Allen looked like he had been dragged through a swamp backwards. His robes were shredded, his face was smeared with a mixture of mud and acromantula ichor, and his muscles felt like they had been replaced with lead weights. Yet, as he watched Malfoy and Marcus hobbling toward the castle, he knew he wasn't the one who needed the Hospital Wing.
The two Slytherins were in a sorry state. Being handled like ragdolls by giant spiders had done a number on their internal organs. Malfoy was clutching his side, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps, while Marcus seemed to be walking on legs made of jelly. They needed Madam Pomfrey's restorative draughts and perhaps a few days of bed rest to process the fact that they hadn't ended up as spider appetizers.
"They'll be fine," Penelope said, her hand resting gently on Allen's shoulder as they began the long climb back to Ravenclaw Tower. "A bit of bruising to the ego and the ribs, but they're alive. Because of you."
Allen didn't feel like a hero. He felt exhausted. As they navigated the moving staircases, he began to recount the frantic moments in the hollow—the way the shadows had seemed to swallow the light, the clicking of thousands of pincers, and the terrifying, sightless gaze of Aragog.
"Tina was the real game-changer," Allen admitted, his voice low. "If she hadn't crashed that party, we would have been overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. A wizard can only cast so many shields at once."
Penelope listened with rapt attention, her eyes wide. "Tina is magnificent. I've never seen anything like her. But Allen... you were flying two brooms? How? When we left for the forest, you weren't carrying anything. I would have noticed if you were lugging around a pair of racing brooms."
Allen stopped on a landing, the stone gargoyles watching them with silent curiosity. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the two broomsticks he had been carrying since they broke cover from the trees. To Penelope's eyes, they were just sticks—until Allen drew his wand.
"Reduction!"
With a precise flick, he applied the Shrinking Spell. The brooms, which had already been reduced to a manageable size, folded even further under his concentrated magic. They transformed into two elegant, palm-sized trinkets that looked more like expensive jewelry than high-end flying equipment. He tucked them into a hidden pocket of his robes with a nonchalant shrug.
"Magic, Penelope. It's quite useful for luggage management," he said, offering her a tired but elegant half-smile.
Penelope shook her head, a laugh bubbling up despite the gravity of the night. "You're a piece of work, Allen. Truly. Professor Flitwick always says you're the most 'efficient' student he's ever taught. Now I see what he means. You don't just learn magic; you weaponize convenience."
They reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. After a brief goodbye and a promise to sleep for at least twelve hours, Allen watched Penelope disappear through the door.
He didn't go to bed.
As soon as her footsteps faded, Allen spun on his heel. His exhaustion was momentarily eclipsed by a gnawing anxiety. He had to see the Occamy hatchling. He had to know that Tina's family was safe after she had risked everything to pull his neck out of the fire.
He slipped back into the shadows, his "Bodybuilding Technique" providing a second wind of pure adrenaline. He sprinted back toward the Forbidden Forest, the cold rain now a steady drizzle that slicked his hair to his forehead. He didn't care. He moved through the brush like a ghost, his senses dialed to the maximum.
When he reached the Crooked Tree, the site of Tina's nest, he skidded to a halt. The air here felt wrong. The vibrant, magical aura that usually clung to the Occamy's territory had been replaced by a suffocating, sterile silence. The bushes beneath the tree weren't just wet from the rain; they were charred, black, and brittle, as if the very life had been sucked out of the soil.
"Lumos," he whispered.
The light revealed a graveyard. Dozens of small woodland birds—orioles, finches, even a few owls—lay scattered among the blackened leaves. There were no wounds on them. No blood. They simply looked... empty.
Allen scrambled up the tree, his heart hammering against his ribs. The nest was empty. Not a feather, not a shell fragment, and no Tina.
A cold dread settled in his stomach. No news is good news, he told himself, trying to steady his breathing. Tina is smart. She wouldn't stay in a compromised nest.
He thought of Gaia. The unicorns were the guardians of the forest's purity; if something had moved through here, they would know. He shifted his direction, pushing his body to the limit as he ran toward the unicorns' hidden glade.
