King's Cross Station, a monument to Muggle industry and transit, buzzed with the usual frenetic chaos of early morning commuters. Allen arrived safe and sound, his relief palpable.
Not only had he successfully identified and welcomed a Puffball for Emily into the family, but he'd also managed to apprehend a very mischievous, glitter-obsessed Niffler for himself. Two magical creatures in two days—his second year was certainly starting with a peculiar inventory boost.
Allen navigated the station crowds with the practiced ease of someone who often found himself dodging the mundane. He made his way to a secluded alcove near a luggage deposit area where he had strategically miniaturized his substantial suitcase and Hedwig's empty cage earlier. Retrieving his belongings with a whispered charm, he paused.
The station, overwhelmingly filled with Muggles rushing to catch their trains, felt entirely too exposed. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then decided on decisive action. The train schedule was unforgiving.
He resolutely ran towards the concrete pillar situated between platforms 9 and 10.
The sudden, inexplicable sight of a boy—a small, dark-haired boy—charging full-tilt toward a solid column of brick and steel was startling enough to catch the attention of several nearby Muggles. A woman selling pastries frowned; a man checking his watch paused.
But then, as Allen passed through the invisible barrier, their attention wavered, their focus slipping away like dust motes in the wind.
A sudden, large group of gap-year backpackers seemed to materialize, obscuring their view for that crucial instant. By the time their vision cleared, the boy pushing his strangely large suitcase and running with such determined freedom had simply vanished.
The station's ancient, subtle enchantments, designed to keep Muggle curiosity at bay and prevent them from paying undue attention to anything unusual, worked perfectly. Besides, running to catch a train was the most common sight on the platform, a fundamental drama of commuting life.
The few Muggles who had witnessed Allen's disappearance quickly rationalized it away as an optical illusion or perhaps a sudden distraction, their minds naturally preferring to assign coincidence rather than confrontation with the inexplicable.
Allen found himself in the magnificent, steam-shrouded cacophony of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The air was thick with smoke, magic, and the mingled scents of soot and stale pumpkin juice.
He remembered a key detail from his previous life's knowledge: Dobby, the house elf, would famously close the passageway to the platform just before the train's departure, an action that would soon trap Harry and Ron on the Muggle side. Since he hadn't seen the iconic pair yet, Allen wisely decided it would be prudent to board the train immediately.
The flying car stunt, he mused, pushing his trolley slowly along the platform, was pure recklessness, albeit effective in its own way. It was also an entirely too visible violation of the Statute of Secrecy. Compared to that impending disaster, his current predicament—a freshly confiscated Niffler currently residing in his dimensional storage—felt far less criminal, if considerably more chaotic.
"Of course, riding in a bright blue Ford Anglia through London airspace is infinitely more interesting for the casual onlookers," Allen muttered to himself, finally finding the empty section of the train he wanted. He cast a quick look at his heavy baggage. "I certainly don't want to get caught by Snape or Mrs. Weasley. Wait a moment... I think I absolutely forgot to perform an inventory of the Muggle valuables the Niffler stole..."
He quickly made his way through the surging crowd. The platform was a riot of color and emotion. Young witches and wizards, giddy with the promise of the upcoming year, embraced old friends with whoops of delight, while others, primarily first-years, clung tearfully to their parents, reluctant to say goodbye. Watching these vibrant scenes of joy, sadness, and sheer excitement, Allen boarded the Hogwarts Express.
Inside the rattling carriages, the enthusiasm was infectious. Many young Ravenclaw wizards spotted Allen—already famous for his academic prowess and his unexpectedly powerful magical lineage—and greeted him with polite nods and excited waves.
He returned their greetings politely, but firmly declined their offers to share a carriage, inventing a plausible, yet vague, "urgent preparation" required before arrival.
He went straight to the rearmost carriage, hoping for solitude. It was blissfully empty, which suited his current, messy agenda perfectly.
He quickly locked the carriage door from the inside and sat in the plush, purple velvet seat, listening.
Soon, the sounds of the carriage doors sliding, the last frantic shouts from the platform, and the high-pitched laughter of the younger wizards gradually faded into the dull, familiar rhythm of the wheels. The train began to move, gathering speed as it left the grimy urban landscape behind.
