The clock on a nearby clocktower—which looked more like a giant, rotating astrolabe than a timepiece—chimed a deep, resonant note that vibrated through the air.
"We're burning daylight," Leonard announced, checking a heavy silver pocket watch. "The banquet is at eight, and if we don't get to Mrs. Klein's boutique soon, we'll be attending in our travel rags. Jessica, lead the way."
Jessica didn't need to be told twice. To her, buying a gown wasn't just a shopping trip; it was the opening movement of a grand symphony that involved deep-cleansing charms, complexion-smoothing potions, and a hairstyling session that would likely take longer than the banquet itself. She practically glided through the crowds, her excitement acting like a kinetic shield that parted the pedestrians.
They arrived at the boutique moments later. It was an imposing building of white marble and gold leaf, with windows that shimmered with a prismatic light. This wasn't just a tailor shop; it was a fortress of fashion.
"Three floors," Jessica explained breathlessly as they stepped into the climate-controlled interior. "First floor for the gentlemen, second for the ladies, and the third is for the younger set—though usually, it's just miniatures of the adult trends. Don't get lost!"
Without waiting for a response, she vanished up the grand staircase with the speed of a Snitch.
Professor Flitwick and Allen took a more measured approach, staying on the first floor. It was a masterpiece of interior design, divided into distinct zones: one for raw fabrics that floated in the air like colorful clouds, one for mannequins that adjusted their poses as you walked by, a sample gallery, and a private fitting area.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses, looking at a mannequin wearing a midnight-blue velvet robe with silver star embroidery. "I suppose we should look for something that says 'distinguished guest' without shouting 'stuffy foreigner,' eh, Allen?"
Allen nodded, though his attention was beginning to drift. He wasn't particularly picky about clothes—as long as they didn't restrict his wand movement, he was generally satisfied. He started browsing the sample racks, but the styles were a bit too flamboyant for his taste, leaning heavily into the high-glamour aesthetic of the New York magical elite.
"Having trouble finding the right silhouette?"
The voice was like dark chocolate and velvet—husky, magnetic, and dripping with a confidence that demanded attention.
Allen turned and felt a momentary jolt of surprise. Standing before him was a woman who could only be described as a force of nature. Mrs. Klein was impeccably dressed in a gown of shifting silk that seemed to change color from deep emerald to obsidian depending on how she moved. Her jewelry wasn't just decorative; it glowed with a faint, rhythmic pulse, and her presence was so commanding that the other shoppers seemed to fade into the background.
"Mrs. Klein! A true honor to see you in the shop today!"
Allen blinked. The voice belonged to Leonard, but the man himself had undergone a radical transformation. Gone was the grouchy, cynical old Auror. In his place stood a polished gentleman, his back straight, his expression one of refined courtesy. If Allen didn't know better, he'd think Leonard had been swapped with a British Duke during the Apparition.
"Hello, Leonard. Still alive, I see," Mrs. Klein said, her lips curling into a playful, knowing smile. She didn't look at him for long, however. Her dark, sparkling eyes swung back to Allen, lingering on him with the intensity of a researcher discovering a new species.
In her world—the high-pressure, high-stakes world of magical couture—people were either clothes-hangers or inspirations. To her, Allen was a revelation. He had the kind of natural poise and striking features that Merlin usually reserved for the heroes of epic poems. He wasn't just a boy in a shop; he was a canvas.
"And this must be the guest I've heard rumors about," she purred. "Mr. Allen Harris, I presume?"
"He is indeed," Leonard said enthusiastically. "My most distinguished guest from across the pond."
Mrs. Klein stepped closer, her silk dress rustling like a secret. "I'm in the middle of finalizing my junior designs for the season, but they're missing a certain... spirit. Would you be a darling and help me out? I'd like you to try on a prototype."
"I'm not sure I'm the modeling type, Mrs. Klein," Allen started to say, his mind already drifting toward the bookstore down the street. "I was really hoping to finish up here quickly—"
"He'd be absolutely delighted!" Leonard cut in, his eyes wide and practically pleading with Allen. He was clearly trying to stay in Mrs. Klein's good graces, and Allen realized with a silent sigh that the old man was thoroughly smitten.
"It will be over before you can say Quidditch," Mrs. Klein promised, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Come, let's see what we can create."
She led them to the model area. With a flick of her wand, a mannequin draped in a half-finished dress simply vanished. Then, she pointed her wand at Allen. Beside him, a new mannequin began to grow out of the floor like a wooden sprout, rapidly shifting its proportions until it was an exact, life-sized replica of Allen's physique.
What followed was less like a fitting and more like a magical performance. Mrs. Klein didn't use pins or measuring tapes. She conducted the air. Bolts of charcoal-grey dragonhide silk and threads of spun silver began to weave themselves together in the air. Needles danced in a rhythmic blur, stitching seams with the precision of a master surgeon.
The robe that emerged was unlike anything Allen had seen at Hogwarts. it was sleek, with a high collar and subtle runic embroidery along the cuffs that shimmered with a dull, protective light. It was modern, powerful, and understated.
