The air in The Ink & Quill was thick with the scent of old parchment, ozone, and the faint, spicy tang of ink that had been enchanted to never fade. Allen wasn't just browsing anymore; he was on a tactical acquisition mission.
He didn't have the luxury of sitting in a plush armchair with a cup of tea to savor every chapter. Instead, his eyes darted across the pages, his mind working like a high-speed scanner. He flipped through heavy tomes on "American Hex-Deflection" and "The Geometry of Colonial Wards," his fingers ghosting over the leather bindings. If a book felt like it held a spark of unique logic—something the British Ministry or the Hogwarts library hadn't cataloged—it went onto the stack.
And what a stack it was. By the time he was finished, the pile of books was so tall it nearly obscured his own height.
The sales clerk, a young wizard with ink-stained fingers and a perpetually startled expression, stared at the mountain of knowledge. With a trembling hand, he waved a polished walnut wand. A stream of golden light wrapped around the books, lifting them effortlessly and floating them toward the brass-trimmed cashier's desk.
The clerk was practically beaming. The commission from a sale this massive—especially with those expensive, limited-edition Ilvermorny reference sets—was enough to pay for a month of premium grog and lobster rolls at the Blind Pig Pub. He treated Allen with the kind of reverence usually reserved for visiting dignitaries or Quidditch stars.
Allen didn't blink as he settled the bill. The mountain of Galleons he handed over was staggering, but in his mind, it was a fair trade. Gold was just metal; knowledge was a weapon. He swept the entire collection into his enchanted storage bag, the fabric rippling as it swallowed hundreds of pounds of literature without adding a gram of weight.
Stepping back out into the street, Allen felt the true weight of the New York magical district. This place was a siren's call for your wallet. It was a golden rule: if you didn't come with a vault's worth of gold, stay away. Otherwise, you'd find yourself falling in love with a rare crystal orb, only to see a set of legendary silver daggers in the very next window that made the orb look like a child's marble.
As he strolled, his storage grid began to fill with an assortment of curiosities—strange runic compasses, rare botanical samples that pulsed with bioluminescence, and vials of essence extracted from creatures he'd only read about in myths. His pile of Galleons was dwindling rapidly, but his eyes remained sharp, looking for the truly exceptional.
That was when he found Thaddeus's Pet Shop.
The shop was a local legend, a century-old institution with a storefront that seemed to groan under the weight of the cages and tanks visible through the glass. It was the primary source for every Ilvermorny student's familiar. The air outside was filled with a chaotic symphony of screeches, chirps, and the occasional low, rumbling growl that vibrated in the soles of Allen's boots.
He was drawn in by a group of younger wizards huddled near a display in the front window.
"No way, is that actually a dragon egg?" one boy asked, his nose pressed against the glass.
"Don't be a sap," his friend laughed, shoving him playfully. "You think they'd just leave a real dragon egg in the window of a shop in downtown New York? It's a prop, obviously."
"But look at the texture! It looks so real!"
"It's just a high-end replica for kids who want to pretend they're Dragonologists. Nobody can own a real dragon privately anymore—the MACUSA would have you in a cell before the thing even hatched."
The kids lost interest and ran off toward the back of the shop, where a "Pet Mirror Show" was in full swing.
Allen walked over to the display. Resting in a bed of enchanted, self-growing grass were several "Realistic Dragon Eggs." They were beautiful—scaled, heavy, and painted in colors that mimicked the Norwegian Ridgeback and the Hungarian Horntail.
Edward and Harry would get a kick out of these, Allen thought with a small smile. He could already imagine the look on their faces if he brought back "dragon eggs" as souvenirs. He picked out three of the most convincing ones and placed them in a woven shopping basket.
As he moved deeper into the shop, he found the source of the laughter. It was a large, enchanted mirror used to test a pet's temperament. A group of owls were currently engaged in a staring contest with their own reflections, their heads swiveling 180 degrees in synchronized confusion. A ginger cat was arched in a perfect "U" shape, hissing at the "intruder" in the glass.
The highlight was a small, spotted mouse. It took one look at its reflection, let out a tiny, high-pitched shriek, and did a somersault over its own tail to hide behind the mirror's frame. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Allen chuckled, finished his selections, and headed to the counter. He paid for the replicas, packed them away, and stepped back out into the cool afternoon air.
He had walked about ten paces when he paused. He had just shifted the "toys" into his system's storage grid, expecting them to land in the "Miscellaneous" tab.
Instead, a cold, mechanical ping echoed in his mind.
