It seemed that choosing Alan had indeed been the right decision; he was practically the Ministry of Magic's lucky star. Originally, Millicent Bagnold had planned to systematically confront the old families after the banquet, but Alan had settled the matter single-handedly before the first course was served.
She watched as Wizengamot members who had previously been wavering now offered her sincere nods of greeting, while the representatives of families suspected of harboring Death Eaters remained sullen and silent.
While the Minister was in high spirits, Moody walked over to Alan, looking satisfied.
"Good job, kid. I didn't expect that being just a few minutes late would result in you taking down ten men in secret," Moody said, squeezing out a terrifying smile and winking at Alan.
It was a look that would have haunted a lesser wizard's dreams.
"It was nothing. Their mouths were just too loud. You can't have someone put their face that close to your hand and not slap it, can you?" Alan pouted.
"Well done," Moody growled. "That slap wasn't just for you; it was for the Ministry, too. These bastards, daring to disrespect the office... they're asking for trouble."
"By the way," Alan tilted his head, looking at Moody with a touch of curiosity, "why were you so late? I noticed the reporters were let in early, yet you and the Minister arrived well after the start."
"Hmph. You can thank Barty Crouch Junior for that," Moody snorted.
"Barty Crouch Junior?" Alan turned his gaze toward the young man standing beside Director Crouch. He had a sullen, restless face and was nervously flicking his tongue over his lips.
"Exactly. We were ready to head over on schedule, but the boy ran in and started an argument with his father. It held up the Director, which in turn delayed the Minister and the rest of us," Moody explained, clearly exasperated.
So that was it. Alan knew exactly what the younger Crouch was, and it seemed the timing was no accident. *Have the son hold up the Minister while Avery tries to humiliate me in the Atrium?*
*Heh. I'll see you at the trial later.*
As Alan was pondering this, Professor Snape drifted over to join them.
"Congratulations, Alan, on winning your duel. It was a complete victory, just as I anticipated," Snape said, his voice low and measured.
"I should congratulate you as well, Professor. You won the bet," Alan replied with a helpless, dry laugh. "What is it you want me to do? What kind of help are you looking for?"
"No rush. Now is not the time. I will find you when the need arises." Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a slip of parchment. "As a gesture of thanks for helping me win... here. This is the counter-curse you requested."
After handing the paper to Alan, Snape departed without another word, leaving Alan standing there in mild shock.
*What's come over him today? Being kind enough to hand over a counter-curse?* Alan raised an eyebrow. *He must be planning to ask for something substantial if this is the down payment.*
Still, information was information. Alan pocketed the gift without hesitation.
"Alan, thank you for letting me witness such a magnificent duel. It made me feel the spark of my own youth again," Professor Flitwick said, beaming as he joined the group.
"You're too kind, Professor," Alan smiled. "It's all thanks to your guidance."
"Nonsense," Flitwick said, shaking his head as if savoring a fine wine. "I always knew you had potential, but your talent for dueling is extraordinary. Seeing you utilize the Finkley techniques with such fluid grace... I know how much painstaking practice that requires. You don't achieve that level of ease without a great deal of hard work."
"I remember our first meeting. You showed such a strong will even then. These results are clearly the fruit of long-term persistence," Flitwick added with pride.
"It seems you think very highly of him, Filius."
A deep, aged voice announced the arrival of Albus Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.
"Haha, isn't it obvious?" Flitwick laughed.
The heads of the Hogwarts houses had almost all gathered now. Alan greeted them with polite respect.
"Goodness, Alan. I can hardly believe you've been involved in so many dangerous situations—first the Death Eaters and now this rash challenge," Professor McGonagall said, her tone carrying a hint of a lecture. "It's quite incredible. If this had happened at Hogwarts, I would certainly be deducting points."
"It's good for young people to be brave and a bit adventurous," Dumbledore said, smiling at McGonagall before nodding to Alan.
"Adventurous? The first reaction to a Death Eater should be to retreat and wait for the Ministry, not to rush in and fight for one's life!" McGonagall shook her head.
"You're right, Professor," Alan replied. "In an ideal world, engaging enemies who outnumber you several times over is unwise."
McGonagall nodded, satisfied that he was listening.
"However!" Alan continued before she could finish. "The situation required a more specific analysis. It wasn't that I didn't want to run; it was that I couldn't."
"The mobility between the enemy and myself was completely unequal. Those Death Eaters could Apparate. I only had two legs."
Alan looked toward Moody with a helpless expression. "And you know the Ministry's usual reaction speed. If I hadn't struck back immediately, I doubt I'd be standing here today to receive your guidance."
"Don't look at me," Moody grunted. "The Ministry detected high-energy signals, but the lot over at Magical Accidents were probably still snoring. If I hadn't personally gone to investigate, they wouldn't have moved at all. The boy made the right call."
McGonagall frowned. It seemed her assessment had been a bit too general.
"However, Professor McGonagall, you did remind me of a critical point," Alan said, offering her a smile.
"Oh? And what is that?"
"Given the inequality of mobility—and the fact that I've likely become a target for quite a few people now..." Alan winked at McGonagall and Flitwick.
"I'd like to apply to learn Apparition ahead of schedule."