"I'm sorry, Allen. We don't get to make the rules here. Especially not in Egypt, where the Ministry is... sensitive about their heritage." Arthur Weasley's voice was soft, carrying a heavy weight of apology, but his stance remained unyielding. He stood as a representative of a law he didn't necessarily like, but one he was forced to uphold.
Sayid, the Egyptian wizard, didn't share Arthur's internal conflict. He stepped forward, his wand tip glowing with a faint, silvery light. He had already been annoyed that his first attempt at the spell had been interrupted by a mere schoolboy. To Sayid, these British wizards were far too sentimental; magic was a tool of order, and Muggles were a chaos that needed to be managed.
"I believe you've had enough time for your dramatics," Sayid said, his tone as cold as the Nile at midnight. "Say your goodbyes. Now."
Nancy looked at the faces of the two boys she had survived a living nightmare with. She saw Ron's tear-streaked face and Allen's simmering, quiet fury. A strange sort of calm washed over her—the kind of clarity that only comes when you realize the exit is finally in sight, even if the price is the journey itself.
"Allen, Ron..." Nancy began, her voice steadying as she forced a smile. "It was... well, I can't say it was 'nice,' considering the scorpions. But I'm glad it was you two. I think I finally understand that I was never meant to step into a world like yours. It's too bright. Too dangerous."
Allen looked at her, his heart twisting with a mixture of guilt and professional annoyance. He wasn't just upset because he was losing a friend; he was irritated by the sheer inefficiency of the Statute of Secrecy.
What does it matter? Allen thought bitterly. If she goes home and tells her friends she saw a three-thousand-year-old king fly through a ceiling, they'll just put her in a padded cell. In a decade or so, when Muggles are all carrying cameras in their pockets and streaming their every breath online, these memory charms are going to be like trying to hold back the ocean with a tea strainer. But right now? I'm just a student. I don't have the weight to change the world. Not yet.
"I'm sorry, Nancy," Allen said, his voice a gentle murmur. He didn't offer any platitudes. He just held her gaze, wanting her to see that he respected her enough to be honest about the unfairness of it all.
Ron sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "It's not fair. You were brave. You were braver than half the people at school."
Nancy laughed, a watery, fragile sound. "Don't be sad, Ron. It won't hurt, right? Just a little sleep, and I'll be back to my boring life, wondering why I have sand in my shoes."
Even Arthur and Bill offered her encouraging, albeit pained, smiles. The Weasleys were unique among the old wizarding families; they didn't see Muggles as inferior animals, just as neighbors who happened to be missing a sense. To them, erasing her memory felt like a necessary tragedy, not a routine chore.
"Ready," Nancy whispered, her body trembling slightly, though her eyes remained locked on the boys, memorizing the shape of their faces one last time.
Sayid didn't wait. He flicked his wand, and a beam of pearlescent light struck Nancy square in the chest. Her eyes glazed over instantly, the light of recognition snuffing out like a candle in a breeze.
Before her body could even begin to slump, Arthur and Bill moved. "Hold tight!" Bill barked.
With a sound like a synchronized whip-crack, the four wizards vanished in a blur of Apparition.
Nancy blinked. She was standing on the banks of the Nile. The moon was high, and the river was beautiful, but she couldn't quite remember why she was out here so late. She looked down at her jacket, which was torn and dusty, and felt a strange, lingering ache in her chest—a sense of loss that had no name. Shaking her head, she began the long walk back toward the lights of the city, leaving the shadows of the pyramid behind.
"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"
The peace of the Egyptian night was shattered the moment they stepped into the safety of the Weasley's temporary lodgings. Molly Weasley didn't just look angry; she looked like a localized thunderstorm. Before anyone could speak, she flicked her wand, transmuting a nearby rolled-up newspaper into a solid, sturdy wooden switch.
"Mom—Mom, wait! It's a long story! We were trapped!" Ron scrambled backward, but Molly was a veteran of six older sons. Her Transfiguration was flawless, and her aim was even better.
"TRAPPED? I'LL SHOW YOU TRAPPED!" she roared, her aura filling the room. "HOW DARE YOU GO MISSING? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH? THE IMAGINATION OF A MOTHER IS A TERRIBLE THING, RONALD!"
Smack! Smack! Smack!
The wooden stick followed Ron like a heat-seeking missile, finding his backside with unerring accuracy. Ron leaped and dived over the furniture, howling more in shock than actual pain, though the sting was certainly real enough.
