"Thank you for your very kind words, Headmaster, but honestly, it's nothing more than rectifying my own mistake," Allen insisted, maintaining a modest and cautious front. He didn't want Dumbledore to think he was seeking praise. "I simply wanted to ensure Mr. Filch's workload wasn't needlessly increased because of our carelessness."
"That combination of kindness and a strong sense of responsibility is rare and precious, Mr. Harris. Now, you must be thoroughly exhausted after such an eventful night. Return to your comfortable bed in Ravenclaw Tower. Sweet dreams, and good night."
Dumbledore, surprisingly, let him off without any punishment for breaking curfew. Allen rationalized that Dumbledore had always favored wizards who displayed Gryffindor-like courage and initiative. Furthermore, while Allen wasn't afraid of a simple detention, avoiding unnecessary trouble was always the wisest course.
Allen bowed politely to the Headmaster, gave a final nod, and turned to leave.
Back at the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, the Eagle Knocker presented its final hurdle: "You can destroy it by uttering its name. What is it?"
It was late, and Allen was immensely tired. After only a second's thought, he replied, a touch impatiently, "Silence."
The door swung inward silently, and the young Ravenclaw slipped into the common room.
Just as he was about to head up to his dormitory, Allen stopped abruptly. That profound feeling of being watched had returned. He scanned the room, but it was empty—not even the House Ghost was in sight.
Trusting his instincts, Allen didn't proceed to his dorm. Albert's maxim rang in his ears: "Always maintain situational awareness." He drew his wand, the action instinctive and practiced.
Thankfully, the magical candles in the Ravenclaw common room burned brightly all night for the benefit of late-night readers, giving Allen a clear view of his surroundings.
The blue curtains fluttered gently, but nothing was behind them. The starry ceiling and the patterned carpet were unobstructed. Allen let his gaze sweep across the tall bookcases and large, plush chairs. Nothing.
The quiet of the night, with the gentle breeze and the distant chirping of unseen insects, should have been utterly soothing. Instead, a prickle of unease ran down Allen's spine; the sensation of being observed persisted. Having checked every conventional spot, he had only one location left: he quickly walked to the niche opposite the door and focused on the white marble bust of Rowena Ravenclaw.
The face was one of extraordinary, chiseled beauty. The tightly closed lips, half-closed eyes, and slightly furrowed brow spoke of great intellect and stern discipline. As Allen stared, the strange familiarity he had felt earlier returned. Recognizing the potential for a magical influence, he shook his head, reinforced his Occlumency, and resumed his observation.
The statue held a staff in one hand, crossed over the left side of her chest, resting over her heart. The other hand hung down naturally, palm open in a gesture of explanation or invitation.
The statue's entire posture seemed to encourage students to unravel the secrets of magic, dissect the principles of spells, and earnestly contemplate philosophical truths. Most famously, Rowena Ravenclaw's eyes seemed to follow the observer, constantly watching, regardless of their position in the room.
Allen found nothing physically amiss with the bust, but his keen magical senses confirmed that the feeling of being watched was originating from the statue.
"I know you are concealed inside. Come out now!" Allen pointed his wand directly at the face of the House Founder.
"If you refuse, I will break this statue." Allen tapped the marble with his wand; the tip glowed faintly. "It will shatter into pieces—"
"Stop! How dare you threaten the founder's memorial?!" A tall, incredibly beautiful female ghost shot out from inside the statue.
"Ah, Lady Grey, it is you," Allen said, slightly embarrassed, lowering his wand. He had almost blasted the House Ghost.
Lady Grey, Rowena's daughter, was tall and beautiful with long hair and flowing robes, which barely concealed her elegant figure. Yet, unlike her mother, who radiated authority and wisdom, she carried an air of arrogance and superiority.
"Allen Harris, I know of you. You are one of the most promising students to join Ravenclaw in years; many professors speak highly of your abilities. But I have observed your strange habit of leaving the tower very early every day, utilizing the Disillusionment Charm. Your behavior is highly irregular. What exactly are you hiding?" Lady Grey edged closer to the statue, poised to retreat inside if necessary. Her past made her deeply distrustful of students who exhibited secretive behavior.
