Good times never last, especially not when you're stealing a few precious moments of rest in the middle of chaos.
With a horde of hungry, wolf-like young wizards barreling through the castle behind him, Allen didn't have the luxury of relaxing. Even if he didn't care much for this so-called inheritance, he couldn't deny its market value.
In this day and age, if a magical legacy can't make money, what's the point?
Thankfully, Allen had stumbled across one particular inheritance that was downright obsessed with wealth, though, to be fair, it wasn't a scam.
Even though he had successfully infiltrated enemy territory, Allen couldn't afford to pull a "Sun Wukong" and cause mayhem inside the castle's belly. Unlike a demon's stomach, this place was layered with magical defenses.
Even with the naked eye, Allen could spot a ridiculous number of defensive spells woven into the walls. Who knew how many more were hidden from view?
Still, there was one silver lining: the castle, though complex, gave him an odd sense of familiarity. Trusting his instincts, Allen was able to roughly determine the main directions within the fortress, a feat that was far from easy.
Compared to flashy, lethal spells, wizards tended to favor enchantments with more… creative effects. Killing curses were unsophisticated, messy, and often landed people in Azkaban. Hardly elegant.
Take the Muggle-Repelling Charm, for example, a perfectly harmless spell that could be tweaked to mess with even other wizards. Sirius Black once used a modified version to hide the entire Black family residence.
The spell Allen encountered now was a different variation of that same idea, it interfered with a wizard's sense of direction.
Still, he pushed forward, trusting the strange pull in his chest, something was calling to him.
And that meant only one thing in wizard folklore: a magical item with a will of its own.
After activating his shield once more to confirm he wasn't under a spell, Allen let the drain-heavy barrier fall away again.
Now think, what's the most famous magical object known to respond to a wizard's call?
That's right: the legendary goblin-forged dagger of Godric Gryffindor, which helped Harry destroy Horcruxes.
This whole place belonged to Slytherin's descendants… Could Allen be standing on the edge of something just as legendary?
He couldn't help but get a little excited. Sure, he had already inherited something incredible, but who would ever turn down a Slytherin artifact? A treasure's a treasure, even if it's the magical equivalent of finding loose change in the couch.
He wasn't picky. If the artifact was summoning him, then hey, he was very willing to answer the call.
Why would a Slytherin-made object choose him? Who knew, and who cared? Voldemort's mother was a Slytherin, and she still fell in love with a random Muggle. Magic didn't always follow logic.
With the pull growing stronger, Allen continued winding through the castle's maze-like halls.
Finally, he turned a corner, and froze.
A massive painting filled the wall in front of him. It didn't move, clearly not a magical portrait. Just a still-life of fruit in a bowl.
Naturally, the fruit weren't hopping around visiting other paintings.
As Allen reached out and touched the painting, it began to split apart, revealing a wide passageway behind it.
Cautiously, Allen reactivated his violet shield and prepared to summon his ultimate barrier at a moment's notice. He wasn't sure if anything could break through his current magical immunity, but he wasn't about to take chances.
But... it turned out all the preparation had been for nothing.
Yep. The pull, the tension, the dramatic entrance, all fake-outs.
Allen let out a sigh. His heart ached from the disappointment.
Because behind the secret passage wasn't a treasure vault… it was a dining hall.
Shelves lined with vintage wines. Silver cutlery neatly arranged. Fresh vegetables are still gleaming with dew.
Yep. A kitchen.
A stampede of alpacas raced through Allen's mind, trampling any attempt at composure.
He wanted to scream.
What the hell?! A kitchen was calling him? Was this some sort of culinary joke? Was Slytherin taking a jab at Hufflepuff's reputation as the "Food House"?
What kind of international joke was this?! He'd tear this whole place down!
What could possibly be here? A Slytherin soup spoon? A butter knife of darkness?
Wait.
Just as Allen was about to explode, something strange clicked in his mind.
Fresh vegetables?
You've got to be kidding.
According to the castle's records, this place had been abandoned for centuries. No one had come here in hundreds of years. So where the hell were these fresh veggies coming from?
Right on cue, a high-pitched voice squeaked in his ear,
"Excuse me, sir, would you like some rabbit today?"
No, wait, that was a hallucination.
"Excuse me, sir… Are you Master Dodo's chosen one?"
The voice belonged to a creature Allen knew all too well, timid yet fiercely loyal, cheerful to the point of being unbearable.
These little beings were the reason Hufflepuff could maintain its weekly food-burning budget without going bankrupt.
That's right, standing before him was a house-elf.
Although Allen didn't know why this particular elf wasn't attacking him (which, by all wizard logic, she definitely should've been doing), he still readied his defenses out of habit.
Never underestimate house-elves. Wand or no wand, they were powerful, and absolutely fearless.
To them, dying for their master was the ultimate honor. Even more honorable than having their heads mounted on the wall after a long life of service.
Logically speaking, this elf, who had been guarding the abandoned Slytherin castle, should be lunging at him right now, defending her master's legacy with suicidal devotion.
After all, if it hadn't been for Sirius Black giving Mundungus Fletcher permission to enter Grimmauld Place, Kreacher would've fought him to the death.
But, surprisingly, this elf made no move to attack. Quite the opposite, in fact.
She began muttering rapidly to herself.
"Oh dear, the master has returned, how did they tell Dodo? Was it the paintings?"
"Clean the castle, Dodo did it. Except for the dungeon, which Dodo was specifically told to leave."
"Polish the glass, Dodo did it. Every pane shines like moonlight!"
"Wait… what didn't Dodo do?"
"Oh no! Dodo forgot to brew the master's tea, Dodo is a terrible elf!"
"Dodo is BAD! BAD ELF!"
And with that, she began slamming her head against the stone floor with terrifying force.
"Whoa, stop! Dodo, please don't!" Allen shouted, rushing to intervene. If she kept it up, she'd crack her skull open.
As a Hufflepuff, traditionally the house closest to house-elves, Allen felt it was his duty to step in.
Unfortunately, his words had no effect.
Then he remembered, house-elves outside Hogwarts were nothing like the ones inside it.
So, Allen took a gamble.
"Dodo! As your master, I order you to stop hurting yourself!"
Instantly, the elf froze mid-slam.
"Yes, Master! Dodo is a good elf! Please don't give Dodo clothes!"
Okay, Allen thought. I can work with this.
He was just about to ask the newly acquired elf for intel about the castle when, BOOM! A distant explosion rocked the building.
Already? That group moves fast. Well, time to pick up the pace.
"Master! Intruders have entered the castle!" Dodo squeaked in alarm.
Yeah, yeah, those 19 guys again. Maybe fewer by now. Hopefully when they arrive, they'll see the legacy's already been claimed and save him the trouble.
But then Dodo's next words stopped him cold.
"Master… there are dozens of them!"
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