Allen silently, carefully lifted the tattered, ornate robe that was draped over the side of the suitcase, and his blood instantly ran cold. Nestled in a pocket of luxurious, forget-me-not blue silk, a photograph of Gilderoy Lockhart lay face-up.
"Damn it, his picture again!" Allen roared inwardly, his anger flaring hotter than Fiendfyre. He recognized the photo instantly from the one Daisy had shown him, but seeing it here, among the man's possessions, felt different—it felt like a trophy. "Wait, that girl in the picture… that's absolutely Daisy!"
In the photograph, Gilderoy was not just standing next to his sister; he was holding her arm tightly, pulling her close to him in a possessive, dramatic pose. The girl's entire, beaming body was visible in the glossy picture; her long, slightly wavy blonde hair and rosy, star-struck cheeks undoubtedly belonged to his older sister, Daisy!
The image was far more intimate than the casual selfie she had claimed to have taken. Allen's jaw tightened, the immediate surge of fraternal fury briefly overriding his primary mission.
Trying to control the sudden, burning rage, Allen forced himself to look away from the smarmy grin in the photo. He turned the photograph over abruptly, and underneath it, his attention was immediately drawn back to the crisis at hand.
An open, heavily embroidered gold coin purse—a ridiculously flashy wizarding artifact—lay half-buried beneath the silks. Standing precariously amidst the cascade of gold coins inside the purse was a recognizable creature covered in sleek, jet-black fur.
The Niffler's body appeared noticeably swollen, already bulging obscenely, clearly filled to capacity with stolen gold coins and, judging by the occasional reflective flash, perhaps one of Gilderoy's equally garish cuff links.
Allen looked down at the fat, thieving little pest. The Niffler, perhaps sensing the shift in the magical field or simply the cessation of its human captor's breath, slowly turned its long, sensitive snout upwards, its beady, intelligent black eyes meeting Allen's.
In that fraction of a second, both Allen and the Niffler moved with desperate, simultaneous speed. Allen reached out a hand, intending to grab the creature before it could fully stuff the gold purse into its belly pouch, but the Niffler was far too quick. It slipped away, liquid and fast, squeezing through the smallest gap between the robes and the gilded lining of the open case.
It leaped straight over Allen's shoulder and exploded out of the train car, attempting to scramble to a higher vantage point to avoid being caught in the crush of the adoring fans.
Allen scrambled to his feet, ignoring the curious glances of the few witches closest to the door, who were still too busy worshipping Lockhart to notice the student in the way.
The Niffler was already hanging precariously from a ridiculous, overly ornate chandelier that had been installed in the train corridor, clearly drawn to the brass fittings and the cut glass.
Allen stepped back a few paces, his eyes darting around to ensure none of the older students were paying attention to him. He then subtly pulled his wand into his sleeve, intending to use a silent, non-verbal Accio spell—not on the Niffler, which was likely too resistant, but on the chandelier itself. He needed to get the creature grounded without alerting the entire train.
The magic was precise, meant to gently lower the fixture, but the old wizarding train wiring was weak. There was a sudden, sharp, loud crack that momentarily drowned out the clamor of the girls next door. The chandelier didn't lower; it fell, hitting the corridor floor with a spectacular crash and shattering into countless pieces of cut glass and brass.
The nimble Niffler, momentarily freed from its perch, fell harmlessly to the ground, then quickly sprang to its feet. It began to run rapidly between the moving wagons, now fueled by a desperate fear, but leaving a tiny, barely visible trail of glittering dust in its wake.
Allen, abandoning all attempts at subtlety, chased after it. The chase was a desperate, silent scramble, with Allen focusing his intent so hard that the air seemed to shimmer around him. They ran the length of three carriages, dodging trolleys and surprised students, until they finally reached the last wagon—the same one Allen had boarded earlier.
This was the distraction Allen needed. The Niffler, sensing the familiarity of the scent, and more importantly, seeing the glorious, uncollected pile of treasure on the seat, seemed to forget its fear.
It leaped onto the heap of gold, silver jewels, and Muggle trinkets that Allen had shaken off earlier. Seemingly unable to resist the overwhelming allure of the coins, the creature began frantically snatching the glittering treasures into its claws and stuffing them back into its pouch.
Allen entered the wagon and slammed the door shut with a final, decisive CLANG.
Sensing the renewed danger and realizing its brief liberty was over, the Niffler tried to escape once more, but its heavy, bulging body, now completely laden with gold and silver from both Muggle London and Lockhart's personal effects, was too slow, too clumsy, for Allen's quick reflexes and agile movements.
