As Allen finally stepped out of the Ravenclaw common room, even before he reached the Quidditch pitch perimeter, the roar of the crowd was unmistakable. Gryffindor's raucous chants echoed loudly through the cold winter air, sharply contrasting with the frustrated groans and scattered roars from the Slytherin section.
Allen headed toward the Ravenclaw stands. Watching the match from the seats offered a completely different emotional detachment than being a player. As he looked across the arena at the small lions roaring in the opposite stands, he mused that if it weren't for Ravenclaw's cultural tolerance and extreme individual reserve, the two Houses most fundamentally opposite in style would be Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.
"They still haven't found the Snitch, have they?" Allen asked Roger Davies, who was standing nearby, frowning fiercely and furiously scribbling data into his notebook.
"No, neither Seeker has shown a hint of finding the Golden Snitch yet. But Gryffindor's Chasers and Beaters are incredibly strong; their teamwork, especially the Beaters, is terrifyingly fluid this year." Roger glanced with open envy at the Weasley twins gliding effortlessly through the sky.
He then looked back at Allen, a suspicious glint in his eye. "Your stomach must be terrible; you've been in the bathroom forever. I heard about that Halloween incident. Maybe you should ask Cedric's father, Mr. Amos Diggory. My aunt said you're famous at the Ministry for upstaging Cedric and being prone to long bouts of constipation."
"The twins have been together since they were toddlers; it would be weirder if their teamwork wasn't good. But our Beaters are excellent, too, especially you. Even though it was your first time playing that position, you did well, didn't you?" Allen smoothly managed to change the subject, avoiding a full explanation. The sincere compliment immediately made Roger puff up with pride.
"Oh, of course, I'm the best striker—I mean, Beater—Hogwarts has!" Roger's soft golden hair and brilliant white teeth flashed in the sunlight. His status as the confident Quidditch Captain naturally drew the attention of many younger witches nearby.
"Roger, mind if I borrow your binoculars?"
"Go ahead, I brought spares," Roger said, confirming his reputation as an exceptionally prepared captain.
Allen raised the monocular, trying to locate a small dot in the swirling chaos: Harry. The boy wizard was floating gracefully high above the fray, clearly still searching the surrounding area, unaware of the Snitch's presence.
Allen watched the match with a profound sense of ease. After the mental strain of the tower's trial, a pleasant numbness had settled over him. He felt truly relaxed, missing only the comfort of his four-poster bed and the smooth, sky-blue silk duvet in the Ravenclaw dorm.
"The Golden Snitch!" Roger's scream ripped through the surrounding noise, rousing the attention of every wizard nearby. "Potter has spotted the Snitch!"
Allen quickly raised his binoculars. Harry immediately dove forward, but Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint deliberately flew across his path and delivered a blatant, savage kick to Harry's side.
"After that blatant, disgusting cheating foul earlier—" Commentator Lee Jordan was completely unable to contain his furious anger.
Regardless of the spectators' outrage, the game continued. Though Gryffindor was awarded a penalty shot, they had lost the crucial, immediate opportunity to win the match.
While most people were still seething over the foul, Harry's broomstick suddenly began to shake and swing wildly, entirely out of his control. Slytherin quickly capitalized on the confusion, scoring a goal that offset the penalty. Few people paid attention to the Seeker unless the Snitch was spotted again.
Harry's Nimbus 2000 twitched, bucked, and spun violently, carrying him slowly higher and away from the center of the pitch.
"Harry is in serious trouble." Allen was the first in the Ravenclaw stands to notice the sheer terror on Harry's face. Roger, standing next to him, rapidly aimed his own binoculars. Harry's broomstick began to roll steadily, the boy struggling desperately to keep his grip. The situation finally caught the attention of the wider audience.
Under everyone's horrified gaze, the flying broom bucked again, throwing Harry directly down the length of the handle. However, confounding the stereotype that people wearing glasses lack agility, Harry reacted with astonishing speed, grabbing the handle with one hand and dangling mid-air. A collective gasp rose from the stands, the match forgotten.
Allen quickly tracked his binoculars toward Hermione, watching as she fought her way through the crowd. The omniscient perspective confirmed his memory: she successfully set fire to Professor Snape's robes again, while Professor Quirrell was seen falling backward, his turbaned head hitting the ground hard before skidding to a halt.
Moments later, Harry regained control of his broom, descended safely to the ground, and spat out the Golden Snitch he had cleverly caught mid-fall.
Gryffindor won! But their total score was low, finishing at only 150 points. This low score would disadvantage both teams in the overall House Cup aggregate standings—good news for Ravenclaw, who had secured a strong offensive lead in their earlier match.
