The next morning, the breakfast table was dominated by the extraordinary sight of a creamy yellow, perfectly round, fluffy little creature resting contentedly on a stack of neatly folded napkins. As Allen finally unveiled Pu Rongrong, the adorable Puffball instantly and completely won the hearts of the three key women in the family.
Morgan LeFay, setting aside her scientific detachment, was the first to coo. Daisy, forgetting all about her impending work shift, immediately surrounded the creature with cooing affection, stroking its ridiculously soft fur, lifting it for a delicate kiss, and then gently pinching its plump, cushiony body.
Mrs. Harris, beaming, simply watched them, immensely proud of her youngest son's latest, entirely harmless discovery.
Pu Rongrong, the embodiment of docility, calmly absorbed the barrage of attention, emitting soft, contented murmurs that sounded like tiny, muffled bells. The creature's very existence seemed designed to appeal to the nurturing instinct.
"It really does look exactly like a small, sentient lemon ball!" Albert laughed delightedly, a ring of milk foam remaining on his upper lip from the large glass of milk he'd just finished. He reached out a tentative finger to stroke its back, a rare show of ease from the shy boy.
Lenn, however, was predictably less charmed. He eyed the Puffball with a detached, professional disdain, as if evaluating it for potential use as a training dummy. "Perhaps we could utilize this… specimen… as a walking stress ball for Auror trainees. Or maybe even a moving target?" he mused, a slightly malicious glint in his eye.
The furry creature, seemingly sensitive to Lenn's negative intentions, gave a faint, subtle tremble, burying itself deeper and completely nestling into the protective cradle of Daisy's arms.
"Lenn! Stop that! You scared her, you brute!" Daisy scolded her older brother sharply. Even Morgan LeFay gave Lenn a disapproving look over her teacup; it seemed this particular fluffy, furry creature was truly irresistible to the female members of the family, and threatening it was an unforgivable transgression.
"What I'm curious about, Allen, is the logistics," Mr. Harris interjected, steering the conversation back to responsible ownership. He put down his knife and fork, picked up the milky tea next to his plate, and took a slow, pleasurable sip. "How exactly did you acquire this creature? And what are the rules regarding ownership?"
Allen described in detail the entire, bizarre episode: Emily's ticklish nose, his midnight vigil, and the Puffball's unusual dietary preferences. "Since the Puffball chose Emily's room as its preferred nightly nesting spot, and since it was clearly drawn to her, I believe it has instinctively chosen its owner," he concluded, settling the matter of possession.
Emily, in her sweet, clear, childlike voice, formally thanked Allen, then jumped down from her seat and rushed into his arms for a hug.
Daisy and Mrs. Harris had no objections. Although the property formally belonged to Emily, they all knew that given her young age, they would all have to share the responsibility and the joy of raising the strange, spherical pet together.
The following Wednesday evening, Daisy finally returned home from her pilgrimage, her face flushed with excitement and happiness. She was clutching a thick, signed copy of the book I, the Magician like it was the Golden Snitch.
She first tossed a bulging, neatly packaged parcel onto Allen's desk, announcing breathlessly, "Here you go, little brother. I braved the masses and got everything you need for the new term! Consider it done!"
Allen immediately took the parcel, placing it safely in his storage space. "Thank you so much, Daisy. You look absolutely radiant. You must have had a truly wonderful day!" He looked at Daisy's rosy cheeks, her eyes and eyebrows alight with residual excitement and complete satisfaction.
"I did, Alan, I really did! It was everything I hoped for!" she confirmed, leaning in conspiratorially. "Not only did I get Gilderoy's signature, but I also managed to get a photo taken with him!" Daisy pulled a small, glossy photograph from the pages of the signed book, presenting it to Allen as if it were a priceless national treasure.
In the photo, Lockhart was immaculate. He wore a stunning robe the exact colour of forget-me-not blue, a perfect foil for his deep blue eyes. He had his pointed wizard's hat tilted at a jaunty angle, allowing a strategically positioned lock of his unnaturally blonde hair to cascade charmingly over his forehead. His arm was draped possessively around Daisy's shoulder, and he flashed his dazzling, aggressively white teeth at the camera, giving a practiced, dramatic wink.
Allen's initial polite smile faltered. The sight of Lockhart's arm draped over his sister's shoulder, combined with the man's entirely manufactured charm, struck a nerve.
Allen felt a flicker of possessive irritation, a silent, primal urge to blast the man's perfect hair into a charcoal frizz. Meanwhile, Daisy was beaming foolishly, completely oblivious to the fact that she was merely a prop in a celebrity's self-promotion campaign.
Allen managed to hand the photograph back to Daisy, gulping down his now-cold tea to suppress the surge of annoyance. He offered a strained, polite smile. "Daisy, you've had a tremendously long day. You should go take a shower and rest."
Daisy carefully placed the photograph back in the book, handling it with the reverence of a religious relic. "Oh, by the way, Alan, he had his picture taken with Harry Potter today! It was quite the scene. He even announced that he'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts! I honestly envy you both; you get to spend a whole year with the real, magical Gilderoy."
Daisy looked at him with genuine longing, then began humming a cheerful, tuneless melody as she skipped back to her room.
Allen sighed heavily once she was gone. The encounter had done nothing but solidify his already abysmal opinion of Gilderoy Lockhart. The man was a fraud, a showman, and a menace, and now he was going to be teaching lethal magic to the vulnerable youth of Hogwarts.
