The silence that followed the flash of light was more than just an absence of sound; it was a physical weight. Allen spun around, his wand-tip still glowing with the remnants of the silver magic he'd channeled into the lamp.
"Luna?"
The name felt small in the sudden vastness of the cellar. He checked the corners, the space behind the crates, even the shadows under the ladder. Nothing. Luna Lovegood had vanished as if she had been nothing more than a trick of the light.
"Luna! This isn't funny!" Allen shouted, his voice cracking slightly. He scrambled back up the vine-covered ladder, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He burst into the kitchen area, expecting to see her sitting at the table or perhaps petting Fang.
But the dog was gone too. The room was perfectly still, the only sound being the simulated roar of the storm above.
A cold, prickling sensation crawled up Allen's spine. He had faced the specter of Voldemort in the forest, he had stared down dark wizards and survived the pressures of the System, but this felt different. There was no enemy to hit with a curse, no logic to follow. It was just a void where a friend should be.
Responsibility. The word echoed in his mind. He was the one who had dragged her into this hidden realm. He was the one who had encouraged her to explore. If she was lost to some ancient Hufflepuff trap, the guilt would be a weight he could never put down. Beyond that, there was a strange, hollow ache in his chest. In the short time he'd known her, Luna's presence had become a sort of anchor—her calm, surreal optimism acting as the perfect counterweight to his own calculated, often cynical worldview.
"Calm down, Allen. Think," he hissed to himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He forced his feet to move, returning to the trapdoor. The Dark Chamber below beckoned like an open mouth. He climbed back down, the floorboards groaning under his weight, though he barely heard them. His eyes were fixed on the mirror. It was the only constant in this shifting nightmare.
As he approached the glass, he caught sight of his own reflection. His hair was a chaotic mess, his face pale and slick with sweat. He looked like a ghost of himself.
"Okay," he whispered, staring at the chain. "The magic goes in, the light comes on, and things change. It's a transition point."
He raised his wand, preparing to channel more magic into the lamp, but a movement in the reflection caught his eye. His breath hitched. Behind his reflected shoulder, two dark, bottomless eyes were staring back at him from the darkness outside the mirror's frame.
Allen pivoted instantly, his wand carving a glowing arc through the air. "Stupefy!"
The red bolt hit the far wall, showering the room in sparks. There was nothing there. Just empty air and the smell of ozone.
He turned back to the mirror, his pulse thundering in his ears. The eyes were still there, fixed on him with an intensity that felt predatory. They weren't just watching; they were measuring him.
Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder.
The contact was light, almost a caress, but to Allen's over-stimulated nerves, it felt like an electric shock. Years of combat training took over; he didn't scream, he reacted. He lunged forward, his shoulder slamming into the wooden frame of the mirror with a dull thud that sent a jolt of pain through his arm.
"Luna!" he gasped, his voice tight, as if a hand were clamped around his throat.
"My, you're certainly jumpy today, Allen," a voice said.
Luna was standing right there, leaning against the pedestal of the mirror. She was grinning—a wide, toothy expression that looked entirely too energetic for someone who had just vanished into thin air.
Allen didn't move. He kept his wand leveled at her chest, his eyes darting between her face and the mirror. The eyes in the reflection... they were the same. Dark. Void-like.
"Where did you go?" Allen demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of relief and growing suspicion. "I looked everywhere. You weren't in the kitchen. You weren't here."
"I was just playing a game," she said, shrugging her shoulders. The movement was sharp, almost bird-like. "I was hiding behind the mirror. It's a very good hiding spot, you know. I watched you run out like a headless chicken. It was quite funny."
She laughed then, a loud, jarring sound that lacked the melodic, airy quality of the real Luna's giggle.
Allen felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. Something is wrong. The tone, the laugh, the way she was standing—it was all "Luna," but seen through a distorted lens.
"Wait," Allen whispered. He looked closer. Her eyes.
In the dim light of the cellar, they looked black. Entirely black. But he remembered clearly—Luna Lovegood's eyes were the color of a winter sky, a pale, silvery-grey that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. These eyes held nothing but hunger.
"Luna," Allen said softly, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "Where is your wand?"
The girl in front of him blinked, her smile never wavering. She reached into her sleeve and produced a wand, twirling it between her fingers with a dexterity that the real Luna, with her somewhat clumsy grace, never displayed. "Right here! Why? Do you want to play a different game?"