Allen lunged, a desperate blur of robes and hair, and managed to secure a firm, final grip on the Niffler just as it attempted to squeeze into the ventilation grate.
Although the chase had been exhausting and resulted in a minor magical incident, Allen still felt an odd, grudging affection for the adorable, determined pest.
Once again, he held the creature upside down, emptying every last gold coin and jewel from the Niffler's distended pouch. The final, spectacular haul included a gold-plated fountain pen, three diamond rings, and what appeared to be the silver knob from a cane.
He looked at the towering pile of loot, a new dilemma crystallizing in his mind. The bulk of the money was definitely Muggle property, but the ornate, glittering gold coins were clearly from Lockhart's flamboyant purse.
How much money had the Niffler stolen from Gilderoy Lockhart's ridiculously gold-plated wallet? And more pressingly, should he actually return it to the vain, fraudulent professor? The Statute of Secrecy demanded it, but his personal feelings screamed for karmic justice.
Just as Allen was debating the merits of pocketing the gold and sending Lockhart a glitter bomb in return, the car door was suddenly, violently kicked open.
Allen stared in utter surprise, finding himself face-to-face with the wide-eyed, completely stunned expression of Hermione Granger. She looked past him, her gaze locking onto the glittering mound of coins and jewelry on the seat.
After quickly regaining her composure, she rushed into the car and slammed the door shut behind her, as if closing out a terrible truth. She looked at Allen with a face so pale it matched the white of her knuckles, clutching her textbooks. She cried out, her voice a cracked whisper, "Allen, what... why...?" Realizing how loud her accusation had been, she immediately dropped her voice to an intense, horrified whisper. "Allen, why did you steal Professor Lockhart's money? And... all of that?"
"Hermione, my dear friend, I think you might have slightly misunderstood the situation," Allen replied calmly, suppressing a sudden, inappropriate urge to laugh. He actually found the combination of the little girl's terrified expression and her furious, lowered voice quite endearing.
"I absolutely did not misunderstand! Look! The money you stole is still piled up on the floor!" Hermione insisted, pointing a trembling finger at the loot. Her disappointment was almost palpable. She had once admired Allen so profoundly, even considering him a role model of academic rigor and moral uprightness.
Her mind began racing, desperately searching for an explanation. Was Allen's family situation worse than she thought?Had the stress of being a high achiever forced him to steal? She mentally conjured up headlines from Muggle newspapers about exemplary students who, despite their wealth, recklessly committed crimes just for the thrill. Was Allen like that?
As if sensing Hermione's moral panic and the fertile ground of her wild imagination, the Niffler seized its opportunity. It slipped out of Allen's momentarily distracted grip, wriggled inside Allen's loosely fitting Ravenclaw robe, and poked out its long, dark nose from the neck opening, letting out a small, satisfied, and highly audible chirp.
Hermione looked in the direction the sound had come from, her eyes widening again, and involuntarily asked, "What in the name of Merlin is that?"
"This, Hermione, is a Niffler, and as you can clearly see, he has an intense, deeply problematic love for shiny things," Allen explained, carefully extracting the creature.
"So…" Hearing the name Niffler, Hermione's mind instantly connected the creature to the detailed description in her Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them textbook, the full truth of the scenario finally dawning on her.
"So, the truth is, I didn't steal these gold and silver treasures," Allen finished, spreading his hands out innocently, still holding the squirming creature. "The Niffler stole them. He is the culprit."
"But... but he's your pet now, Allen, and the money was stolen for you, surely," Hermione argued, still a little sulky, the moral implications of ownership still bothering her. Her fluffy hair and grumpy face, still clinging to a last sliver of righteousness, made Allen privately liken her to a very cross squirrel with a mouth full of nuts.
"Actually, I only caught this Niffler today, about an hour ago, back at King's Cross, and as you can see, I can't exactly control him properly yet." Resisting the urge to stroke her furry, worried head, and noting Hermione's presence, Allen couldn't bring himself to simply throw the Niffler back into the pet enclosure, so he gently pulled him out fully from inside his robe. Allen then briefly but honestly explained the chaotic capture at the Muggle station.
"My goodness, Allen... you always manage to find trouble, don't you?" Hermione's angry expression softened quickly, replaced by a consuming curiosity as she finally got into the car, sat in a seat opposite the pile of loot, and began to observe the Niffler. "Well, I still want to believe you, of course. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions and misunderstood you."