With a final flourish, the finished robe detached from the mannequin and drifted onto Allen, settling over his shoulders with the weightlessness of a shadow.
"Perfect," Leonard whispered, looking like he was about to applaud. "Unique, sophisticated, and perfectly suited for a wizard of your caliber! Mrs. Klein, you've outdone yourself."
Mrs. Klein flushed slightly at the praise, looking genuinely pleased. She reached out and smoothed a lapel on Allen's chest, her dark eyes locking onto his for a second longer than necessary. Then, she turned to Leonard and gave him a look so captivating it seemed to leave the old Auror dazed.
She gathered the hem of her silk skirt, revealing a glimpse of pale, elegant feet, and glided away toward the upper floors, her departure marked only by the fading scent of jasmine and the soft rustle of expensive fabric.
Allen couldn't help but chuckle. "I think you've lost your heart, Leonard."
"Quiet, you," Leonard muttered, though he couldn't hide the goofy grin on his face.
When it came time to pay, the clerk informed Allen that the robe had already been marked as a gift from Mrs. Klein herself. "She said you are the only one who deserves to wear that specific cut," the clerk added with a respectful nod.
Allen felt a bit uneasy about such a lavish gift. He reached into his spatial bag—his enchanted storage—and pulled out an exquisitely crafted golden rose. It was a rare artifact he'd acquired, enchanted to never wilt and to emit a soft, calming radiance.
"Please give this to Mrs. Klein," Allen told the clerk. "Tell her I hope she stays as eternal and vibrant as this flower."
When the gift was delivered, Mrs. Klein was reportedly so moved that she went back to her drawing board immediately, fueled by a new wave of inspiration.
Leaving the shop, Allen felt a surge of freedom. Leonard had decided to stay behind and wait for Jessica, who was currently embroiled in a "complex exfoliation" process.
"Go on, explore!" Leonard waved them off. "Filius will look after Ian. We'll meet back at the house later."
Allen was in his element. The street was a sensory overload of magical commerce. He watched as Ian stood transfixed in front of a shop window featuring a set of "Battle-Hardened" wizard chess pieces that were currently throwing miniature boulders at each other.
Allen, however, had a different mission. He stepped into a shop called The Whimsical Wand, which specialized in magical toys and curiosities. He didn't just browse; he went on a spree. He bought enchanted puzzles that changed shape every time you solved them, a set of self-painting canvas kits, and several "Mood Bears" that changed color based on the emotions of the person holding them.
"What are you doing with those?" Ian asked, tearing himself away from the chess set. "You're not exactly the doll-playing type, are you?"
"I have a younger sister," Allen said, his voice softening. The thought of Emily always brought a genuine smile to his face. "She's at that age where everything is magic to her. I want to make sure her Christmas is unforgettable."
"A doll that changes color... weird," Ian muttered, though he looked a bit impressed by the sheer volume of Allen's purchases.
After the toy shop, Allen turned to Professor Flitwick. "Professor, would you mind if I spent some time in the bookstore? I have a feeling I'm going to be in there for a while, and I don't want to hold you up."
Flitwick gave him a long list of safety warnings—ranging from "don't talk to strangers in dark cloaks" to "don't buy any books that scream"—before finally letting him go.
Watching Allen walk away with such purpose, Ian felt a strange pang of dejection. Here was a boy his age who was already a master of Transfiguration, a favorite of high-society designers, and apparently possessed a bottomless wallet and the maturity of a grown man.
Flitwick noticed the boy's slumped shoulders. He placed a gentle hand on Ian's arm. "Don't compare your Chapter One to someone else's Chapter Twenty, Ian. Life is a grand clock face. Everyone has their own hour, their own minute. Just because your hands aren't moving as fast as Allen's right now doesn't mean your time won't come. You just have to keep winding the gears."
Ian nodded, feeling a little better, and allowed himself to be led toward a shop selling enchanted sweets.
Meanwhile, Allen had reached the bookstore: The Ink & Quill. It was a cavernous space where the shelves reached so high they were lost in a magical fog, and books flew through the air like birds to reach their buyers.
Allen had learned from Jessica that Ilvermorny used a completely different set of core texts than Hogwarts. His curiosity was piqued. He didn't just buy a few samples; he walked up to the counter and ordered twenty complete sets of the Ilvermorny curriculum from year one to six.
"Twenty sets?" the shopkeeper asked, stunned. "Are you starting your own school?"
"Knowledge is the only currency that never devalues," Allen replied smoothly.
He then dove into the stacks, searching for the "Forbidden" or "Niche" sections. He found books on American Wand-Lore, indigenous magical herbs of the Appalachians, and a fascinating volume on "Jazz-Casting"—a rhythmic style of magic unique to the New York underground.
By the time he emerged, his spatial bag was considerably heavier, and his mind was already racing with the possibilities of these new spells. He wasn't just a student anymore; he was a collector of power, and New York was proving to be a goldmine.