It was that single, lingering glance that led him to discover something truly remarkable. The beetle scuttled into the shadows of a corner, hovered in place for a heartbeat, and then suddenly transformed into a fashionably dressed young woman. She scanned the street left and right, and once she was satisfied that no one was watching, she pulled out her wand and Apparated away.
"An Animagus?"
Alan recognized the magic immediately; it was a highly advanced form of Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall, for instance, was a known Animagus. However, due to the extreme complexity and danger of the process—where failure often resulted in horrific physical consequences—the Ministry of Magic strictly forbade anyone from learning it privately. Every practitioner was legally required to register. He recalled reading in "Daily Transfiguration" that there were only seven registered Animagi in the British wizarding world, and he was fairly certain a beetle wasn't on that list.
After a moment of thought, Alan looked back at the house from which the beetle had emerged. It was a private residence with a nameplate on the door that read "Elcott," but offered no further information.
Alan tilted his head, puzzled. Was she an illegal Animagus thief? Her attire didn't fit the profile. Was she there to catch a cheating spouse?
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts away. It was none of his business, and he had no intention of being nosy. He dismissed the encounter and continued toward the Three Broomsticks.
William and Vivian were already waiting for him at a corner table, having ordered a butterbeer for him in advance. Alan sat with them, savoring the pub's food and listening to Vivian prattle on about Quidditch tactics and the latest drama from her Mahjong club. It was a relaxing weekend, and Alan realized he had needed the break.
It wasn't until Monday morning, when Alan saw the new issue of the Daily Prophet, that the meaning of the beetle became clear.
"The Untold Secret Love Story Between a Former Ministry Official and a Hogwarts Professor?"
"So, that house I passed was Professor McGonagall's home? And the woman I saw must have been Rita Skeeter." Alan mused as he scanned the article. "She's a reporter who uses an illegal Animagus form to snoop for gossip? That is quite a discovery."
According to the headline, Professor McGonagall had recently married Elphinstone Elcott, a former official from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and they had moved into a cottage in Hogsmeade. Elcott had been McGonagall's superior years ago, and she had finally accepted his proposal the previous summer.
The report was filled with intrusive private details: how McGonagall insisted on keeping her maiden name, and how Elcott had specifically bought the Hogsmeade house to make her daily commute to the castle easier. The article was heavily embellished, portraying McGonagall as an arrogant queen and Elcott as a desperate sycophant who had spent years chasing his goddess.
"They really dug deep for this, didn't they? Rita Skeeter is either very bold or very foolish. Isn't she afraid of being ambushed in a dark alley?" Alan thought mockingly.
Although he had inadvertently stumbled upon her secret, he had no intention of exposing it yet. Such leverage was far too valuable to waste on a whim; it might serve him better in the future.
For the next few days, the gossip surrounding McGonagall circulated wildly through the halls of Hogwarts. The Professor herself wore a grim expression that deterred even the bravest students. During Transfiguration class, the atmosphere was so tense that no one dared to breathe loudly. It was understandable; her private life had been laid bare, and her character had been painted as cold and vicious. McGonagall had reportedly stopped reading the Daily Prophet entirely.
While the rest of the school remained fixated on the scandal, Alan moved on. He had more pressing matters to attend to.
Inside the Forbidden Forest cabin, Alan sat hunched over a desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had spent his free time scouring the library for any mention of a way to measure magical reserves. The idea had taken root in his mind and wouldn't let go.
"Testing has shown that magical output can be measured, but output doesn't seem to have a direct correlation with a wizard's total reserves. So, where is the link?" Alan rubbed his temples, flipping through his experimental notes.
He had recently finished an alchemical tool designed to test the ratio of magical output. Each student's output per second varied based on their physical health and mental state. He had hoped that a higher output would indicate a larger reserve, but the data proved otherwise. Output was merely a reflection of a wizard's physical condition and level of training.
"I need help. My own knowledge isn't deep enough to solve a problem of this magnitude."
Alan made his decision and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. It was time to reach out to the charm scholars he had been corresponding with. Since his thesis on the Echo Spell, he had become a person of interest in academic and alchemical circles. One of his most frequent correspondents was Pandora Lovegood.
Mrs. Lovegood was a brilliant scholar with a vast knowledge base, and since they had met previously, she had become a trusted academic pen pal. Alan drafted a letter describing his theories and the roadblocks he had encountered, preparing copies to send to several others, including Professor Bones. He hoped their collective insights might spark the inspiration he needed.
"Shunfeng, come here. You've been eating far too much lately; you'll end up with high cholesterol if you aren't careful. Here's a chance for some exercise."
As an owl, Shunfeng was quite the individualist. He usually required a fair bit of coaxing and a few treats before he would agree to work, a habit that gave Alan a recurring headache.