There was no one quite like Allen—no one else could wield such a peculiar and versatile ability as Matter Shuttle. It was the sort of skill that, in less noble hands, might be misused for sneaking around, escaping tight situations, or worse—yet Allen had already found creative applications for it that stretched beyond ordinary imagination.
Even so, when he helped Penello steady herself on the staircase, his tone remained casual, almost teasing:
"Be careful," Allen said gently, catching her by the arm as her foot slipped. "These stairs are steep. Why don't you hold my hand?"
Penello's brows furrowed slightly as confusion washed across her face. She looked down at her shoes as if they alone were guilty of betraying her footing.
"I… I don't know why," she admitted with an embarrassed laugh. "Just now it felt like there was nothing under my feet. It scared me so much—I thought I stepped on air."
Allen, of course, knew exactly why.
Indeed, there had been nothing beneath her. The [Matter Shuttle] ability could, in theory, shift someone through the very substance of the world itself. With enough magical power, one might even plunge straight into the planet's core in an instant. It was a terrifying possibility, though not yet within Allen's reach. The greater the density of the matter, the more magical energy it demanded to pass through. Even more taxing was when he applied the ability to someone other than himself. At his current skill level, such an effect required direct physical contact—hence why he had taken Penello's hand.
He couldn't help but imagine how devastating it would be if his mastery advanced further. If he could eventually transport others through the air itself, then with a single wave of his hand he could escalate from simple theft or stealth into an efficient one-man operation for murder and disposal. Kill, conceal, and erase evidence in one seamless step—truly a one-stop service.
Of course, Allen was not so reckless as to abuse it in such ways. But he estimated that with time, the [Matter Shuttle] skill could be refined and evolved. Perhaps it might even be promoted beyond its current limits, reaching the mythical A-rank or higher.
For now, however, he merely offered Penello a reassuring smile.
"Maybe you just weren't watching your feet," he suggested lightly. "Come on, senior sister, let's keep walking."
Penello nodded, still a little pale. She was determined to tread carefully now, her steps measured and deliberate, though her hand trembled slightly as she slipped it back into his. The nervousness lingered from her near fall, and so she clung to him with quiet determination.
Allen hid his amusement. The situation was proceeding just as he intended.
Thus, together they ascended until they reached the eighth floor. At the end of a corridor hung a curious tapestry depicting a ridiculous scene: a troll attempting to club a foolish man named Barnabas. Allen stopped before it and gestured.
"This is it," he said.
Penello blinked, tilting her head. "The tapestry?"
"No," Allen corrected with a grin. He pointed directly across the corridor to an otherwise unremarkable wall. "Jean told me that the entrance to a special magical room lies opposite this tapestry. Right here."
Penello joined him, eyeing the blank expanse of stone skeptically. "But… there's nothing."
Allen chuckled. "Of course there isn't. It's hidden. What would be the point of a hidden room if it were obvious to anyone who walked by? Let me show you. I'll prepare the way. But before that…"
He paused, drawing out the moment deliberately. Penello's curiosity was piqued immediately.
"What preparations?" she asked. "A ritual? A spell?"
"Nothing so dramatic," Allen replied, lifting his hand with a wry smile. "You just need to let go first."
Only then did Penello realize she was still gripping his hand tightly, as though clinging to it for dear life. Her face flushed crimson and she withdrew quickly, flustered. Her heart still raced—not only from the earlier scare but from the closeness itself.
It was the suspension bridge effect: when fear and arousal overlapped, one often misinterpreted the surge of emotion. An accelerated heartbeat could easily be mistaken for something more intimate. Allen knew this well, and he had orchestrated the moment deliberately. He was pleased with the result.
"Now then," he continued smoothly. "What sort of room do you want to see?"
"Me?" Penello blinked, taken aback. She pressed her fingers together and thought for a moment. The blush faded slightly as she steadied herself. "I'd like a quiet place. Somewhere to study."
Allen chuckled inwardly. Of course. Ravenclaws will always choose books.