Allen's carriage became an island of quiet concentration. All the other young wizards must have already taken their seats, settled down, and unpacked their luggage. Allen rose to his feet again, ensuring the door was firmly latched and secured with a quick Colloportus spell, followed by a silent, complex ward of his own design—just in case. He didn't want any unexpected visitors for the main event.
With a deep breath, Allen opened a small, almost invisible rift in his storage space and summoned the Niffler from the system's pet area.
The moment it materialized, touching the conditioned air of the train compartment, the creature reacted violently. It was a cunning, feral thing, and its first instinct was immediate escape. Before Allen could even fully close the summoning gate, the Niffler was a blur of black fur, scrabbling desperately to flee. But Allen was prepared. He intercepted its frantic dive with a practiced swoop.
He held the Niffler's spherical, squirming body tightly, turned the creature completely upside down, and then, ignoring its high-pitched, indignant squeaks, violently shook it by its stubby hind legs.
The result was astonishing. A deluge of gold, silver, and glittering jewels rained down, clattering across the floor, scattering into the seats, and tumbling beneath the luggage racks. It appeared endless, a cascade of Muggle currency, watches, cuff links, and cheap, flashing trinkets that were completely worthless but utterly compelling to the creature.
"What a cunning, greedy little beast!" Allen laughed, admiring the Niffler despite his momentary panic. The creature's belly pouch must have been magically distended to an incredible degree.
"How much treasure you've managed to hide in that little pouch of yours. I wonder how long you've been lurking in Muggle society, causing absolute havoc in people's pockets and drawers!" He chuckled, a genuine, delighted sound, and scratched the Niffler's sensitive belly just below its snout.
The scratch instantly prompted another involuntary spasm, and a final, embarrassing spill of forgotten buttons and keys tumbled out.
Just as Allen was separating the recovered Muggle loot into a neat pile on the seat, a sharp, insistent set of footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed quickly by a decisive knock at his train car door.
Allen froze, the Niffler still squirming wildly in his grasp. In that single, tiny moment of inattention, the creature demonstrated incredible, desperate strength. It twisted its surprisingly muscular small body, wrenched free from Allen's now-too-loose grasp, and before Allen could even react, it exploited the one flaw in his security: the gap between the carriage door and the frame.
Squeezing its body down to an impossibly flat dimension, the Niffler darted through the tiny opening and vanished instantly into the bustling train corridor.
"Blast it!" Allen swore under his breath, leaping to his feet. He threw the door open, ready to launch himself into the hallway.
Standing outside, looking anxious and slightly frantic, was Hermione Granger.
"Allen! There you are! I heard from a fourth-year Ravenclaw you were in this far back car—I've been looking everywhere!" Hermione started, her brow furrowed with extreme worry, her hands clutching a textbook so tightly her knuckles were white.
"Hermione, I am terribly sorry, but I have a truly urgent, immediate matter that needs my attention right now," Allen replied, his politeness automatic, even as his internal clock screamed at him to move. He gave her a brief, reassuring nod and prepared to bolt past her.
He didn't wait for her response, but as he flew down the corridor, he heard her voice, strained with disappointment and concern, following him. "Wait! Allen! Harry and Ron aren't on the train! They missed it completely, the entrance has been sealed!"
Allen barely registered the words. Harry and Ron missed the train. So be it. They were probably already enjoying the thrill of flying a magically enchanted car over the English countryside.
It was a spectacular bit of fun for them, nothing seriously dangerous—at least, not yet. He couldn't magically summon them back or physically locate a flying blue car from the middle of a moving train. Besides, the real victim of the impending debacle would be Mr. Arthur Weasley, dealing with the Ministry repercussions, not the boys themselves.
Allen's most pressing, immediate, and utterly embarrassing task was to recapture a highly illegal, highly magnetic creature that was currently pillaging the personal belongings of every witch and wizard between carriage A and carriage Z.
He was running at nearly full speed, his eyes scanning the floor, the ceiling, and the small windows for any sign of black fur or—more importantly—stolen sparkle. He didn't miss a single sign.
