Inside one compartment of the Hogwarts Express, the air was thick with the sweet mix of Chocolate Frogs and Liquorice Wands. The rhythmic clatter of wheels against tracks created a hypnotic, almost sleep-inducing rhythm.
Yet in this compartment, there was no trace of drowsiness; every inch of air trembled with excitement.
Fred, George, and Lee Jordan , three of Hogwarts' most notorious troublemakers , were listening to Alan Scott with unprecedented focus. Their bodies leaned forward instinctively, as if they wanted to swallow every detail of Alan's summer experience whole.
Alan's tone was calm, unembellished, as if he were merely recounting ordinary events.
"…so I told him, I don't need the five hundred Galleons."
As the words left Alan's mouth casually, Fred's box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans fell to the floor with a clatter, spilling colorful beans across the carpet. He didn't even notice.
"You… you refused? Five hundred Galleons?" George's voice was dry, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
That was five hundred Galleons , enough to multiply the startup capital for "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes" many times over.
Alan continued, each word dropping like a bomb in their minds:
"I told him, what I needed was an official, written apology from the Ministry of Magic in England, clarifying the false accusations of magic misuse. And the apology must be made public."
The compartment fell utterly silent.
Only the steady rumble of the train filled the void.
Fred and George's expressions shifted from shock to near-frenzied admiration. They exchanged glances, and in each other's pupils, they saw the same burning spark of awe.
"You… you're 'extorting'… the Ministry of Magic?" Lee Jordan finally found his voice, laboriously articulating each word.
"From a game theory perspective, it's just an optimal strategy under asymmetric information," Alan corrected calmly.
"Merlin's beard!" Fred leapt from his seat so abruptly that his head struck the luggage rack with a thump. He didn't care. Grabbing Alan's shoulders, he shook him with eyes blazing.
"Alan! You're literally our hero!"
"Exactly!" George followed, his face flushed with excitement. "Daring to 'extort' the Ministry! That's a thousand times cooler than all our pranks combined!"
This was no longer a prank. It was a direct challenge to a nation's highest magical authority, wielded with logic so airtight that the Ministry could not refute it.
It was an art form.
An art of mischief at its highest level, beyond anything they had imagined.
"But really," Lee Jordan said, more contemplative than the twins, stroking his chin and frowning, "that old guy, Helmut Volk, the German wizard , he'd rather risk exposure, even a full investigation by the Ministry, than let that tiny obsidian cube go."
His gaze sharpened as he looked at Alan.
"What exactly is that thing? It must hide an enormous secret!"
Fred and George's excitement cooled slightly. They turned to Alan, eager for an answer.
A faint smile curled at the corner of Alan's mouth, but he said nothing. The secret was far larger than they could imagine , tied not only to a lost ancient rune library but also to the fundamental knowledge system of the magical world. It was far too early to reveal it.
Just then, a sharp, slicing sound of wings broke the air.
A massive owl, its feathers as black as night and bearing an arrogant expression, hovered precisely outside their moving compartment window, tapping on the glass insistently.
As the train slowed and the scenery outside grew clearer, the lights of the station came into view.
Alan opened the window. The owl dropped a thick, sealed parchment into his hands and disappeared into the gathering dusk without a backward glance.
The envelope bore no signature, but the palpable fury emanating from it seeped through the paper.
He broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The script was vigorous, the ink bold, some words bleeding from the heavy strokes.
Helmut Volk had finally compromised.
In the letter, with a tone that seemed as if he had ground his molars in frustration, Volk agreed to Alan's terms.
The final arrangement: the apology letter and the key would be exchanged on the first weekend after school started.
Alan refolded the letter and placed it in his pocket. The seemingly absurd, logic-driven "transaction" had reached a conclusion.
The compartment's atmosphere erupted once more.
"Hey, Alan! When school starts, we've got to plan some new Quidditch tactics! We almost won the House Cup last year!" Fred was already imagining the next term on the pitch.
"Exactly! We've got to show those Slytherins what's what!" Fred exclaimed excitedly, and George immediately agreed.
Yet Alan's next words were like a bucket of ice water, instantly dousing all their enthusiasm.
"Everyone, I have an announcement to make."
His voice was quiet but clear, cutting through the train's noise and the chatter of his friends. The compartment fell silent again, and all eyes turned to him. Alan's expression was calm, completely unreadable, as if he were stating the most ordinary of facts.
"Starting this school year, I will no longer participate in any training or matches for the Gryffindor Quidditch team."
"What?!"
The news was even more unbelievable than "Professor Snape smiled." Fred and George's smiles froze, while Lee Jordan's mouth hung open, unable to close it.
"Why, Alan?"
A slightly serious, puzzled voice came from the compartment door. Percy Weasley, head boy of Gryffindor and Alan's friend, happened to be passing by. He had evidently overheard their conversation, adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses, and stepped inside, the head boy badge on his chest glinting in the light.
"You're our best tactical analyst! Your absence will be a huge loss for the Gryffindor team."
Alan didn't answer directly. Instead, he pulled another letter from his backpack.
It was a letter from the German Ministry of Magic, embossed with the official golden eagle seal. He held it up for his friends to see.
"Because I have officially accepted an invitation from the German Ministry of Magic's Department of Applied Magical Theory."
Alan's gaze swept across their astonished faces. His voice remained calm, but there was an undeniable decisiveness in it.
"Starting this term, I will serve as their 'remote consultant,' contributing to the research on current rune studies via correspondence."
He paused, then put the letter away.
"I simply don't have the energy to continue balancing Quidditch alongside this work."
In the most matter-of-fact tone, he had just outlined a completely new "life plan."
While his friends were still caught up in the excitement over Quidditch and pranks, Alan's gaze had already gone beyond the walls of Hogwarts, reaching toward the vast, deeper realms of magical research.
He was about to transition, from a "student," into a true "magical researcher."
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