Allen cleared his throat with a deliberate, stage-managed cough, ensuring his presence was noted. "Are you perhaps discussing Nicolas Flamel?"
The reaction he received was immediate and severe, though varied.
Hagrid instantly flew into a panicked rage upon hearing another person mention the highly sensitive name. Ron jumped back, completely startled by Allen's sudden materialization. Harry brightened, his immediate, habitual impulse being to open his mouth and ask Allen for help, but Hermione clamped down on his arm, cutting him off.
"Mr. Harris, eavesdropping is thoroughly immoral," Miss Know-It-All stated, looking up at Allen beneath the festive Christmas tree. She pursed her lips in a manner that uncannily mirrored Professor McGonagall's most judgmental expression.
Harry was deeply embarrassed by Hermione's reaction. The name "Nicolas Flamel" was a secret that he, Ron, and Hermione had been guarding and researching together. Harry felt caught between maintaining their pact and sharing critical information with a proven resource like Allen.
"I wasn't listening to your hushed conversation. You were walking by, speaking loudly enough for half the hall to hear," Allen retorted, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice at her unjust harshness.
"Look, I was here with Head Girl Penelope and the others, finishing the Christmas decorations." He gestured to the shimmering, golden bubbles still floating gently toward the pine branches. "Also, I was going to say that I know exactly who Nicolas Flamel is. But since you clearly don't want my involvement, I suppose I can only wish you all happy holidays."
With a casual shrug, Allen gave the decorated tree a final glance, then turned and walked toward the direction of the Ravenclaw tower, leaving the trio standing awkwardly with Hagrid.
"How does he know Nicolas Flamel? We've been searching for days and found absolutely nothing!" Hermione's astonishment turned into frantic frustration. Was Allen truly that exceptional? They had scoured books, yet Allen apparently knew the answer just by hearing the name?
Ron was already irritated by Hermione's renewed competitive aggression toward Allen. "I told you not to compete with him! He's the one who knows everything, not you. He got his Neptune broom in a quiz run by a Diagon Alley shop, remember? I think it would be stranger if he didn't know who Flamel is!"
Harry felt a surge of anger and disappointment. He knew he should have been honest with Allen, but Hermione, the most assertive of the group, had held back out of competitive rivalry.
Hermione bit her lip, her internal conflict obvious. "I'll go apologize to Harris."
Without waiting for Harry or Ron to react, she dashed off in the direction Allen had taken. Harry and Ron exchanged helpless glances and followed, only to be stopped by the philosophical conundrum of the eagle door knocker outside the Ravenclaw common room.
The Sorting Hat never made mistakes. No matter how brilliant Hermione's grades were, answering riddles without a standard, textbook answer was difficult for her. Hermione Granger's intelligence was meticulously researched and logical.
Unlike the whimsical, chaotic genius of a girl like Luna Lovegood, who could easily solve the riddle "Which came first, the fire or the phoenix?", Miss Know-It-All struggled with the abstract.
"Maybe we can find him tomorrow at breakfast," Harry suggested, trying to sound hopeful.
"It's the only way." Hermione, however, resolved to go to the library regardless, deciding to wait a little longer. From her focused observation, Allen usually went there to read after dinner.
But when Hermione and her friends searched the Great Hall the following day, Allen was nowhere to be found. He was in his dormitory, hastily finishing packing for the holidays. He planned to board the Hogwarts Express as soon as possible.
He grabbed the peculiar sweets Edward had left on his table—snacks acquired from an older student in Hogsmeade—to fill his stomach for the train journey. He figured he'd graze on a few items during the ride and then enjoy a large dinner when he finally got home. He didn't think the food at home was necessarily better than Hogwarts' fare, but he knew it would make his mother happy.
When the Hogwarts Express finally arrived at King's Cross Station, Allen had spent almost the entire journey locked in the lavatory. Unlike the constipation issues famously attributed to Mr. Amos Diggory, Edward's special sweets had exploded not just with flavor in Allen's mouth, but also with explosive digestive consequences in his stomach.