Suddenly, a brief, fleeting silhouette caught his attention in the corner of one of the carriage windows. The bright afternoon sun, streaming in through the glass, cast a sudden, perfect golden ray that briefly illuminated a tiny, metallic flash.
This flash, reflecting off the window glass, immediately attracted the Niffler's attention. He saw the creature try to grab the light source, its paws scrabbling at the window itself, only to realize the light was unreachable. Frustrated, the Niffler quickly leaped away, its keen snout twitching, searching for a real, physical, and portable target.
Allen was thrilled and immediately followed the creature's direction. The chase led him to the middle sections of the train, where the atmosphere was more relaxed and the compartment doors were usually left open.
The Niffler, apparently having discovered a new, irresistible scent of metallic luxury, quickly darted into the first open carriage it found. Allen followed without hesitation, launching himself into the doorway, ready to tackle the mischievous beast.
Inside, casually reclining in the plush seat, was a stunningly handsome adult wizard. He was holding a small, gilded hand mirror, admiring his own reflection with a focused, almost scientific intensity. He looked up, startled by Allen's sudden, dramatic entrance.
Allen recognized the man instantly. Thanks to his star-struck sister Daisy and his slightly amused mother Morgan LeFay, there were more glossy photos of this wizard at home than of Allen himself. He was none other than Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, a star among the wizarding public, and, in Allen's objective opinion, a textbook example of a charismatic, fraudulent con artist.
"Ah! My word! Such enthusiasm, young man! I appreciate your eagerness," Gilderoy declared, tossing a wave of his lightly wavy blond hair back from his perfect face. He flashed his aggressive, dazzling white teeth, putting on his characteristic, patented smile that Allen recognized from a hundred book covers.
"You must have come to secure my autograph! You are certainly fast; those other little wizards only just went back to retrieve their pens and books. Don't worry, my dear boy. We have plenty of time together," he said, dramatically patting the seat next to him.
"Now, where, precisely, shall I make my mark?" The new Professor Lockhart looked at Allen with a slight, theatrical surprise; the boy hadn't brought anything with him, not even a napkin.
Allen's attention, however, was entirely focused elsewhere—specifically, on the floor beneath Professor Lockhart's ornate, heavily engraved leather suitcase. He watched in slow-motion horror as the Niffler, seeing its escape route cut off, quickly slipped beneath the suitcase and began to burrow its way directly into the case itself.
The latches were undone, and the case was haphazardly stuffed with countless, magnificent robes—an explosion of vibrant, colorful, and highly decorative silk and velvet. It was clear Professor Lockhart had recently changed his outfit, probably just moments before, displaying his flamboyant, narcissistic nature.
As Allen mentally scrambled for a way to simultaneously defuse the excruciatingly awkward situation with Lockhart and prevent the Niffler from stealing the professor's presumably expensive silver hairbrush, the situation was defused for him.
With a sudden, powerful rush, a group of older witches—clearly from Gryffindor, judging by the redness of their robes and their sheer, focused intensity—burst into the train carriage. A sharp-elbowed fifth-year student leading the charge gave Allen a dismissive, hard shove, pushing him aside.
The girls followed suit, swarming their hero. Some clutched delicate, lace-edged handkerchiefs; others desperately held out bright red lipsticks or begged him to sign their actual, expensive robes. They completely surrounded Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, besieging him with fervent requests for his signature, utterly blocking Allen's exit.
The professor, quite relaxed and clearly in his element, leaned back dramatically, radiating charm as he graciously busied himself distributing his lovely, sprawling autographs to his young, completely devoted admirers.
For the first time in his life, Allen felt a genuine, profound sense of relief that Gilderoy Lockhart was so excessively adored by the witch population. He quietly—almost invisibly—retreated from the chaos, using the wall of girls as cover, and knelt down directly beside Gilderoy's open suitcase, ready to attempt a covert recapture of the extremely valuable, thieving little beast.
The Niffler was, unfortunately, already deep inside, rustling through layers of forget-me-not blue silk and emerald-green velvet, no doubt convinced it had stumbled upon a true El Dorado.