The air in Professor Flitwick's office was thick, sticky, almost like solidified beeswax.
The diminutive Charms Master stood on his high stool, looking eye-to-eye with the student before him. His half-moon spectacles had slid down to the tip of his nose, and his usually wise and gentle eyes now shone with two sharply contrasting lights:
One, the scrutinizing gaze of someone assessing a once-in-a-generation genius.
The other, the wary look toward an utterly hopeless… madman.
"Alan, could you say that again?"
Flitwick's voice was dry, and he subconsciously touched his ear, momentarily questioning whether his aging hearing had finally failed him.
"You want me to perform side-along Apparition, not to learn the magic in advance, but to… record data during the process?"
He hesitated; the phrase felt alien and incongruous on his tongue.
"Yes, Professor."
Alan's reply was clear, unwavering, and utterly confident. His tone remained steady, devoid of any hint of fluctuation, as if he were stating a physical law rather than making a request that would terrify any wizard.
Without waiting for Flitwick to respond, Alan pulled a sheet of parchment from his bag and spread it atop the professor's desk, cluttered with books and trophies.
With the tip of his wand, he traced an extraordinarily intricate alchemical symbol across the paper. It was a form of twisted spirals and precise geometric tangents, simultaneously chaotic and harmonious — part folded space, part infinitely looping circle.
"This symbol is from a fragment of an ancient text. It represents the concept of 'spatial folding.' I hypothesize it is deeply connected to the underlying principles of Apparition," Alan explained calmly, each word carrying a weight of undeniable logic.
"I call it the 'experiential learning method.' Every advanced spell has a complete, understandable set of rules. But understanding can't remain at the surface level of observing results. I must enter the process itself, step inside the black box, and acquire first-hand process data for effective reverse engineering."
Flitwick's mouth parted slightly, unable to close.
Decades of teaching at Hogwarts had given him a front-row seat to generations of gifted students — some with beast-like instincts for magic, others with photographic memories capable of memorizing the most intricate spells. But never had he encountered anyone seeking to deconstruct magic with such… scientific, cold, almost inhuman precision.
Apparition.
To most students, the word conjured freedom, adulthood, a thrilling, physics-defying power.
But in Alan Scott's mouth, it had become cold terminology:
"Data curves."
"Spatial coordinates."
"Reverse engineering."
This mindset struck Flitwick at the core of his worldview. This was not learning magic — it was a Muggle physicist attempting to smash an unknown fundamental particle with a collider, just to observe its decay trajectory.
And yet, this extraordinary approach made the heart of a top scholar, a dueling champion, beat uncontrollably with excitement.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The heavy, powerful beats reverberated through his chest, bringing an unnatural flush to his aged cheeks.
"This is madness… but also… utterly fascinating!"
Ultimately, the raw, primal desire for knowledge overcame every ounce of caution and restraint. Flitwick's eyes blazed with uncontrollable excitement.
"All right, Alan!"
He leapt from the stool, voice rising sharply.
"I'll do it! I want to see just what you can record from that suffocating tunnel of yours!"
They stepped out into an open courtyard. Spring breezes carried the scent of grass across the Scottish Highlands. The distant Black Lake glittered in the sunlight, the entire scene calm and serene.
Alan pulled a specially-prepared device from his robe.
A data recorder.
It was a palm-sized, semi-transparent memory crystal, smooth and warm as if naturally polished. Inside, Alan had embedded a tiny sample of specially treated luminescent moss. Normally gray-white, it reacted sensitively to the slightest changes in magical flow.
On the surface, he had etched an extremely intricate array of micro-runes, finer than a hair, forming a precise system for buffering and real-time data storage.
Flitwick gazed at the crystal, excitement tempered by a heavy sense of solemnity.
"Ready, Alan?"
His voice dropped to a commanding, no-nonsense tone.
"Hold onto my arm. Remember, no matter what happens, do not let go. The process will be extremely uncomfortable — you will feel as if shoved into a narrow, icy, twisting rubber tube, and every fiber of your body will endure tremendous pressure."
"I'm ready."
Alan's reply was calm as ever.
He gripped the cold crystal tightly with his left hand, while his mind descended into the deepest recesses of consciousness.
His mind palace went into overdrive.
All unnecessary senses — pain, touch, hearing, sight — were suppressed by absolute will, reduced to nothing. All cognitive capacity was directed to a single, pure, icy channel.
A channel dedicated entirely to capturing, analyzing, and understanding spatial data.
"Then… let's go!"
The moment Professor Flitwick finished speaking, he and Alan spun sharply on the spot.
The world… vanished.
In its place came an indescribable, irresistible force, pressing in from all directions, from every dimension, from the seams of existence and nonexistence.
Darkness.
Not merely the absence of light, but a tangible, physical darkness — with weight, with temperature, cold to the bone.
Suffocating.
The last bit of air in his lungs was instantly squeezed out. His chest felt as if a massive Norwegian Ridgeback dragon had stamped down with its enormous foot, each futile breath sending shards of pain through his ribs.
The world spun!
His internal organs no longer felt like his own; they twisted, rolled, and compressed as if they would be forcibly expelled through his throat in the next moment.
Yet, in this abyss of pain that could drive even the most steadfast Auror mad, two "things" were working with a cold, relentless precision.
One was the data recorder in Alan's hand.
The runic array etched on the crystal's surface flared up with unprecedented frequency and brightness! The light was no longer gentle silver, but a harsh, violent white, greedily capturing, converting, and storing every chaotic, indescribable piece of spatial data streaming around them. Not a single fragment escaped.
The other was Alan's mind palace.
Inside his mind, there was no pain, no cries — only an endless torrent of data, like a dam bursting, rushing into the single icy channel. Every data point marked a coordinate during the spatial distortion; every stream of data traced a curve compressed in time.
The process seemed to last only a moment… yet also felt as if it spanned a century.
When Alan's feet once again touched solid ground, the physiological reactions he had forcibly suppressed surged like a flood, overwhelming his will.
He could no longer hold back. Bending over violently, he emptied his stomach, retching violently.
A warm hand gently patted his back. Flitwick handed him a clean handkerchief, eyes filled with concern and relief.
Alan didn't reach for it.
He slowly straightened, standing upright.
His face was deathly pale, drained of all color. Black hair plastered to his forehead with cold sweat, the corners of his mouth still stained with residual vomit.
Yet his eyes… shone with a terrifying brilliance.
No pain. No weakness. Only a kind of ecstatic, nearly divine joy — the immense satisfaction of one who has glimpsed a profound truth.
He weakly opened his trembling right hand.
The data recorder had ceased flashing, reverting to its smooth, unassuming form, as if the furious storm of data had been nothing more than an illusion.
Deep within his mind palace, in the hall of absolute reason, a complete, never-before-seen set of data points floated serenely.
A perfect data curve, representing the core essence of the magic Apparition, radiant with a mesmerizing yet cold mathematical light.
He knew.
He had succeeded.
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