[Notice: Life energy detected within storage grid. High-level biological signature identified. Do you wish to allow the system to absorb this energy for processing?]
Allen's heart skipped a beat. His footsteps stopped dead. Life energy?
He didn't answer the system. Instead, he pulled up his internal interface. There, sitting in the storage slot where the "toy" eggs should be, was a faint, rhythmic pulsing.
Are you telling me... there's a real one mixed in?
He didn't hesitate. He didn't even look around to see if anyone was watching. He spun on his heel and walked back into Thaddeus's Pet Shop with a speed that bordered on a run.
He went straight back to the display. There were about a dozen "replicas" left. He didn't try to sort them. He didn't try to scan them. He simply scooped the entire remaining stock into his arms and dumped them on the counter in front of the shopkeeper.
The owner was a plump, jovial witch with a stack of grey hair held together by a knitting needle. She looked at the pile of eggs and let out a delighted cackle.
"Oh, back for the rest of them, are we? I told Thaddeus these realistic replicas would be a hit! Every kid in the city wants to feel like a dragon tamer."
Allen forced a polite, slightly sheepish smile. "They're just so well-made. I realized I have more friends back home than I thought."
"Of course, dear! Bring a bit of American craft back to the old country," she chirped. She didn't even bother to check them individually; she just counted the pile. "That'll be fifty Galleons and twenty-one Sickles for the lot."
Allen paid her immediately, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. He didn't haggle. He didn't ask questions. He just wanted to be gone before anyone realized that a genuine, living dragon egg had somehow ended up in a bin of twenty-Galleon toys.
Once the transaction was finalized, Allen practically bolted from the shop. He made a bee-line for the Blind Pig Pub, which served as the nearest Apparition-friendly hub.
As he reached the entrance, Leon, the portly owner, spotted him. Leon waddled toward him, his little legs moving fast, his belly jiggling under a stained apron like a bowl of jelly.
"Allen! Back so soon? Did you get lost, or did you just run out of gold?" Leon chuckled, putting a finger to his lips as if solving a great mystery. "Let me guess... Leonard is still at Mrs. Klein's, probably trying to convince her that his beard is fashionable?"
"You've got a sharp intuition, Mr. Leon," Allen said, forcing himself to stay polite despite the adrenaline coursing through him. "But I actually have an urgent matter to take care of. I need to get back to the house immediately. Please give my regards to the staff!"
"Wait! You haven't even tried the Grogfire Whiskey! It'll put hair on your chest and smoke out of your ears!" Leon called out, his voice filled with genuine disappointment as Allen vanished into the crowd.
Allen didn't look back. He found a secluded alleyway behind the pub, felt the familiar, crushing sensation of Apparition, and reappeared in the quiet foyer of Leonard's home.
The house was silent, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock. Leonard was sprawled on the sofa, a magical newspaper hovering in front of his face. The "gentleman" from the boutique was gone; he looked like a messy scholar again, his hair rumpled and his feet up on a coffee table.
"Allen? Back already?" Leonard lowered the paper, looking surprised. "Where are Filius and the boy?"
"I... I realized I had quite a bit of preparation to do for the banquet," Allen said, his voice steadying. "I didn't want to be the one holding everyone up. I assumed the Professor and Ian would be right behind me."
"Fair enough," Leonard chuckled. "Jessica is upstairs turning herself into a masterpiece. It's a process that usually requires several gallons of rose water and at least three different specialized charms. Feel free to raid the kitchen; there's some chocolate cake on the table."
"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind. But if you'll excuse me, I really should go get my things ready."
"Go on, then," Leonard said, already turning back to his paper. "Youth... always in such a hurry. Enjoy the silence while you can; once Jessica comes down, the house will be a hurricane of perfume and silk."
Allen nodded and hurried up the stairs. He entered his guest bedroom and locked the door with a silent Colloportus.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his chest heaving. With a thought, he opened his system's pet space. He moved all the "toy" eggs into the specialized environment meant for living creatures.
Out of the fifteen eggs he had purchased, fourteen sat cold and lifeless.
But the fifteenth...
It was a deep, iridescent violet, almost black. As Allen watched through the system interface, a faint, golden vein of light pulsed beneath the shell.
[Warning: Unidentified High-Tier Lifeform detected. Hatching status: Dormant. Incubation required.]
Allen leaned back, a wild, exhilarated grin spreading across his face. He didn't know how it had happened—perhaps a smuggler had ditched a hot cargo in a toy factory, or a distracted clerk had swapped a real egg with a prop—but it didn't matter.
He had just bought a dragon for twenty Galleons. New York was, indeed, the city of dreams.