The sweet scent of butterbeer drifted lazily over the streets of Hogsmeade that weekend , the first of the new term , but it didn't tempt Alan in the slightest.
While most students reveled in noise and leisure, he chose solitude. Alone, he walked through the seventh-floor corridor and stopped before a blank stretch of wall , and, at his will, the Room of Requirement revealed its door.
When he stepped inside, the room had taken on the exact form his mind envisioned: not a storeroom, nor a training chamber, but a miniature workshop , a fusion of classical alchemy and futuristic design.
The air was cool, held steady by a Cooling Charm, carrying the faint metallic tang of tools mixed with the herbal scent of rune ink. A broad obsidian workbench stood at the center, its polished surface gleaming like glass. Delicate silver filigree traced across it in symmetrical runes, stabilizing the flow of ambient magic.
The walls were lined with neat arrays of carving knives, cauldrons, and crystal beakers that caught and reflected the steady light of enchanted lamps , cold, precise, and orderly.
This was his sanctum, his secret base , the sacred ground where the wild designs of his mind could be made real.
And today, he would breathe life into the very core of his and his friends' first true business venture , the "Light and Shadow Matrix."
At the center of the workbench lay a piece of white birch wood , acquired from Hagrid after much persistence and persuasion. Its grain was fine, uniform, and flawless , the perfect material for a magical construct requiring absolute precision.
Alan drew his wand. The tip glowed with a sharp, ghostly blue light.
"Diffindo Precise."
He murmured the improved version of the Severing Charm he had developed himself. The beam sliced silently through the wood , no splinters, no screeching, just a smooth cut so clean it could reflect his face.
Within minutes, hundreds of perfect one-inch wooden cubes were neatly arranged across the obsidian surface , each identical to the next, each ready to become a vessel of magic.
Now came the most demanding step of all , the test of absolute control.
Alan raised his left hand over one cube. From his fingertips, his magic flowed downward , a thin, invisible current seeping into the dense wooden fibers. His mind sharpened to a razor's edge, his inner "Mind Palace" spinning at full speed.
Within the cube, unseen molecular structures began to shift , bonds breaking and reforming under his precise command.
It was an act of impossible delicacy, like carving a castle onto the tip of a needle.
He broke molecular bonds one by one, reforging them into a new configuration , a perfect hollow chamber stabilized by a microscopic field of magic.
This "energy core" would serve as the heart of the Light and Shadow Matrix, the space where light-element magic would one day be stored and transformed.
Beads of sweat gathered at Alan's temple, but his hand remained steady.
Only when the final structure stabilized did he slowly withdraw his magic and exhale, long and deep.
Then, he walked to the rune-engraving table and sat down.
Upon it lay a special etching needle , crafted from the hardened nerve fiber of a fully grown Norwegian Ridgeback dragon, refined through seventy-two alchemical processes. Its tip was sharper than any mundane metal. Beside it stood a small ink bottle containing luminescent ink , made from powdered glow-moss harvested under moonlight. The liquid shimmered faintly like starlight dust.
Alan picked up the needle and dipped it into the ink.
Absolute focus. Absolute patience.
His breathing slowed, steady and even. The world around him faded away until all that remained was the small wooden cube , and the logic and order he was about to inscribe within it.
"Receive command."
"Release light."
The two fundamental runes , the foundation of the entire Matrix , were etched onto each of the cube's six faces with artistic precision. Every stroke, every curve carried the distilled essence of his magical understanding.
It was not just construction. It was creation.
When he finished the final stroke of the tenth luminous cube, a soft white glow bloomed from within it , stable, pure, and alive.
Success.
At that very moment, a quiet knock echoed through the workshop , gentle enough to almost go unnoticed.
Knock, knock.
Alan froze mid-motion, the engraving needle hovering in the air.
He frowned slightly. The Room of Requirement was one of Hogwarts' most secret places; aside from his closest friends, no one should have known he was here.
He turned toward the door.
The seamless wall had partially opened, revealing a small crack , and through it peeked a tiny head covered in soft white hair, standing on tiptoe with curiosity sparkling in his eyes.