"So, you have been watching me from inside the statue all this time. My dear Lady, everyone has their secrets, but my morning training is hardly one of them. I simply rise early to exercise, and I conceal myself merely to avoid unnecessary complications. The school's patrols are quite diligent," Allen explained, shrugging. He was certain the Grey Lady meant him no harm; she was more fearful than malicious.
"I am, however, intensely curious: how do you manage to inhabit the statue of our esteemed founder, Rowena Ravenclaw?" Allen pressed, fixing his gaze on the Grey Lady, noting the flash of panic in her translucent eyes.
"Rowena Ravenclaw is my mother, and as her only daughter, I am able to project my likeness onto her statue," the Grey Lady explained, her voice quick and strained.
Allen immediately identified the anomaly. Given the Grey Lady's usual reserved temperament, she wouldn't normally volunteer such a fast, fussy explanation. While portraits moved, ghosts did not typically inhabit solid objects for long periods. The statue must be hollow, or she was lying about the reason.
Allen decided on diplomacy. "Extraordinary intellect is humanity's greatest asset. Your mother was both beautiful and wise. As her daughter, you are truly fortunate to have had such a remarkable mother." Allen adopted a warm, sociable tone, deciding to use flattery, a social tactic he knew worked well.
"Do you think I am fortunate, boy? As you age, you will learn that prodigious intellect is not always a blessing; it can bring great calamity. And having a revered mother whose countless awards line the Trophy Room is not good for either of you." The Grey Lady's voice was tinged with bitter melancholy.
"You sound greatly troubled…" Allen tried to console her. "I am a Ravenclaw through and through. If a descendant of our founder requires any assistance, I would be pleased to help in any way my abilities allow."
"Perhaps you are a true Ravenclaw, a student worthy of my mother's House. But there was once a boy, very much like you—perfect, charming, persuasive—and he managed to convince me to tell him my secret, only to betray me." The Grey Lady recoiled, her transparent face twisting with ancient pain.
"What was his name? And which House was he from?" Allen asked, doing his best to show empathy while trying to draw out the details of the past betrayal.
"What was his name?" The Grey Lady's expression showed a flicker of fear. "He gave himself a name that no one dares utter now, and his trophies are displayed proudly in the trophy room."
Lady Grey clearly had no intention of revealing Tom Riddle's name, a name the entire wizarding world feared to speak. She implied that the very name was cursed. If anyone had told him, she would have known. Although Riddle had been defeated long ago, his influence still lingered throughout the wizarding world, affecting even a ghost.
Allen felt a little wronged. They were both exceptionally talented individuals, but he stressed, "Do you truly believe I am so much like him? I have not lied to you!"
"I… I don't know. He complimented me, too… he seemed affectionate," the Grey Lady whispered, closing her eyes as if reliving the moment, or perhaps regretting it.
"Did he take something immensely important from you?" Allen asked softly.
"It was profoundly important, yes, but it did not belong to me," the Grey Lady's voice was filled with ancient bitterness.
"If you could describe it in detail, perhaps I could help you find it." Even though Allen already knew the object's location and nature, he genuinely wanted to offer aid, keeping his tone friendly and cooperative.
"You? Generations of students have tried to force me to tell them its location, and no one can resist its allure…" Following the Grey Lady's gaze, Allen looked at the top of the Rowena Ravenclaw bust, where she wore the Ravenclaw Diadem . Though only a statue's adornment, the magnificent and intricate craftsmanship of the crown was clear.
"So, it was the Ravenclaw Diadem you were tricked into giving away. No one can resist the temptation to increase their wisdom, but the truly wise understand that genuine power must always come from within," Allen said calmly, speaking the philosophical truth of his House. However, his statement seemed to annoy the daughter of the House Founder.
"You truly have no idea. That crown does far more than merely boost a person's intelligence! More importantly, it contains knowledge—the knowledge of the Founder herself!" the Grey Lady snapped, looking at Allen with disdain, as if he were utterly ignorant.
"Come back and speak to me again when you have found my mother's Diadem." The Grey Lady reverted to her reserved, aloof state, a flicker of disdain in her eyes, and retreated back into the statue of her mother.
"A crown, eh? There is clearly far more to that object than simple enchantment," Allen smiled, nodded to the empty niche, and turned toward the boys' dormitory.