"We didn't mean to!" Ron yelled, dodging behind a sofa. "The floor fell through! It was a trap! We fought mummies, Mom! Real ones!"
Suddenly, the stick vanished. Molly lunged forward, but instead of another blow, she caught Ron in a crushing, rib-shattering embrace. She buried her face in his hair, her shoulders shaking. Ron, his face turning a spectacular shade of beet-red, went still. He could feel her tears soaking into his shirt. After a long minute, she pulled back, her eyes red and fierce.
"And you, Allen," she said, turning to him with a watery smile that was far gentler. "I know you tried to keep him safe. It must have been Ron being his usual, reckless self. I'm just glad you're both back in one piece."
Allen offered a polite, somewhat sheepish smile. He knew better than to correct her. In Molly's worldview, Allen was the "good influence," and Ron was the "chaos engine." It was a dynamic that worked in Allen's favor, so he simply nodded.
Despite her fury, Molly's love was best expressed through her cooking. Within the hour, she had somehow produced a full British spread in the middle of an Egyptian kitchen. There were no beef sandwiches—Ron's personal nemesis—but rather shepherd's pie, roasted vegetables, and enough gravy to drown a small horse.
At the table, Ron held court. As the warmth of the food and the safety of his family settled in, his natural storytelling instincts (and his habit of exaggeration) took over. He described the "army" of scorpions they had faced and how he had strategically guided them through the labyrinth. Allen didn't interrupt. He just ate, enjoying the simple comfort of being back in the world of the living. His mind, however, was already drifting across the sea, back to the rainy streets of Britain and the family he hadn't seen in weeks.
Once the desserts—three different types of honey-soaked Egyptian pastries—were cleared, the two boys were practically vibrating with exhaustion. Molly shooed them off to their shared room. Ron didn't even bother to change into pajamas; he hit the mattress and was snoring within thirty seconds.
Allen, however, sat on the edge of his bed, the moonlight filtering through the shutters. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, smooth purple crystal.
When the Basilisk's fang had pierced the scarab amulet in the tomb, the ancient gold had turned to ash, but this stone had remained. It felt cold to the touch, vibrating with a high-pitched magical frequency that only a sensitive wizard could feel. This was the "Energy Stone" the System had demanded.
He tucked it away into his storage space, and as he did, the familiar, chime-like prompts rang in his mind.
[Task 'Save the Trapped Soul' completed. Reward: One lottery draw chance.][Task 'Find the Pyramid Energy Stone' completed. Reward: One lottery draw chance.]
Allen's fatigue vanished, replaced by the sharp, addictive thrill of the gamble. He lay back and closed his eyes, visualizing the great, golden wheel of the System.
"Purple... give me a purple," he whispered in the silence of his mind.
The pointer spun, a blur of neon light, before slowing down with agonizing deliberation. It skipped past a blue segment, hopped over a red one, and finally settled on a vibrant yellow box.
Allen opened it. Inside were three thick, leather-bound volumes.
The Lure of Power, How to Gain Power, and... A Game of Thrones?
Allen pulled out the last one, flipping through the pages. It was a Muggle novel—and an unfinished one at that. He stared at it in disbelief. The System had given him a book that ended on a cliffhanger that would never be resolved? He nearly threw it back into the storage space in a fit of pique, but he stopped. The System rarely gave pure trash. He placed the books on his nightstand, deciding to analyze them later.
"One more," he muttered.
The wheel spun again. This time, it landed on a green box. It was smaller, humbler. Allen opened it to find a single, tattered piece of parchment.
He pulled it out, and as he read the title, his breath hitched. The parchment was thin, but the ink felt like it was written in liquid fire.
[Recipe: The Ancient Mana Potion]
This wasn't just a brew; it was a fundamental upgrade. According to the notes, the potion didn't just restore mana—it permanently expanded the wizard's "well." A successful brewing and consumption would increase a wizard's total mana potential by twenty to thirty percent.
Allen's mind raced. For someone like Dumbledore or Grindelwald, a thirty percent increase would be cataclysmic. It was the difference between being a genius and being a god. However, the catch was clearly stated at the bottom: the human body could only handle the transformation once. A second dose would be literal poison.
This is it, Allen thought, his fingers trembling as he clutched the paper. This is how I bridge the gap.
He tucked the recipe safely under his pillow, his mind finally allowing his body to rest. Tomorrow, they would begin the journey home, but today... today, he had become significantly more dangerous.