfectly into the body, leaving no visible seam, no latch, no gap to pry open.
Alan tapped the side of the box lightly.
"The secret isn't in the wood."
He gestured for Ron to look at the front face. There, five obsidian buttons glimmered faintly in the firelight, cold and unreadable.
"I used Transfiguration to shape the structure, and Ancient Runes to seal its rules," Alan explained, his calm tone carrying that familiar quiet confidence that made his dormmates hesitate to argue.
"No unlocking charm, neither Alohomora nor anything stronger, can open it. The magic will just be absorbed and dispersed by the runic field."
"Then how do you open it?" Ron frowned.
"With your brain."
Alan pointed to a delicate line of text inlaid along the side in fine silver wire, a classic "Knights and Knaves" logic riddle.
"You solve the clues," he said, "deduce the only correct sequence, and press the five buttons in that exact order."
"And then what? What's inside? A pile of Galleons?" Ron asked, eyes lighting up. Treasure, after all, had a very specific meaning in Gryffindor tradition.
"No." Alan's lips curved into a small, unreadable smile.
"When opened correctly, it triggers a spell I designed, a harmless Rainbow Charm. A shimmering rainbow will appear and linger in midair for nearly a full minute."
He paused, then added with mock solemnity,
"I call it The Treasure of Denial."
Ron's face immediately fell. He tossed the beautifully crafted box back onto the table with a dull thud.
"A rainbow? You mean you made a puzzle that complicated… for a rainbow?"
He stared at Alan with a look that screamed, You've gone completely mad.
"Seriously, does anyone actually fall for this?"
"Trust me, Ron." Alan's gaze drifted toward the flickering fireplace, eyes reflecting its golden light as though already watching the future unfold.
"The word treasure… it has an eternal hold on human curiosity."
That very evening, as twilight fell and the corridors emptied, Alan and his "project partners" began their work.
They carefully hid each of the puzzle boxes in strategic landmarks across the castle.
One was slipped into the crevice of the stone railing atop the Astronomy Tower, where the cold wind of the high sky would whistle through it.
Another was tucked behind the "Lovers' Stone" at the edge of the Black Lake, the rock carved with generations of students' names, its surface glistening faintly from the lake's damp mist.
The last was hidden behind the massive tapestry outside the library, depicting the Goblin Rebellions, left there to rest among the dust of history.
Each hiding place had been chosen with care, famous enough to stir curiosity, but safe enough that no first-year would ever be in danger.
All was ready. Only the final touch remained.
Alan took out a sheet of dark yellow parchment, thin, brittle, treated with special potions until it looked ancient and ready to crumble at the slightest touch.
He dipped his quill into a vial of custom-blended ink and, in elegant, flowing script, wrote the title at the top of the page:
"The Lost Wisdom of Rowena Ravenclaw."
Then, his quill began to move across the parchment, sketching out a map in the style of an ancient adventure novel , a "treasure map," complete with twisting coastlines, exaggerated mountain ranges, skull symbols marking danger zones, and a host of cryptic, misleading symbols that seemed to promise mystery and adventure.
That very night, the Gryffindor common room fire was roaring bright.
A rather clumsy-looking first-year Gryffindor stood up too quickly from an armchair by the fireplace. As he did, a rolled-up piece of parchment slipped out of his robe pocket and fell "quite accidentally" onto the carpet.
He didn't notice a thing, and hurried off toward the dormitory stairs.
A few minutes later, another passing student spotted it.
"Hey, whose parchment is this?"
That curious shout was the spark that lit the fuse.
By the next morning, a storm was brewing quietly among the younger Gryffindor students.
The so-called Ancient Treasure Map had been copied countless times overnight, passing from hand to hand. Rumors of "Ravenclaw's Hidden Treasure" spread faster than Floo powder across the castle.
Soon, every corner of Hogwarts was filled with small groups of secretive, whispering students.
They held their copies of the map, sometimes lifting their heads to compare the castle's structure, sometimes crouching on the floor to measure the distance between paving stones, muttering calculations under their breath.
"The map says 'under the gaze of the stars', that's got to be the Astronomy Tower!"
"No way, look at this wave symbol, it's clearly the Black Lake!"
Arguments, alliances, betrayals, cooperation,
A miniature treasure hunt epic was unfolding in the heart of Hogwarts life.
And Alan?
He was the most leisurely spectator of all.
He'd casually stroll past the library, watching two Hufflepuff students scratch their heads in front of the tapestry depicting the Goblin Wars, one of them even trying a Levitation Charm on it to see if anything was hidden behind.
He'd take an after-lunch walk by the Black Lake and spot a group of Gryffindor first-years circling the "Lovers' Stone," one daring soul even leaning halfway into the icy water in search of clues.
And when, after all their effort, someone finally unearthed a small wooden box resembling the markings on the map, a hush of excited whispers would always follow.
Then came confusion.
"It won't open! Alohomora doesn't work!"
"By the Sorting Hat, I tried three different unlocking charms, it's not reacting at all!"
"Wait, look here, there's a pattern, see this?"
When they finally shifted from "trying to solve it with magic" to "trying to solve it with logic," that's when the real torment began.
From the second-floor corridor, Alan, blessed with sharp eyesight, could clearly see a third-year girl in the courtyard below, tapping her temple furiously while mumbling,
"If A is telling the truth, then B must be lying, but if B is lying…"
Her teammates crowded around, all talking over one another, each idea making the riddle even more tangled.
Finally, one afternoon, the first puzzle was solved.
With a crisp click, the mechanism of the small wooden box snapped open.
Everyone held their breath, eyes wide with anticipation.
Gold? Jewels?
A long-lost magical artifact?
None of the above.
Instead, there came a burst of dazzling light.
A perfect, seven-colored rainbow, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, shot out from the box, arching gracefully through the air. The glow was soft, gentle, almost alive, and the scent of rain-washed grass seemed to fill the courtyard.
Everyone froze.
They stared up, entranced, as the rainbow lingered for nearly a full minute before slowly fading into the air.
On those young, expectant faces, once brimming with greed and excitement, something began to shift.
First, stunned disbelief.
Then, deep disappointment.
Then laughter, awkward, helpless laughter that bubbled up despite themselves.
One boy couldn't hold it back first; a small chuckle escaped him.
Then another.
And soon, laughter spread through the crowd like wildfire, bright, contagious, and free.
That mixture of tears and laughter, of loss and delight, of confusion and wonder,
became, for Alan, the most fascinating and most precious observation he collected at the end of that school term.
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