He nodded and explained, "To access the Room of Requirement, you must focus your mind on the type of room you need most. Think carefully, walk past this wall three times, and then…"
He demonstrated, pacing deliberately while keeping his intention sharp in his mind. On the third pass, the once-blank wall rippled. Patterns emerged like ink blooming in water, and before their eyes, the outline of a door formed. Within seconds it solidified, ornate and real.
"Oh, Merlin!" Penello gasped. Her eyes widened as she watched the stone reshape itself. "That's incredible!"
Allen stepped aside and pushed the door open with a courteous gesture. "After you."
Inside stretched a room that matched Penello's desire perfectly. The atmosphere glowed with a soft cyan hue. At the center stood a grand, circular sofa large enough for a dozen students to lounge on. Surrounding it were towering shelves, crammed with books of every kind.
Penello's eyes shone as she hurried to the shelves. She trailed her fingers across spines, her mouth falling open slightly.
"These books… they're so complete!" she exclaimed. "It's like a library—no, maybe even better."
Allen wandered over, plucking a thick volume at random. Its cover read Powerful Potions. He flipped through a few pages, thoughtful.
"I wouldn't be surprised if this room mirrored the actual Hogwarts library," he mused. "Perhaps even including books from the restricted section."
Penello gasped, tugging out another tome with recognition. "You're right! I've seen this one before. I only found it when Professor Flitwick asked me to fetch something from the restricted shelves."
Allen leaned closer. The cover bore the title The Witch's Eternal Youth. He raised a brow. "That's… a beauty manual?"
Penello's face drained of color as she opened the book. Whatever she saw made her snap it shut immediately, shoving it back into place with a pale expression.
"No! Don't look," she insisted quickly, preventing Allen from touching it.
His curiosity burned, but he respected her reaction. He caught a glimpse of the author's name, though: Elizabeth Bathory. The infamous countess, rumored to bathe in blood for eternal youth. For such a figure to pen a "beauty" guide… Allen could only imagine the grotesque methods described within.
Choosing to leave that unsettling subject behind, Penello searched for something more wholesome. Eventually, she retrieved a sturdy volume and smiled at him.
"Here, Allen. Would you like to read together? I can even give you some extra lessons."
Allen chuckled, settling beside her on the sofa. The faint fragrance of her hair drifted into the air, making the moment oddly intimate.
"I think your expectations might be a little too high," he said lightly.
"Why? Are you bad at studying?" Penello tilted her head. "That can't be. Didn't you say you wanted to challenge Headmaster Dumbledore one day?"
She patted the space next to her invitingly. Allen sat, feigning a sigh.
"No, it's not that I lack ability. It's the opposite." His tone was calm, almost mischievous. "I worry that my learning ability is… too strong."
Penello arched an eyebrow. "Too strong? That's quite the boast. Prove it."
She handed him the book she had selected—Standard Spells, the original edition authored by Miranda Goshawk herself. Unlike the simplified versions issued to Hogwarts students, this was the unabridged text, filled with potent spells, many of which had been deemed too dangerous for ordinary classroom use.
"This is the genuine article," Penello explained. "Most of the school copies were edited, watered down so younger students wouldn't stumble into advanced combat magic. But this one is… well, challenging. Perfect for testing you."
Allen flipped through the pages, skimming line after line with an expression of calm absorption. His eyes darted quickly yet comprehensively, scanning each spell's incantation and wand movement.
Penello watched with growing incredulity. "What? Wait—you can't possibly… Did you just memorize them all already?"
Allen closed the book softly and met her gaze with quiet confidence. "I said I was worried, didn't I? If I only wanted to learn spells, ten would be enough."
Within his mind, his magical panel had already updated. Dozens of new spells glittered there, each slotted neatly into his repertoire. It wasn't exaggeration—his [Basic Magic Mastery] skill allowed him to grasp and internalize spells at a speed bordering on the absurd.
Penello's mouth fell open slightly. "You can't be serious. You just flipped through it!"
Allen only smiled, the corners of his lips curling. "And yet…"
He let the unfinished sentence hang, heavy with implication.
Penello stared at him in awe, equal parts admiration and disbelief. She had intended to give him lessons, perhaps even impress him with her own knowledge. Instead, she found herself seated next to someone whose potential bordered on frightening.
Allen leaned back, content. Basic Magic Mastery really is too powerful.
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