Time, measured not in days but in concentrated effort, flew by as Allen dedicated himself to his studies and practice. During this period, the difficult art of Occlumency was his constant focus.
Despite lacking a training partner—a necessity usually required for testing and refinement—Allen applied himself with relentless discipline every day. He wasn't just learning to clear his mind; he was learning to build conceptual fortresses within it.
The effects of the Magical Potential Potion were becoming dramatically apparent. Allen's innate magical power was swelling at an astonishing rate, yet the expansion was perfectly stable, controlled, and without the slightest dangerous fluctuation. He could feel the sheer volume of magic accumulating in his core accelerating daily, far surpassing the baseline rate of even a naturally gifted wizard.
Furthermore, his years of dedicated training in the McLean Body Conditioning Technique were yielding subtle, yet critical, magical benefits.
Allen's wrists could rotate with unnatural freedom, and his fingers possessed an incredible, almost fluid flexibility. Each digit could execute complex, isolated movements without confusing the others—a physical ability that directly translated to a wizard's skill.
This meant Allen's ability to precisely maneuver his wand during complex spellcasting and his success rate in the delicate art of potion brewing had been significantly enhanced.
Of course, a balance between relentless work and necessary rest was vital. While training, it was important to occasionally appreciate the true wonders of the outside world. When his father, Owen Harris, suggested finalizing the invitation to bring Harry Potter home, Allen readily agreed. He was keen to spend time with his friend, who had navigated the challenging reality of growing up entirely Muggle.
Mrs. Harris, learning that Harry had been genuinely mistreated and allegedly starved by his aunt's family, reacted with intensity. She immediately dispatched her eldest daughter, Daisy, on a mission to procure special supplies and ingredients.
"That child has endured such hardship," Mrs. Harris sighed, her voice heavy with maternal protectiveness. "Everyone only remembers him as the boy who beat the terrible dark wizard, but the sheer burden of living under the roof of people who detest you must be unbearable." Among the family, Mrs. Harris arguably felt the deepest, most immediate sympathy for Harry Potter.
Owen Harris, witnessing his wife's rather fierce reaction, offered a more strategic assessment. "Dumbledore's choices were undeniably unethical. While I can vaguely grasp his rationale for keeping Harry away from the wizarding world, I cannot fathom why he insisted Harry live with an aunt who clearly disliked him, and whom he equally disliked.
He continued, "Even if there was a magical reason he had to reside there, as the world's most powerful light wizard, a simple threat or offering significant financial compensation to that greedy Muggle family would surely have improved Harry's circumstances. Frankly, before meeting Harry, I occasionally worried if Dumbledore deliberately intended to foster some resentment or darkness in him. It's genuinely a miracle that Harry's fundamental kindness and spirit remained intact in such an environment."
Following the chaotic events surrounding his acceptance letter, Harry's relationship with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had devolved into a cold war; they now studiously ignored his existence. Driven by intense curiosity about the wizarding world, and with no other freedom, Harry spent the vast majority of his time locked in his small bedroom, poring over his school textbooks. Deprived of normal distractions, he had become far more studious than he ever was at Muggle school.
Just as Harry was completely absorbed in trying to decode the complexities of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, a magnificent, powerful snowy owl flew silently through the open window. Harry sprang off his bed and rushed to the desk. Edward, the owl, proudly extended its left leg. Harry quickly unrolled the parchment.
It read:
Dear Harry:
I will arrive to collect you at 10 a.m. tomorrow morning and bring you home. My entire family is genuinely eager for your arrival.
Allen Harris
Harry quickly sat down, dipped his quill in ink, and hastily wrote a reply to Allen, his excitement surging. He desperately hoped someone would spring him from this stifling cage, even if only temporarily.
The next morning, Harry tried his best to neatly pack his few personal belongings. He had no idea how Allen would retrieve him, but he hoped for a relatively normal entrance—perhaps a public bus, or a mundane Muggle car.
As the minutes ticked by, Harry found himself clutching Allen's letter tighter and tighter. Uncle Vernon, fastening his tie, glanced at himself in the hallway mirror, then shot a suspicious look at Harry. "Boy, are you absolutely certain this… person… is coming to fetch you at ten?" Before Harry could reply, Vernon seemed to regret the interaction and snapped, "We'll be going to Aunt Marge's later. Just ensure your peculiar friends are prompt!"
Harry wanted to hotly argue that Allen wasn't peculiar, but the Dursleys were. However, resigned to his temporary lack of freedom, Harry held his tongue.
The clock finally struck ten. Simultaneously, the doorbell rang—a loud, decisive chime. Before Uncle Vernon could even turn from the mirror, Harry sprinted to the door, flung it open, and there stood Allen and his father, Owen Harris.
Mr. Owen Harris stood outside, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, carrying two beautifully packaged tins of high-quality black tea, the wrapping alone signaling their expensive quality. He nodded courteously and politely at Uncle Vernon.
Uncle Vernon's small eyes narrowed instantly, raking over Mr. Harris's appearance. Then, a slow, utterly unctuous smile stretched across his face.
The reason for the instantaneous shift was clear: The subtly gleaming Mercedes-Benz emblem was visible just over Mr. Harris's shoulder. And even the most critical person could not fault Mr. Harris's flawless attire. Though, perhaps by sheer luck, the father and son had noticed a minor oil leak shortly after parking, causing Owen to promptly wipe the car down, ensuring it appeared spotlessly clean and brand new.
Having received a satisfactory appearance and an obvious, high-end gift, Uncle Vernon warmly invited Mr. Harris inside. Allen winked swiftly at Harry. After their correspondence, Allen understood Uncle Vernon's core motivation: respect for appearances and wealth preceded respect for people.
While not an admirable trait, it was a common human failing. Allen certainly didn't want his father to be underestimated, and Owen, who was keenly interested in securing favor with the Boy-Who-Lived, had no desire to complicate Harry's departure.
Harry and Allen rushed up and down the stairs like a whirlwind. Harry carried Hedwig's large cage, while Allen—to Harry's astonishment—effortlessly carried the rest of the heavy baggage alone, his practiced strength making the task simple. Allen had to be quick; his father's superficial Muggle small talk with Vernon wouldn't last forever.
Uncle Vernon waved enthusiastically as Allen and the Harris's elegant car pulled away from Privet Drive. No wonder the Harris boy was so exceptional! Vernon concluded. Raised in such a distinguished family, his success is virtually guaranteed.
Vernon remained utterly convinced that Allen's subtle, polite father, with his immaculate car, could not possibly be a wizard; he must simply have been cursed with an eccentric son.