As he neared the clearing, he looked up. A familiar, shimmering blue shape was circling high above the canopy. Relief washed over him so suddenly he stumbled, his foot catching on a gnarled root. He went down hard, his palms stinging as they scraped against the earth, but he was laughing breathlessly.
"Tina!" he called out, revealing himself as he scrambled up.
The Occamy spiraled down, shrinking her size until she was roughly the height of a man. She landed softly, her iridescent feathers ruffled.
"Tina, the little one? Where is she?"
Tina tilted her head toward a familiar wicker basket sitting near the base of a silver-barked tree. It was the basket Gaia used to gather moon-ripened fruit. Inside, curled into a tight, shimmering ball, the Occamy hatchling was fast asleep, its tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, peaceful cadence.
"Allen, you're back," a melodic voice resonated. Gaia stepped out from the shadows of the glade, her white wings folded tightly against her flanks. "I see you're looking for the passenger."
"Gaia... thank you. I went to the nest. It was... dead. Everything was dead."
Gaia's expression turned somber. She pawed at the silver grass with a hoof. "When I returned from taking your friend to the edge, I found the little one crying. The forest around the tree was turning to ash. I didn't wait to see what was causing it. I took her here, to the heart of our protection. Tina found us shortly after."
Allen turned to Tina. "What happened back there? That wasn't just a predator. That was... something else."
Tina let out a sharp, jagged cry that set Allen's teeth on edge. Her pupils contracted into tiny slits. "The Bane," she hissed, her voice a mix of terror and hatred. "The one who walks in the shadows of the stone hive. The eater of souls and insects."
"The monster in the castle?" Allen asked, his mind immediately jumping to the Chamber of Secrets. "You mean the Basilisk?"
Tina shook her head violently, her feathers vibrating. "No. The Great Serpent is a lord of death, but it is honest. This... this thing is a void. It does not kill for hunger. It kills to exist. I cannot speak the name, Allen. To speak it is to invite the gaze."
Allen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. If a creature as powerful as a full-grown Occamy was trembling at the mere thought of this entity, Hogwarts was far less safe than Dumbledore liked to claim.
"If it's found your nest once, it will find it again," Allen said, his voice firming up. "Tina, you can't stay in the forest. Not until this is over. I have a place. A sanctuary where the 'void' cannot reach."
Tina looked skeptical, her head tilting from side to side. "The stone hive is its hunting ground. Where could you hide us?"
Allen smiled. He focused his mind, tapping into the unique magical dimension he had been cultivating. With a shimmer of golden light, he summoned his Niffler. The little creature appeared in his palm, clutching a shiny silver button and looking thoroughly pleased with itself. Its fur was glossy, its eyes bright, and it radiated a sense of total well-being.
"This is my Pet World," Allen explained, showing the healthy Niffler to the two magical beasts. "It's a pocket dimension tied to my soul. It has everything—forests, mountains, endless food, and most importantly, it is inaccessible to anyone but me. The Bane cannot find you there because, for all intents and purposes, you won't be in this world anymore."
Tina leaned in, her beak inches from the Niffler. She seemed to sense the purity of the space the creature had come from. She looked at her sleeping hatchling, then back at Allen. The trust they had forged in the spider's pit was the deciding factor.
"If the little one can grow in peace... then we will go."
Allen nodded solemnly. He reached out, his magic expanding to encompass Tina and the basket. In an instant, they were gone.
In his mind's eye, Allen watched the transformation of his Pet World. The previously quiet sector adjacent to the Niffler's burrow shifted and surged. A massive, ancient tree erupted from the ground, its branches sprawling wide to support a nest lined with enchanted silk. A small stream of crystal-clear water wound its way through the new territory.
Tina appeared in the center of the clearing. She looked around, her eyes widening as she took in the limitless horizon and the rich, magical atmosphere. She hopped onto the high branch, placed the basket in the nest, and let out a long, melodious trill of approval.