The magical world of Germany presented a strikingly different atmosphere compared to England.
Here, the air carried a faint metallic chill. The architectural lines were rigid and precise. Wizards' robes discarded elaborate decoration in favor of deep, perfectly tailored cuts. Their wands were sleek, stripped of unnecessary carvings, each curve exuding the meticulous beauty of industrial design.
The Scott family, accompanied by German Ministry official Mr. Schneider, checked into a high-end hotel in Berlin's magical district.
Mr. Schneider was the quintessential German official: serious, unsmiling, every movement precise as a clockwork gear. He briefly outlined the schedule for the following day, then bowed slightly and departed, leaving behind a perfectly measured shadow of authority.
Early the next morning, Alan, invited as a scholar, was led by Schneider to the institution famed in legend for its mysterious reputation, the Department of Applied Magical Theory.
The entrance to the department was hidden in the basement of the German Ministry of Magic.
The elevator leading down was nothing like the creaky antiques of the British Ministry; it was a smooth, seamless metal box. When Schneider lightly tapped the tip of his wand on an inconspicuous rune, the elevator silently whisked them deep underground at high speed.
When the doors finally slid open, a highly concentrated aura of magic, mingled with a faint ozone scent, immediately washed over them.
Security here was extremely strict.
Rows of silent alchemical golems stood along the corridor, their metallic shells glowing with faint blue defensive runes. Alan's gaze swept over them, instantly calculating that any triggered rune chain would be capable of incapacitating even a team of highly skilled Aurors in seconds.
Inside, the scene made Alan's pupils constrict slightly.
It completely upended his perception of a magical research facility.
No cauldrons exuding strange herbal aromas. No piles of ancient parchment scrolls. Instead, his eyes took in a vast, pristine space reminiscent of a high-tech Muggle laboratory.
Massive rune arrays rotated slowly above the domed ceiling, maintaining constant temperature, dust-free conditions, and stable magical energy.
Researchers wore uniform white attire, closer to lab coats than robes. They moved purposefully among rows of enormous crystal screens, faces focused. The screens displayed cascading streams of runic data, intricate spell structures, and three-dimensional models of magical energy flows.
The air vibrated with the low hum of precise magical machinery in operation.
"Big brother, is this where you work?"
That evening back at the hotel, Alan's younger sister Lilia bounced off the soft sofa, eyes wide with curiosity, and nestled beside him.
"Is it more fun than Hogwarts?"
"This isn't a school, Lilia," Alan replied. He set down his book, gently ruffled her hair, and placed her on his lap.
"Besides the three most famous magical schools, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, every European country has its own respectable research institutions within their Ministries of Magic."
His voice was soft, using simple words to show his sister another side of the magical world.
"They represent the highest level of magical research in their country."
Later, at a small academic salon hosted by the research department, Alan interacted with young German researchers who specialized in ancient runes. The atmosphere was relaxed yet lively.
While discussing the limitations of a particular ancient rune, Alan instinctively offered some of his preliminary ideas on modular spell design as a potential solution.
"…If we break a complex spell into several independent functional 'modules' and call and combine them through a core 'logic rune,' we might bypass certain inherent limitations."
Before he could finish, a slightly severe voice interrupted.
"A first-year student, thinking about 'spell programming'? I've never heard of such a thing."
The casual chatter in the salon instantly dropped to a whisper.
Alan's heart tightened.
He lifted his gaze to meet a pair of sharp, scrutinizing eyes. The owner appeared to be a senior researcher, around fifty or sixty years old, with meticulously combed graying hair and glasses behind which his gaze seemed capable of seeing straight through a person.
All eyes in the room turned toward him.
An invisible pressure descended.
Damn.
Alan's mind rang alarms. He immediately realized that he had been a bit too carried away just now, exposing his advanced system in an entirely inappropriate setting.
His brain raced at unprecedented speed, countless thoughts flashing, colliding, and being sifted in his mental palace.
Explain? Deny? Play dumb?
No, any defense would seem weak and could even arouse deeper suspicion.
A perfect, indisputable, identity-appropriate reason had to be found, instantly.
Within a second, the solution crystallized.
The calm on his face vanished, replaced by the unmistakable expression of a young boy being publicly called out by an elder: a mix of panic and shyness. His cheeks flushed just enough, and his gaze began to dart nervously.
"Oh, no, no, no… you've misunderstood, sir."
His voice carried the husky unevenness of a boy in the midst of voice change, sounding slightly anxious.
"I… I've been working on a science fiction story about 'magical programming.'"
He scratched his head awkwardly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
"I thought that if, in the future, wizards could write spells like Muggles write computer programs, it would be incredibly cool."
"Science fiction?"
This answer, unexpected by everyone, softened the senior researcher's sharp gaze instantly.
The tense atmosphere around them dissolved like a balloon popped, vanishing in an instant.
The researchers' rigid expressions relaxed, replaced by smiles of understanding and goodwill.
"Ha! That's a very interesting idea!"
"'Magical programming', what a wonderful phrase!"
"Young people these days really have such vivid imaginations!"
Praise and laughter followed in succession.
A clever, imaginative, literature-loving youth with a fascination for the future had been perfectly established by Alan's well-timed expression and appropriate excuse.
This minor crisis was thus expertly defused, and his advanced knowledge was elegantly concealed.
To celebrate Alan's "success" in Germany, his father, Robert, was positively flushed with excitement when he heard that his son had "shone" at the salon with his literary concept.
He patted Alan firmly on the shoulder, eyes gleaming with pride.
That very evening, brimming with excitement, he waved his wand and booked four tickets, burning-hot, highly coveted tickets.
They were for the German International Magical Machinery Expo, an event of enormous prestige in the European magical world, held once every year.
He hoped that his son might glean some inspiration for his ambitious "science fiction story" from the fantastical magical machines showcased there.
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