Allen awoke instantly, jolting upright in his bed. The despair and the monstrous figures in his dream had been terrifying, yes, but the absolute, crushing loss of his magical power had been the true, paralyzing horror that had ripped him from sleep.
He instinctively touched his cheeks and felt four tiny points on the inside of his mouth where he had bitten the tender skin in his sleep—barely visible wounds, yet stark evidence of the intense stress.
Allen realized that the inability to cast spells with his wand was perhaps the least significant loss; there were other things in that grey abyss, vital fragments of knowledge or emotion, that seemed perpetually destined to be forgotten the moment he reached consciousness.
Anyway, after a few moments of controlled breathing to calm his racing heart, Allen poured himself a glass of water from the carafe beside his bed. The cool liquid helped settle his nerves, and soon enough, he drifted back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
People with a rigidly regulated biological clock often experience a peculiar phenomenon: if you consistently wake at 6 a.m. Monday through Friday, you will invariably wake up at precisely 6 a.m. on the weekend, even if you know your body desperately needs more rest.
And Allen was no exception.
While Edward remained soundly asleep, Allen was already up, preparing for his habitual morning exercise session in the Room of Requirement. Allen felt a pang of envy for Edward; no matter the hour, no matter the academic pressure, his roommate always seemed capable of enjoying a long, satisfying sleep.
Now that exams were over, with no looming homework or stress, Edward would likely indulge even more! Allen reflected that Edward's excellent time management and consistent routine were key to his success; while his practical magical skills might have been lacking, his theoretical foundation, much like the late Professor Quirrell's, was incredibly solid.
Why did I think of Professor Quirrell again? Allen shook his head, pushing the intrusive, melancholic thought away and quietly slipping out of the dormitory.
After a vigorous and deeply satisfying training session that stretched his muscles and sharpened his focus, Allen's fatigue vanished. When he arrived at the Great Hall feeling refreshed, he was immediately surprised to find that news of the previous night's spectacular events had already spread like wildfire throughout the castle.
Not only the Ravenclaw students, but also his classmates from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were casting curious, speculative glances his way; even the taciturn Slytherins were not exempt from the general gossip.
However, thanks to his reputation for academic intensity and his innate, intimidating self-possession, no one dared to approach him directly and ask questions. When subjected to mass scrutiny, the natural human reaction is often to seek immediate anonymity. Allen did just that.
Allen made his way to his usual spot, retrieved a large bowl of mushroom soup, piled his plate high with breakfast cakes and savoury pastries, and began to eat with relish. As he savoured the rich breakfast, the unpleasant memory of the nightmare faded into an abstract sense of lingering tension.
As Allen prepared to leave the restaurant, he was surprised to find Hermione waiting for him near the enormous oak doors.
"Hermione, good morning," Allen greeted her, noting her slight discomfort and taking the initiative to break the ice.
"Good morning, Allen. Can we talk for a moment?" Hermione seemed to snap out of a nervous spell, instantly relaxing after Allen's casual greeting. Interpersonal dynamics often work like this: initiating contact can feel awkward, but once the first step is taken, the rest of the interaction becomes surprisingly effortless.
"Of course. How is Ron doing?" Allen nodded towards her, then inquired about Ron, who had been knocked unconscious during the dramatic endgame of the chess match.
Hermione subtly lifted her chin, gesturing toward the Gryffindor tables. Following her lead, Allen spotted Ron, his face flushed almost as bright red as his hair, surrounded by a large, gesticulating group of younger wizards. Allen listened intently, finally realizing how the entire school had become privy to the confidential events of the previous night.
"...and then Allen helped us escape the Devil's Snare with an immense flare of light..." Ron was recounting the story, noticeably omitting Hermione's equally vital role in saving them, perhaps feeling less awkward being rescued by a boy than by a girl.
"And our brilliant brother has solved Professor McGonagall's giant chess puzzle!" Fred and George Weasley suddenly pushed their way through the crowd, each grabbing one of Ron's arms. "Ron, you've been talking all morning. Do you happen to know where Harry is?"
Ron snapped out of his storytelling reverie, spotted Hermione and Allen near the exit, quickly wriggled free from his brothers' grasp, and ducked through the crowd. The twins exchanged knowing glances and followed Ron closely.
"Morning, Allen! Harry isn't with you, is he? Do you know where he's gone? And what happened after he went past the chessboard?" Ron was utterly frank, bombarding Allen with questions, fueled by a mixture of anxiety and excitement. Allen noticed the surrounding students had slowed their pace, clearly straining to catch every detail of the conversation.
Allen succinctly explained the events, revealing only the necessary details. When Hermione learned that Harry was in the Hospital Wing, her patience with Allen's calm narrative snapped. She grabbed Ron's arm, declaring they needed to go visit Harry immediately.
Allen noticed many classmates nodding in approval. "At least this high-profile visit will earn Ron back some of the points he lost earlier this year, and it will certainly cheer Harry up," Allen mused, and he followed Hermione and Ron towards the Hospital Wing.
Seeing Harry lying pale and still in the white hospital bed filled both Hermione and Ron with fresh worry. They immediately began peppering Madam Pomfrey with frantic questions: "Is Harry absolutely going to be alright? When precisely will he wake up?"
Madam Pomfrey, exasperated but understanding, firmly shooed them away from the bedside. "You must trust me, he will wake up in a few days. He requires quiet rest now, so please, be gone."
As they left the Hospital Wing, they hadn't walked far when they were met with a truly bizarre sight: Fred and George Weasley were being wheeled out of the hospital, accompanied by two pristine white chamber pots. Despite their deep concern for Harry's health, Hermione and Ron couldn't suppress their laughter at the absurd spectacle.
After exchanging final farewells with Ron and Hermione, Allen quickly headed in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. He urgently needed to escape the castle's suffocating atmosphere of gossip, preferring not to be cornered like Ron and forced to re-enact the events of the previous night. More importantly, he had promised the centaur Firenzo that he would visit the centaur colony soon.
The quiet, restful period between exams and the start of summer vacation was the perfect opportunity.
Entering the Forbidden Forest, Allen relied on his exceptional memory, recalling the path he had taken late at night with Gaia to the Unicorn Colony.
After traversing dense, shadowed groves, crossing cold, babbling streams, and skillfully evading several strange, lurking creatures, he finally arrived at the natural gateway to the Unicorn clearing. Several golden unicorn foals, accompanied by their adult guardians, were practicing graceful, low flights near the perimeter.
Allen allowed the Invisibility Charm he had cast on himself to dissipate. Several adult unicorns looked up instantly, gazing at him with initial wariness.
Then, several smaller, inquisitive foals, recognizing Allen from his prior, brief encounter, fluttered over to him, their spiral horns shimmering happily.