"We were lucky to pull ahead of the other three Houses by such a margin, but regardless, Gryffindor has a prodigious Seeker this year, and they are a serious rival," Roger stated, closing and locking his notebook with an incredibly determined look.
"We are the ones the other Houses should be worrying about!" Allen glanced at Roger through the noisy, excited crowd with an encouraging smile. "Gryffindor, we'll see you in the championship match!"
One chilly morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke up to several feet of fresh snow covering the grounds and the vast lake frozen solid. Despite the bitter cold, Allen's spirits were as high as early spring. He had finally completed the system-mandated library quest and successfully acquired the full text of Potions Master Velto's Handbook, which detailed the methods for brewing various ancient and powerful magical potions.
While most of the ingredients required in these recipes were extinct or utterly unavailable in Allen's time, others were based on what modern Potions masters had proven to be mere feudal superstitions, such as coins from a dead man's pocket or the saliva of a lying witch.
But the deeper Allen delved into these lost, ancient theories, the more keenly aware he became of his own vast ignorance, driving him deeper into the ocean of knowledge.
Unlike Allen, most of the young wizards at Hogwarts were not preoccupied with obscure academic research; they were eagerly anticipating the upcoming long Christmas holiday.
Ravenclaw's common room was warm and blazing, blessed by the personal magic of their kind Head of House, Professor Flitwick. Though the Great Hall was warm, the drafty corridors were freezing, and the windows in the classrooms rattled in the biting wind.
The students' greatest dread remained Professor Snape's Potions class, held in the freezing underground dungeons. White clouds of condensation formed with every breath, forcing students to huddle as close as possible to the steaming cauldrons.
Allen, having just acquired the invaluable Velto Potions Handbook, was uncharacteristically enthusiastic about the class. During the lecture, he couldn't resist experimenting with the advanced potion-making techniques outlined in the ancient text. He also listened intently to Professor Snape's explanations.
Lately, Snape had returned to his cold, bat-like demeanor. However, by constantly comparing ancient and modern potion theory, Allen felt his skills improving dramatically. He wasn't content with rote memorization; he was beginning to truly understand the fundamental why behind the process.
Professor Severus Snape clearly recognized Allen's unique talent. He was impeccable in his assessment of Allen's brewed potions, and over time, he subtly observed that Allen often attempted to brew potions using methods he had not taught.
This behavior seemed unbelievable to the other students. Excluding the Slytherins, Professor Snape appeared to treat Allen differently. Although he still spoke in his usual critical and sarcastic tone, he never docked Allen's House points or found fault with his work. He even occasionally approached Allen's station to offer a quiet, personalized critique.
Everyone had noticed that Snape's sarcastic tone toward Allen was distinct from the venom he reserved for others, especially Harry Potter. It was as if he was using this façade of criticism to impart specialized Potions knowledge, which he shared with no other non-Slytherin student, to Ravenclaw's Allen Harris.
This only made matters worse for the struggling students. After witnessing the perfection of the few gifted students, Professor Snape found the lesser efforts even more intolerable. His heightened mockery and cruel punishments subjected the other young wizards to a mental and physical chill, especially Gryffindor's Neville Longbottom, who suffered miserably under Snape's intensified scorn. Even his simple Boil Cure Potion was ruined when his toad, Trevor, unexpectedly jumped into the cauldron.
Not just in Potions, but Allen's performance in all subjects this term was exceptionally remarkable for a first-year student. When the gap between yourself and someone else becomes this vast, the only remaining reaction is admiration. Since Ravenclaw's atmosphere was starkly different from Gryffindor's in its treatment of exceptional students, no one resented or bothered Allen.
The term was not yet over, but everyone believed Allen would inevitably top the first-year class in the final exams. With the exception of Hermione Granger, who was fighting fiercely for second place and trying to compete with Allen in total points, everyone else was simply aiming for third.
Of course, successful students had their own unique problems, like being volunteered as a teacher's assistant.
For instance, on Christmas Eve, Allen was called upon by his Head of House and Charms Professor, Flitwick, to help with the Christmas decorations. He and a few other top-scoring students used their wands to spray elaborate strings of shimmering golden bubbles, which were then charmed to hang perfectly from the branches of the towering pine trees Hagrid had hauled in.
Thanks to their combined efforts, the Great Hall looked magnificent. The walls were draped with thick garlands of holly and mistletoe, and a dozen enormous Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with enchanted icicles, others lit with hundreds of flickering candles.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione—the famous Gryffindor trio—followed Hagrid into the Great Hall. They didn't notice Allen standing near one of the pine trees, directing a string of silver bubbles. Allen was just about to greet them when he overheard Harry say to Hagrid, "We've been trying to find out who Nicolas Flamel is, ever since you mentioned him."