It was Professor Filius Flitwick.
"Good afternoon, Alan."
Professor Flitwick stepped into the workshop, smiling warmly, his eyes sparkling with the light of intelligence. Almost immediately, they were drawn to the unfinished cubes on the workbench. He approached, picking up one of the unetched wooden blocks to examine it carefully.
"Perfect cuts… the internal restructuring is incredible… the precision of this Transfiguration surpasses what I would expect even from a tenth-year student."
There was no hiding the admiration in his eyes.
"It seems your brilliant theory of magical programming is already moving into the productization stage."
"Just a toy, Professor," Alan said, standing, though his tone carried a quiet confidence.
"No, no, no." Flitwick waved his hands energetically. Despite his small stature, he radiated immense energy.
"Every great invention begins as a toy , a curious thing for wizard children to play with."
He set the block down and fixed Alan with a sharp gaze.
"Today, I haven't come for your Charms class. I've come to formally recruit you."
"Recruit me?" Alan raised an eyebrow.
"Yes." Flitwick's expression turned serious, though beneath it shimmered an unmistakable excitement.
"This term, to prepare for potential dangers, Headmaster Dumbledore has decided to restart the Duel Club , long inactive. I will be in charge of the club, and I…"
He straightened his chest and announced solemnly:
"…Filius Flitwick, hereby formally invite you, Alan Scott, to serve as the club's first , and only , special tactical and theoretical advisor."
After the excited Flitwick departed, the workshop was quiet once more.
Alan sat back at the workbench, fingertips lightly tracing the soft glow of the completed cube.
A Duel Club advisor. Another entirely new, unexpected role. His life seemed to be filling rapidly with responsibilities and opportunities.
…flowers…
But his thoughts inevitably shifted to something even more important , and dangerous.
The obsidian Rune Key he had brought back from Germany.
It was more than just a key , it was a coordinate pointing to a library that might hold the greatest secrets of the ancient magical civilization. Its value was immeasurable, and the risks were equally staggering.
Leaving it in the Gryffindor dormitory, no matter how many protective charms he applied, would be like exposing a treasure in the busiest market.
Impossible.
He needed an absolutely secure location.
Alan's gaze sharpened. He rose and returned to the materials area of the workshop.
This time, he did not select wood. Instead, he chose a fist-sized piece of black-gold stone infused with traces of mythril. This metal resisted most detection spells and physical attacks alike.
He was going to craft a completely new, far more complex alchemical box , a safe belonging only to him, which even he could fully control.
Cutting, shaping, expanding internal chambers , each step flowed seamlessly under his wand.
The most crucial element: the lock.
He did not use any conventional magical or physical locks. Instead, he incorporated his deep understanding of logic and paradox into the alchemical design.
He designed three consecutive logic puzzles for the box, each a prerequisite for the next:
A variant of the Liar Paradox.
A trap based on negation logic, unrelated to ordinary emotions.
A magical ritual involving Schrödinger's Cat and macroscopic quantum states.
Any attempt to bypass the puzzles , magically or physically , would trigger a chain reaction, collapsing the box's internal structure and banishing its contents into infinite chaos.
Unless all three puzzles were solved, no one could retrieve the items inside.
Finally, when the box , glowing with dark golden runes and of impossibly precise construction , was complete, Alan felt a measure of relief.
He carefully placed the mysterious Rune Key inside the box.
Click.
The lid closed with a crisp, definitive sound.
Cradling the box, he exited the workshop and entered the larger, more chaotic side of the Room of Requirement , a sprawling storage area filled with forgotten items from centuries of Hogwarts history.
He wove through dusty stacks of old furniture, broken statues, and countless odd magical objects.
At last, he arrived at the deepest corner, nearly never trodden, partially blocked by the massive specimen of a one-eyed giant.
There, he gently tucked the alchemical box into a pile of worn, long-forgotten ancient goblin armor.
Here, it would lie in absolute safety, waiting until the day it would once again see the light of day , alongside countless other secrets.
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