The night before school officially started, his mother, Morgan LeFay, had prepared a magnificent, lavish feast: perfectly smoked salmon paired with rich avocado slices, a massive German-style roast pork shank accompanied by crispy Brussels sprouts, and fragrant pork belly rolls that practically melted in the mouth.
It was a celebratory dinner designed to spoil them all before the return to academic rigor. Everyone ate until they were pleasantly, happily stuffed. Allen, gradually getting used to the sheer quality and variety of his family's cooking, stroked his round, contented belly, marvelled at how much his family's life had flourished, and drifted off to sleep peacefully, anticipating his second year.
The following morning, the atmosphere was busy but organized. Allen had packed his belongings days ago, so before leaving, the house looked no different than on any other morning, except for his two large, magically shrunken suitcases and Hedwig's empty birdcage waiting neatly by the door.
Allen graciously declined his father Owen and brother Albert's offer to accompany him to the station, preferring to manage the journey to King's Cross Station alone. He needed the quiet time to mentally prepare and to secure his new magical pet.
Allen arrived in central London and quickly entered the maze of the Muggle Underground, planning to take the tube directly to King's Cross.
In the noisy, crowded corridor leading to the train station platform, a surprisingly well-dressed man with a strikingly disheveled hairstyle was performing as a street musician. He was singing a melodic, melancholy country song that seemed completely incongruous with the sterile, subterranean setting.
A businessman, looking rushed and important, passed by and casually tossed a shiny pound coin toward the musician's open guitar case. The coin curved gracefully through the air, but just before it could land with a satisfying clatter, Allen noticed a small, incredibly fast creature covered in slick, jet-black fur scurrying down the hallway.
It moved with the speed of a miniature blur, snatching the coin mid-air, and then instantly vanishing into the shadow cast by a large utility box!
The casual theft was seamless, entirely missed by the hurried Muggles. Although the sighting was brief, Allen instantly recognized the perpetrator: a Niffler!
Nifflers are famously small, black, furry creatures, a peculiar cross between a mole and a platypus, famed for their long snouts and almost obsessive love of shiny things. They are extraordinarily skilled diggers and often kept by Goblins—or rather, allowed to be kept—to hunt for treasure deep underground.
However, being so brazenly visible in a heavily trafficked Muggle environment was a catastrophic recipe for exposure. Allen scanned the corridor, his eyes expertly following the creature's faint heat signature. He quickly located the Niffler squatting behind a pillar, its small, intelligent eyes examining the highly reflective pound coin it had just successfully pilfered.
Upon noticing Allen's gaze, the creature quickly stuffed the coin into its surprisingly large pouch—a pocket of skin on its belly capable of holding vast amounts of treasure—and darted away.
Allen immediately gave chase, weaving through the oblivious Muggle crowd. He followed the incredibly agile Niffler as it darted through the bustling subway station, a silent, comedic spectacle of larceny unfolding around him.
He watched in bewildered fascination as the creature leaped nimbly between people's heavy suitcases, dived effortlessly into unzipped handbags, and snatched glittering pieces of jewelry or bright bits of foil from vendor displays.
Eventually, Allen saw the Niffler pause, snatch a glittering silver ornament from a woman's expensive shoe buckle, and then bolt off again to acquire more precious, shiny things.
Allen watched, temporarily helpless. The creature was too quick, too focused on its mission, and trying to use magic here was impossible. He needed a distraction, an offer the greedy little creature couldn't possibly refuse.
Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him, utilizing the exact goods he had just acquired at Gringotts. He darted behind a sturdy support pillar near the ticket barriers, pulled out a handful of the largest, shiniest, and heaviest gold Galleons from his pouch, and began to subtly jingle them together.
The faint, resonant clinking of the solid gold metal was entirely lost in the clamour of the crowd, the rush of trains, and the noise of conversation. However, the Niffler felt it. The magnetic pull of the pure gold was an intoxicating siren song.
Out of the corner of his eye, Allen saw the Niffler immediately halt its chaotic rampage. It was hiding under a nearby wooden bench, looking fat, arrogant, and entirely focused on the source of the superior metal. Clearly, it wasn't content with its pathetic loot of Muggle coins and shoe buckles; it desperately wanted the magnificent, shining Galleons Allen was holding.
Allen feigned weariness, letting his shoulders slump. He slowly leaned back against the pillar and, with a subtle, controlled movement, slipped one of the heavy gold coins from his grasp. The coin hit the tile floor with a loud, attention-grabbing clink and began to spin slowly.
The Niffler, unable to resist the lure, slowly, shamelessly, and greedily moved forward. It extended its small, dark paws, its long snout twitching, intent on snatching the fallen coin.
In a lightning-fast, non-magical motion, Allen's hand shot out. He grabbed the Puffball—or rather, the Niffler, ensuring his grip was gentle but secure—just as it made contact with the gold. He instantly shoved the now squirming, squeaking creature into the custom-built pet enclosure within his storage space, which had been previously designated by the system.
The Niffler instantly vanished, safely contained amidst Allen's other magically secured possessions.
After quickly adjusting his clothes, checking that no one had noticed his strange action—and no one had, being far too focused on their own hurried lives—Allen casually stepped outside the tube corridor and headed toward the platform entrance for the train to Hogwarts, now the proud, if accidental, owner of a very valuable, if problematic, magical beast.