"Do you like him?" Allen asked, sensing an opportunity for allyship. "He's rather troublesome, but quite adorable. When they eventually have babies, I can give you one, Hermione." Allen generously offered her a baby Niffler as a future gift, sealing their truce.
"Absolutely not!" Hermione instantly snapped back into her role as the voice of reason.
"Although Nifflers are described as kind and even affectionate towards their owners, they are notoriously destructive and can ruin your belongings! You cannot, under any circumstances, keep one at home! Also, I highly doubt the Ministry of Magic allows private individuals to keep Nifflers, and I know Nifflers aren't among the permitted pets at Hogwarts. You will get into serious trouble!"
The woman, who had been pale with anger moments before, was now lecturing him with her usual moralizing fervor.
Hermione's predictable reaction amused Allen immensely. "I can keep him in the Forbidden Forest after I've successfully tamed him, or perhaps within my family's private estates in the summer. As you said, I certainly can't keep him in the dormitory." He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Besides, Nifflers are naturally accustomed to living in their own dens, often twenty meters underground. Hermione, you really don't need to worry too much about the letter of the law regarding the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts. You know my Aunt works at the Magical Creatures Control Office, and frankly, look at some of the pets other students bring here—all sorts of different animals—and the school hasn't taken any significant action against them."
Hermione's eyes darted between Allen, the pile of gold, and the frantic Niffler. The logic of his argument, combined with his family's influence, was compelling, but the sight of the stolen treasure was still an offense to her moral code. "But your Niffler definitely stole Professor Lockhart's gold coins just now, and I saw him only two carriages over. You must return that money immediately to Professor Lockhart. It's the right thing to do."
"Of course, that's precisely what I plan to do, Hermione. I am a Ravenclaw, after all," Allen said, making a grand show of gathering the gold and jewels from the floor. He quickly separated a large, glittering handful of gold coins and the professor's gold purse. "I'll ask Vito to help me find the rightful owners of the rest of the Muggle loot—he's a colleague of my father's who's incredibly skilled in divination and location magic. It will all be returned."
Allen gave Hermione a winning, slightly desperate smile.
"Here's what you can do to help me, Hermione. Why don't you ask Professor Lockhart for an autograph for me—say, for my little sister, Daisy? That will keep him occupied. And I'll discreetly put the coins back into his case. I desperately don't want anyone else to know about the Niffler, especially not the new professor or anyone from the Ministry. Can you keep this secret for me, Hermione? For the sake of the creature and my peace of mind?"
Hermione looked at the stolen money, the squirming, adorable creature, and Allen's earnest face. She chewed her lip, clearly considering whether this deception was in line with school rules and general ethical guidelines.
After a brief, agonizing silence, the temptation to be involved in a genuinely important secret—one that involved a magical creature—won out. She nodded stiffly.
They returned to Lockhart's compartment. The group of older witches were still chirping adoringly around him, having now moved on to requesting dramatic readings from his books. Hermione and Allen entered and, seemingly unintentionally, stood near the only available space: beside the open suitcase.
Hermione stood directly in front of Allen, trying to appear as if she desperately wanted Professor Gilderoy Lockhart's signature, holding out her book with exaggerated reverence. In fact, that was exactly what Hermione was doing, as she genuinely hadn't yet grasped Lockhart's true, talentless nature.
Taking advantage of the situation, Allen subtly pushed the large handful of gold coins and the Professor's ornate purse that he had hidden under his arm back into Gilderoy's chest.
Although the amount he returned was somewhat excessive, given Gilderoy Lockhart's self-obsession and love of money, Allen was sure the professor would simply assume a particularly wealthy or devoted little witch, honoring him in secret, had discreetly placed the gold there as a spontaneous offering.
As the train rattled on and approached the final destination, there was no news of any unusual commotion or theft in Gilderoy Lockhart's compartment. Their mission was a quiet success.
"No!" Hermione angrily hit her forehead with the heel of her hand.
"What's wrong now, Hermione?" Allen asked, handing her a cold glass of pumpkin juice with an automatic spinning straw from the trolley. He took a sip of his own drink; it was truly wonderful to enjoy such a refreshing sensation in the heat of the rapidly moving train carriage.
"I completely forgot to tell you properly, Allen! Harry and Ron missed the Hogwarts Express entirely!" Hermione shook her disheveled hair, scattering a few loose strands across her face, her eyes wide with renewed anxiety.
"I saw the platform guard look absolutely frantic!" Allen simply smiled inwardly. He knew the chaos was only just beginning for his two friends, and the school year promised to be anything but dull.