The Gryffindor common room was at the peak of victory celebrations.
Scarlet and gold banners were hung haphazardly on the walls, and the flames in the fireplace licked the logs excitedly, casting bright light across the young, flushed faces. To celebrate the Quidditch team's overwhelming victory, the Weasley twins generously contributed their entire stock of contraband.
The air was thick with a strange, sweet, cloying scent—a mix of Fizzing Whizbees and Canary Crackers fermenting together. Occasionally, an unlucky student would cough violently, causing a puff of yellow feathers to explode from their head, followed by a series of crisp bird chirps, prompting even louder laughter from those around.
The whole tower seemed to vibrate slightly with the roar of the celebration.
Yet the true protagonist of this victory—the one who had devised all the critical tactics—had long since slipped away.
Alan moved silently through the revelers like a ghost, disturbing no soul lost in joy.
In the team's locker room, the post-match sweat and fatigue were still evident.
Charlie Weasley, the Gryffindor captain renowned for his bravery, was wiping his wind-flushed face with a towel.
Alan entered and handed him a thick roll of parchment, neatly tied with twine.
The parchment was ten pages long, heavy enough to weigh down Charlie's hand slightly as he took it.
"What's this?"
Charlie untied the string and unrolled it with curiosity.
Dense charts, complex flight trajectory diagrams, and rows of numbers and symbols he could not comprehend filled his vision instantly. The intricate lines and annotations made his head spin.
"It's a post-match analysis and tactical optimization report for the next phase."
Alan's voice was calm and flat, as though stating a fact entirely unrelated to himself.
"I analyzed each team member's flight paths, passing success rates, and stamina curves during the match. I also retrieved and modeled data from Ravenclaw's last three matches and performed a comparative analysis."
He paused, delivering a cold conclusion.
"The data shows that our raw win probability against Ravenclaw in the next match is 73.6%. However, if we adjust our current 'Offensive Trident' formation to a 'Dynamic Defense Counterattack' and execute counterattack strategies within specific time windows, our win rate can be increased to over 85%."
Charlie's mouth hung open, his Adam's apple bobbing as he struggled for words.
He felt that what he was holding was not a Quidditch tactical report at all.
It was a highly precise research paper from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, perhaps analyzing the genetic sequence of a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon.
While he and the players' minds were still riding the dopamine high from the spectacular goal moments, Alan, emotionless as a machine, had already begun measuring and planning to secure victory in every upcoming match.
This cognitive gap sent a chill down Charlie's spine.
At that moment, the locker room door burst open.
The Weasley twins charged in like two cannonballs, their excitement surpassing even the victory celebrations themselves.
"Alan!"
"Look at this!"
They waved a copy of The Daily Prophet's financial section, the paper a bit crumpled from handling.
"The Goblin Stock Exchange in Gringotts! It's completely stabilized!"
"The biggest suppliers in the dragon blood industry have all declared bankruptcy and reorganization! Your prediction… was completely accurate!"
This news alone demonstrated that Alan possessed a terrifyingly close-to-infallible predictive ability.
Yet, in the face of praise that would make any adult wizard ecstatic, Alan's expression remained utterly neutral. No excitement, no pride, not even a hint of relief.
His extraordinary calmness gave him an almost inhuman detachment.
He had merely confirmed an already known outcome, as if solving a simple mathematical equation.
"That's normal."
Alan took the newspaper, glancing quickly at the headlines, too indifferent to read the articles.
"Capital will always find a way to flow. This volatility is just the precursor to a greater transformation."
He casually set the paper aside and turned his gaze to the window, his eyes seemingly piercing through the thick castle stone to the distant future.
"Watch. In less than three months, the Ministry of Magic will undergo a modest but significant power reshuffle because of this. After all, when such a large industrial chain collapses, some senior officials must take responsibility. And there will inevitably be new interest groups trying to seize the opportunity."
His clear, precise logic and the way he could foresee through the fog of time left Charlie and the twins in stunned silence.
For the first time, they realized that Alan's perspective on the world was completely, entirely different from theirs—those who lived step by step within the magical world.
They saw cheering, victory, Galleons, and glory.
Alan saw, beneath the surface, the cold, harsh truth of an underlying network of threats and consequences.
When the three of them stepped out of the locker room, a sudden downpour had begun.
The rain fell in a dense gray wall, streaming straight from the gloomy sky and smashing onto the castle's stone paths, sending countless white splashes into the air.
Charlie instinctively reached for his wand, ready to cast some sort of protective charm against the rain.
But Alan simply lifted his hand.
A gesture so simple it seemed almost casual.
He didn't summon an umbrella, nor did he cast any protective spell.
Instead, he used an incredibly clever, completely silent Transfiguration.
Every cold raindrop that was about to fall on them encountered an invisible field. The moment the water touched it, a remarkable physical transformation occurred.
The raindrops were broken down midair; the liquid instantly vaporized, turning into harmless white steam, with a faint warmth, rising and dissipating into the damp, chilly air.
The three of them walked through the torrential downpour as if moving inside a warm, dry bubble, untouched by a single drop.
Around them, the rain poured and splashed, but within that small space, all they could hear were their own clear footsteps and breathing.
The twins were completely stunned.
They gawked at this unbelievable sight, feeling the warm, dry air around them and the faintly warm steam brushing against their skin.
The impact of this display was stronger than any powerful offensive spell or complex, arcane ancient magic.
This was no longer just magic.
This was… an art—one that played magic itself at the whim of its master.
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