That evening, Allen, walking with slightly unsteady steps, realized it was his older brother, Albert, who had come to pick him up. Albert, however, seemed somewhat preoccupied and distracted, requiring Allen to call his name several times before he snapped out of his daze.
"Dad had a work emergency and is running late, so he sent me instead," Albert explained. Before Allen could fully react, Albert rushed forward and hugged his younger brother tightly.
"Pfft~~~"
A loud, unfortunate sound ripped through the air directly behind Allen. At that moment, the first-year student with the most House points in Ravenclaw was acutely embarrassed. He was grateful that the worst of Edward's sweets had been evacuated earlier; otherwise, that particular expulsion would have been far worse than a mere ordinary expulsion of air.
Arriving home, Allen barely got through the front door before his empty stomach registered the intense, sweet aroma of baking. "Mom made cheesecake!"
Allen's eyes lit up. Encouraged by his roommate Edward's unwavering belief that men have no shame in loving sweets, Allen quickened his pace.
"Allen, you need to save your stomach for something besides dessert. Mom has been cooking all day," Albert chided, now in a much better mood than he had been on the platform. "And don't even think about taking the cheesecake away from me. I have to go on duty during the vacation and won't get a proper meal for days."
Dinner was truly a magnificent spread. Compared to the sheer variety of the Hogwarts Christmas feast, this meal was less varied but infinitely warmer and more satisfying to the palate. It was the undeniable taste of home, and holidays were meant for family gathering. The seven members of the Harris family happily sat down at the table.
Currently, only Allen attended Hogwarts. Allen's sister, Daisy, worked alongside their mother at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Unlike their mother, Morgana Lefay Harris, who worked as a Healer in the high-stress, front-line waiting room, Daisy worked in the more promising Department of Magical Injuries, a fact their mother was incredibly proud of.
Morgana Lefay's second son, Len, had recently finished his apprenticeship and was currently working in the Pest Control Advisory Department within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He had returned early for the holidays specifically for Allen.
It was clear the whole family had been anxious about Allen's adjustment to Hogwarts. Once you started working, you missed the carefree days of school. When Allen spoke about his first Quidditch match, the pureblood family members were clearly more interested in the athletic achievement than the academic progress he spoke of.
"He must have inherited my excellent flying skills. I was a fantastic Chaser in Slytherin," his father, Owen, declared proudly, stroking his slightly prominent beer belly.
"Yes, darling, you were wonderful, Owen. You looked so dashing on that broom," Mrs. Harris cooed, openly displaying affection in front of their children.
Daisy and Albert exchanged eye-rolls; their parents were indulging in their embarrassing routine again.
In the days that followed, Allen intentionally made no grand plans for the vacation. After the recent mental and magical intensity, he wanted nothing more than to relax at home and simply read the few books on the history of magic in his collection as if they were simple storybooks, soothing his tightly wound nerves. But as always, fate adhered to Murphy's Law: if anything could go wrong, no matter how small, it would.
Allen woke up to a heavy snowfall outside. It looked like the blizzard would continue for a long time, forcing him to cancel his planned morning exercise routine. When he went downstairs to wash up, he found that only he and his youngest sister, Emily, were left in the house.
"Did they all agree to work overtime together?" Allen muttered, pouring himself a steaming glass of milk. Although his mother appeared to have left in a rush, her expert cooking skills had ensured a hearty breakfast was waiting for her youngest children.
After Emily woke up, she immediately badgered Allen to tell her the story of the Moonstone. Allen noticed his little sister's evolving tastes. She used to prefer whimsical stories, but she had now reached the age where she loved detective stories and thrillers.
According to the description in the Muggle book Emily handed Allen, the Moonstone was a famous yellow diamond. First recorded in ancient Indian history, this gemstone was placed on the forehead of the four-armed Hindu deity, the Moon God.
The stone derived its name partly from its unique color and partly from the legend that it could sense the will of the Moon God and that its color would change with the phases of the moon.
As far as Allen knew, a similar record existed in the magical world. Unlike the massive diamond offered to the gods in India, the magical Moonstone was a low-quality, translucent gemstone that was also renowned for its ability to detect and channel the influence of the moon—hence its name, Moonstone.