The next day, Allen woke up early for his morning training ritual, despite the late hour of his sleep. The more he practiced the Mage Body Hardening Technique, the more he felt his agility and strength surge, and Allen was completely captivated by this physical power growth.
During breakfast in the Great Hall, when the morning swarm of owls descended, everyone's attention was instantly captured by a long, sleek package carried by six magnificent long-eared owls.
The bundle flew toward the Gryffindor table, bumping the hapless Neville, who had his head buried in his cereal, and finally landed neatly in front of Harry Potter.
From across the hall, Allen saw the unconcealed joy on Harry's face and realized the Boy Who Lived had just received his very own first racing broomstick—the Nimbus 2000.
Allen felt no jealousy; he already owned his own high-performance Neptune broom.
He quickly finished his cereal and set off to find his Head of House, Professor Flitwick, who had sent Allen an owl asking him to report to his office after breakfast.
In Filius Flitwick's office, the Charms Master beamed up at Allen.
"Allen, I am truly delighted to witness yet another genius wizard blossom in our House. Your performance across all subjects has been exceptional; even Professor Snape begrudgingly admits your skill. However, life holds many beautiful sights and interesting things to explore, try, and experience beyond books and study. I hear from Madam Pince that you spend virtually all your free time in the library. I worry that isn't conducive to your long-term well-being," Professor Flitwick said with genuine concern. He then produced his famous, delicious pocket muffins, kept in a tin in his drawer, and made them dance amusingly in front of Allen.
Despite having just eaten, Allen accepted a muffin. He recognized Professor Flitwick as a dedicated Head of House and a reliable teacher. He cared not just about academics but also about his students' lives and mental health—a quality that distinguished him from other House Heads.
"Thank you, Professor Flitwick! I will certainly be more mindful of my time management in the future. But truly, Professor, reading is a pleasure and a hobby for me," Allen reassured him, touched by the concern.
"Ah, that's wonderful! You are so young, yet so disciplined. Perhaps that is why you surpass the other young wizards so consistently." Students who genuinely enjoyed reading were always favored by teachers, especially in Ravenclaw.
Professor Flitwick took a bite of a muffin himself, relaxing the atmosphere further. He then leaned forward conspiratorially. "So, are you interested in Quidditch?"
"Quidditch? Professor, first-years are not permitted to own their own broomsticks or join the Quidditch teams," Allen said, looking puzzled. He had a strong suspicion but wasn't sure he would be granted this privilege, which seemed inherently unfair to the rest of the first-years.
"Yes, that is the general rule. However, I have just learned that Harry Potter of Gryffindor has been hand-picked to be the youngest Seeker in a century. Madam Hooch tells me that the skill you displayed in your flying lessons was easily a match for Mr. Potter's. Your brother Albert was a brilliant Seeker at school, and your sister Daisy was an excellent Chaser… I believe Ravenclaw should also hand-pick you as our Seeker! We haven't won the Quidditch Championship in so long I can scarcely remember the last time! And since your birthday falls after Mr. Potter's, you are technically even younger than him!" Professor Flitwick proposed, excitedly offering Allen the role on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.
Recalling the sheer joy of flying during his lessons, Allen agreed without a moment's hesitation. Moreover, being a Quidditch enthusiast would deflect unwanted attention from his other secretive pursuits. After all, poor Tom Riddle had faced prejudice for his dislike of brooms...
Professor Flitwick was immensely pleased. Allen was calm and composed, and his slightly taller stature compared to other first-years, combined with his proven agility, made victory a real possibility. However, a noisy disturbance outside the office door drew the attention of the Ravenclaw Head.
"This isn't some old-school flying broom! It's a Nimbus 2000! You said you had something at home, a Malfoy Comet 260?"
"Comets are flashy, but they're not in the same league as a Nimbus."
"Weasley, how would you know? You can't even get a decent broom handle! I bet you and your brothers had to scrape together every twig for yours!"
Ron and Malfoy sounded like they were in a heated, ongoing argument over broomsticks.
Professor Flitwick instantly leaped down from his chair to reach the floor, then hurried out of the office, his high voice demanding, "I hope we aren't having an argument, children?"