"You're far too mischievous today," Allen said, forcing a small, tight smile onto his face. He began to walk toward her, his footsteps light on the creaking wood. "Don't pull pranks like that in a place like this. You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"I'm sorry, Allen," she said, her voice dropping into a pouty, girlish tone. "I didn't mean to—"
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell left Allen's wand like a thunderclap. The "Luna" was caught completely off guard. Her wand was torn from her hand, spinning across the room to clatter against the far wall, and the force of the charm sent her reeling back. She slammed into the stone wall of the basement with a sickening crack.
"What are you doing?!" she shrieked, clutching her side. "Allen, you're hurting me! Are you crazy?"
"Who are you?" Allen growled, his wand-tip glowing a fierce, angry white. "And where is she?"
"I'm Luna! Look at me!" She looked up, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to flicker. The blackness receded, replaced by a pale, watery grey. Tears began to well up, spilling down her cheeks. "It's me, Allen! I was just joking! Please, stop!"
Allen felt a momentary flicker of doubt, but he crushed it. The performance was too perfect. The real Luna didn't "plead" or "cry" when things got dangerous; she usually observed the danger with the detached curiosity of a botanist looking at a new fungus. This girl was making a scene.
"You're good," Allen said, his voice cold as ice. "But Luna doesn't keep her wand in her sleeve. She keeps it behind her ear for safekeeping, 'just in case.' And she definitely doesn't know how to act like a victim."
His anger flared, a hot, white flame in his chest. "I'll ask one last time. Where is she?"
"Homenum Revelio!"
The spell washed over the girl, a wave of golden light designed to reveal the presence of human beings. The light passed through her, illuminating her physical form, but it didn't reveal a hidden intruder. She stood there, looking innocent and broken.
If the spell says she's human, then the body is hers, Allen realized with a jolt of horror. But the mind... the soul...
He didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, ignoring her screams. He grabbed her by the throat, pinning her against the wall. With his other hand, he pulled a small, glowing gem from his pocket—Merlin's Gem, an artifact he'd been saving for a true emergency.
"Out," he hissed.
He pressed the gem against her forehead.
An ear-piercing shriek, not human in origin, ripped through the room. A plume of thick, oily black smoke erupted from the girl's mouth and eyes, swirling around Allen like a miniature cyclone before vanishing into the rafters of the cellar.
The girl's body went limp. Allen caught her before she hit the floor, lowering her gently. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. He checked her pulse, then her magical signature.
"Her body is here," Allen whispered, his face pale. "But her soul... it's gone. It's been pulled somewhere else."
He couldn't leave her here, not like this.
"Maggie!" he called out.
With a soft pop, the house-elf appeared, her large eyes wide with terror as she looked at the unconscious girl. "Master Allen! What has happened to the Miss?"
"No time to explain," Allen said urgently. "Take her. Get her out of this room. Find a safe place in the house above and guard her. If anything—anything at all—approaches you, use your magic and get her out of here. Do you understand?"
"Maggie understands, Master," the elf squeaked, grabbing Luna's hand. With another pop, they were gone.
Allen stood alone in the dark chamber. He turned his gaze back to the mirror. The black smoke had come from the glass, he was sure of it.
"You want me?" he challenged the empty air. "Fine. Let's see what you've got."
He raised his wand and poured every ounce of his remaining magical energy into the lamp chain. He didn't just pull it; he commanded it to break.
The light that erupted this time wasn't white. It was a kaleidoscope of colors, a prismatic blast that shattered the darkness. Allen shielded his eyes, feeling the world tilt on its axis. The floor beneath him seemed to dissolve, turning into something smooth and cold.
When he finally lowered his arms, the cellar was gone.
He was standing in a room where the walls, the ceiling, and even the floor were made of glass. Mirrors upon mirrors, stretching into an infinite, recursive distance.
Allen raised his wand. In every direction, a thousand Allens raised their wands in perfect unison. He took a step, and a thousand boots clicked against the glass floor. It was a world of perfect symmetry, a prison of self-reflection.
Then, he heard it.
"Allen..."
It wasn't a voice. It was the sound of wind through dry grass, a soft, rustling hiss that seemed to come from the air itself.
"Allen..."
The sound was ethereal, drifting through the mirror-space like a lost thought. It was so close he could almost feel the vibration against his skin, yet when he looked at the Allens in the mirrors, they all looked just as confused as he was.