Alan remained as expressionless as a machine, seemingly unaffected by the wailing. He calmly observed the shifting needles on the dial and scribbled notes on his clipboard.
"Observation: Intense emotional fluctuations in the subject did not result in a significant change in the base magic value. Conclusion: Emotions appear to affect magic intensity and output but do not cause fluctuations in total magic reserves."
After finishing the note, Alan glanced at Torquil. The man had lost consciousness from the sheer agony; his eyes were rolled back, and he was foaming at the mouth. It seed he wouldn't last until the next stage of the protocol.
Alan wondered briefly if such extre emotional trauma would cause mory fusion similar to Frank Longbottom's condition. He made a ntal note to conduct a mory check later.
He withdrew the asuring probe from Torquil's chest and used a Healing Charm to seal the punctures. Then, he turned his gaze to Goyle, who lay bound nearby.
Goyle, seeing those cold eyes settle on him, felt like a rabbit staring into the maw of a wolf. His hair stood on end as he thrashed against his magical restraints. His mouth, sealed by the silencing spell, emitted desperate, muffled whimpers. The ssage was clear: he wanted no part of Torquil's treatnt.
Alan was indifferent to his terror. Without a word, he plunged the tal probe into Goyle's chest. He glanced at the value displayed on the dial and curled his lip in disappointnt. "You look big and strong, but your magic value is only 469 units. Quite underwhelming."
"Next is the second test item: the impact of various organs and limbs on local magic values. Theoretically, with the Integrity rune active, the value should be consistent regardless of the insertion point. However, empirical data is required for confirmation."
To the observers in the room, the scene was horrific. This seemingly composed young man repeatedly yanked his "torture device" out of Goyle's body only to drive it into a new location: the abdon, the shoulder, the arm, and the thigh.
No matter how much blood seeped from the wounds, Alan would simply deliver a few precise, magically-charged punches to the area, and the flesh would instantly knit back together. Under this cycle of penetration and "healing," Goyle's face contorted into a mask of pure agony. Sweat poured off him until he lay in a puddle of blood, perspiration, and urine.
Despite the brutality, when Alan finished, there wasn't a single scar left on Goyle's body. To the n watching, this boy was a devil. Facing the most depraved dark wizard was nothing compared to the cold, clinical efficiency of this student.
What Goyle, Crabbe, and Karkaroff found most incomprehensible was the *why*. They didn't even know this boy. They had been dragged from a peaceful sleep to face a living nightmare for no reason they could grasp.
Alan neither knew nor cared what his subjects were thinking. He efficiently recorded his data, completing the experint on Goyle in short order.
"Data indicates that the magic value remains consistent regardless of the insertion point, though there is a slight downward trend as the session progresses. Is this a natural decline or the result of blood loss? I will focus on this during the third stage," Alan noted. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The experint was proceeding perfectly, and the data was far more accurate than he had hoped.
He smiled—a small, thin expression. To the captives, it was the most terrifying thing they had ever seen. They assud he was savoring Goyle's pain or lost in the pleasure of the tornt. Karkaroff and the others watched him with trembling limbs, their minds reeling.
Torquil, slowly regaining his senses, watched the systematic torture of his subordinate. His initial rage had curdled into a cold, paralyzing fear. He realized this young man wasn't just vengeful; he was utterly detached.
Alan wiped the blood from his probe with a clean handkerchief. Goyle had finally passed out and could provide no more feedback, so Alan turned to his third subject.
Yaxley, find himself the target of that gaze, began to shake violently. His face was as pale as wax. *Is it my turn?* he thought. *How naive was I to think I could ever trouble soone like this?*
Without a mont's hesitation, Alan drove the probe into Yaxley's chest as if he were sticking a thermoter into a roast. However, Alan didn't stop to record the data imdiately. Instead, he reached for a giant glass syringe—nearly eight centiters thick—connected to a dical infusion tube.
"Third item of asurent: the correlation between blood volu and magic reserves. Protocol: Observe the effect of gradual exsanguination on the active magic value."
He grabbed Yaxley's arm, located a vein, and drove the thick needle ho. Yaxley, terrified and unsure of the boy's intent, began to struggle desperately. *Is he going to drain dry?* Alan frowned, annoyed by the lack of cooperation. "With a probe in your chest, you still have the energy to squirm?" He reinforced the Shield Charm, pinning Yaxley firmly to the floor, and began to pull the plunger of the massive syringe. Dark blood began to fill the empty cylinder.
Alan watched the dial intently. As the blood left Yaxley's body, the pointer began to retract, dropping from 412 to 410. By that point, Alan had drawn nearly forty milliliters.
"Based on the subject's weight, his total blood volu is roughly four thousand milliliters. Drawing one percent of his blood resulted in a drop of two units—about zero point five percent of his total magic. Does the magic contained in the blood account for nearly half of a wizard's total reserves? Is this a universal constant or an individual variable? It seems a comparative study is necessary."
Alan moved quickly. He returned the blood to Yaxley's body and proceeded to test the other four. He didn't bother changing the needle or worrying about infection among Death Eaters. He simply moved from one to the next, inserting the probe and drawing the blood.
After a full round of tests, his conclusion was firm: blood accounts for nearly fifty percent of a wizard's internal magic.
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