After completing the preliminary design of the Light & Shadow Matrix and receiving dual invitations from Professor Flitwick and the German Ministry of Magic, Alan's life finally shed the disturbances far beyond a second-year student's concerns, returning to a calm rhythm strictly defined by his class schedule.
Second-year life unfolded smoothly, step by step.
In the chill air of the dungeons, the distinct, slightly bitter herbal scent of the Engorgement Draught filled the room. Snape, as always, moved silently among the cauldrons. The hem of his black robes brushed across the stone floor without a sound.
His gaze lingered on Alan's cauldron for a full ten seconds.
Inside, the potion shimmered with a perfect turquoise hue, free of impurities. The surface rippled subtly and rhythmically under the cauldron fire. Every step, every stir, was executed with precision as if measured by ruler and metronome.
Snape's thin lips pressed into an even harsher line.
He could find no reason to deduct points.
This flawless perfection was itself a provocation of the sharpest kind. At last, all he could manage was an incomprehensible snort through his nose before gliding silently to his next victim.
If potions were the low, oppressive bass of Hogwarts life, then Defence Against the Dark Arts was a riotous, absurd, and uproarious farce.
Gilderoy Lockhart , in forget-me-not blue robes and a smile even brighter than a Galleon , became the focal point of everyone's attention.
In the first class, wands were not even allowed to be taken out.
"Before I begin imparting my exclusive, award-winning defensive techniques," Lockhart's voice paused for dramatic effect, his self-satisfied gaze sweeping the room, "I think it's necessary to first gauge your… knowledge of me , and, uh, of Defence Against the Dark Arts in general."
A sheet of parchment, redolent with a heavy perfume, was handed to every student.
Alan glanced at the so-called "quiz," which contained a staggering fifty-four questions.
"What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?"
"What does Gilderoy Lockhart consider his greatest achievement to date?"
Alan's eyes jumped to another:
"What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?"
He set down his quill.
The core of the test wasn't knowledge; it was a low-level, self-indulgent personality worship, a meaningless exercise in information filtering.
When Lockhart proudly collected the papers and loudly announced that only one student had scored full marks, all eyes turned to Hermione Granger. Her cheeks flushed with pride and excitement.
"Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor! It seems only you have read all of my works diligently!"
Alan could only shake his head in exasperation and mentally deleted the ridiculous test from his mind.
Then came the climax of the farce.
"Now! It's time you all witness real threats beyond the textbook!"
Lockhart dramatically rolled up his sleeves and approached a huge cage draped with a cloth at the side of the podium. His face carried the mysterious grin of someone about to reveal a world-shaking secret. Inside the cage, glinting faintly, was a miniature Horned Serpent.
With a flourish, he pulled off the cover.
Disaster struck.
A swarm of tiny, vivid blue creatures, no taller than a foot, erupted with ear-piercing screams, swarming the room like a tornado of chaos.
Cornish pixies.
The classroom's order collapsed completely in 0.3 seconds.
They were the embodiment of pure chaos.
The blue specters tore through the air, leaving trails impossible to follow. An ink bottle exploded against the wall, splattering dark blue patterns. A thick copy of Standard Spells, Advanced Level was shredded mid-air by two agile pixies.
"Oh, look at these little rascals!" Lockhart attempted to maintain his laughable "classroom control," though his grin had already begun to stiffen.
"Don't worry, I'll handle it!"
Poor Neville Longbottom screamed in terror as two pixies yanked his ears, hoisting him off the ground and dangling him from the swaying brass chandelier.
"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" Lockhart finally raised his wand, loudly articulating the incantation.
A feeble puff of green sparks sputtered from the tip.
The weak spell failed to work , and instead, enraged the pixies further. One bold pixie snatched Lockhart's wand and hurled it out the window.
The situation had completely spiraled out of control.
Screams and curses from the students blended into a cacophony. "Petrificus Totalus!" "Stupefy!" chants rang out, yet the pixies' flight patterns were utterly erratic and astonishingly fast. Most spells struck walls or ceilings, kicking up clouds of dust.
It was a chaotic, utterly inefficient "point-and-shoot" battle.
At the center of this whirlwind of disorder sat Alan.
He hadn't drawn his wand, nor had he looked up at Neville swinging from the chandelier.
Every scream, collision, and spell light outside instantly dissolved into pure, cold data in his mind.
His brain, the palace of thought known as Absolute Rationality, was running calculations at terrifying speeds.
He closed his eyes.
The chaotic classroom vanished from his vision.
In its place, a three-dimensional grid composed of countless logic lines emerged.
Dozens of blue points, representing the pixies, darted through the grid at high speed, each leaving a trail generated from their past trajectory data.
[Target group: Cornish pixies. Number: 37.]
[Average flight speed: 12.7 m/s.]
[Maximum turning angle: 114°.]
[Behavioral pattern analysis: Tends to zigzag rapidly along classroom diagonals, with nodal points in high-density areas...]
[Optimal solution simulation…]
[Option 1: Group Petrificus Totalus. Success rate: 17%. Estimated duration: over 120 seconds. Magic consumption: high.]
[Option 2: Group Stupefy. Success rate: 21%. Estimated duration: over 90 seconds. Magic consumption: medium.]
[Option 3: Environmental control. Adjust spatial physics parameters… select spell… Impedimenta.]
[Spell parameter adjustment: maximize range, reduce duration to 5 seconds, trigger mechanism: passive collision-based.]
[Optimal casting point confirmed: Coordinates (X:4.7, Y:5.1, Z:3.3).]
[Simulation complete.]
Less than three seconds passed.
Alan opened his eyes.
He raised his wand.
His movements were not fast, but carried an undeniable steadiness. Around him, classmates scrambled, aiming at the darting blue points, while only he directed his wand toward the empty air in the center of the classroom.
He wasn't attacking any individual pixie.
He was attacking the space itself.
"Impedimenta!"
A simple, nearly second-year-level spell, spoken in a calm, controlled tone.
No dazzling light. No explosive sound.
An invisible force field, imperceptible to the naked eye, formed instantly in midair like a giant web spun by a spider in the void. It covered all the "core zones" where the pixies were most likely to fly.
The next second, an astonishing scene unfolded.
The high-speed pixies had no time to react. One, two, three… they collided with an invisible, indestructible wall of force.
No explosions. No dramatic noise. Only a soft, muffled thump as they struck.
Thunk.
Thunk thunk.
The blue creatures abruptly froze midair, tumbled, and then helplessly, dizzy and disoriented, fell to the corners of the classroom.
All accomplished with a single spell.
In under five seconds.
Thirty-seven pixies lay neatly in the classroom corners, like blue toys casually tossed aside.
The classroom fell into a deathly silence.
Everyone was stunned.
They looked at the pile of pixies, then slowly turned their gaze to the boy still holding his wand, calm and composed.
This method , efficient, precise, and filled with "group control" intelligence , was beyond their comprehension.
This was not a duel. This was dimensional reduction in action.
Even the usually self-absorbed Gilderoy Lockhart could not conceal the astonishment creeping onto his face, though only for a moment.
Just one second later, his trademark smile , the one capable of captivating thousands of housewives , returned.
He strode forward, clapping Alan on the shoulder in front of the entire class, enthusiastically and with great force.
His voice boomed loud enough to echo down the corridor.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! Scott, I can see your potential! You've got… one percent of my flair from back in the day!"
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