"No!" Penelope's shriek echoed sharply against the cold limestone as she lost her footing, hitting the damp, slick floor of the cave with a sickening thud.
In that split second of pure, unthinking instinct, she didn't try to save herself. She reached out, her fingers catching the fabric of Allen's robes, and yanked him down toward her. Using her height advantage, she curled her body over his, squeezing her eyes shut and bracing for the impact of what she thought was a collapsing mountain. She waited for the crushing weight, the finality of stone on bone.
Instead of cold rock, she felt a pair of strong, steady arms wrap around her waist. With a surge of strength that shouldn't have belonged to a boy his age, Allen reversed their positions, pulling her back and shielding her beneath him in a profoundly safe embrace.
Allen had sensed the shift in the air a second before the "ceiling" fell. It wasn't the sound of grinding tectonic plates; it was the sound of leather and hunger.
"Don't move!" Allen grunted. He couldn't spare the breath for explanations. His right hand, pinned momentarily by Penelope's weight, wrenched free. While keeping his body low to provide her cover, he thrust his wand upward into the swirling gloom.
"Incendio!"
A roaring jet of orange flame erupted from his wand tip, cutting a searing path through the falling darkness. The cave was suddenly filled with the stench of singed fur and the high-pitched, agonizing whistles of creatures caught in the blast. All around them, heavy bodies began to thud onto the stone floor—not rocks, but something alive.
Penelope's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She risked a glance upward from the safety of Allen's arms, and her breath hitched. It wasn't the ceiling. It was a living carpet of thousands upon thousands of black bats. They were diving in a frenzied, coordinated swarm, their wings flapping with enough force to create a localized gale.
Allen was a whirlwind of motion. He didn't just use fire; he transitioned into a series of rapid-fire 'Multicorfors' charms. The spells didn't just hit the bats; they turned the falling, charred remains of the front line into high-speed projectiles that he telekinetically hurled back into the heart of the swarm. It was a brutal, efficient display of combat magic that left the air thick with soot and gray ash.
Seeing the boy fighting like a veteran, Penelope's shock transitioned into a cold, Ravenclaw focus. She rolled out from under him, drawing her own wand with a steady hand. "Glacius!" she commanded, her voice cutting through the screeching.
A wave of frost rippled outward, freezing a dozen bats mid-flight. They shattered like glass when they hit the floor. Despite their losses, the bats seemed driven by a singular, malevolent will. They ignored their fallen kin, swirling into a dense, chattering wall that completely obstructed the path they had come from.
"They've cut us off!" Penelope shouted over the din, her eyes darting to the black mass blocking the exit.
"They're guarding the way out, not the way in," Allen noted, his brow drenched in sweat. Constant high-level casting was beginning to sap his reserves. "We have to go deeper!"
"I am officially done with Hogsmeade!" Penelope spat, sending a Blasting Curse into a cluster of bats that got too close. "I hate these things!"
Allen grabbed her hand, and they bolted toward a narrow, winding side-tunnel. Curiously, as soon as they crossed the threshold of this new passage, the bats stopped. They fluttered at the entrance, their red eyes gleaming in the wandlight, whistling and squeaking in a frustrated chorus, but they wouldn't step foot—or wing—into the deeper tunnel.
The air grew colder here. Drier. Allen kept his back to the wall, his hand still firmly entwined with Penelope's. They moved cautiously, the silence of the new tunnel feeling even more threatening than the noise of the bats.
The passage opened into an oval chamber that looked almost like a natural amphitheater. But before they could scan the room, a blinding, white-hot light exploded in front of them.
"Cover your eyes!" Allen yelled, but the flash was too quick.
"It's a Zoccor's Flashbomb!" Penelope gasped, her vision swimming in white spots. "An ambush—!"
Before she could finish, a cold, skeletal hand clamped around her throat. She let out a strangled whimper as her wand was ripped from her numb fingers.
"Penelope!" Allen forced his eyes open, ignoring the stinging pain behind his lids.
In the fading, flickering halo of the flashbomb, the intruder stood revealed. He looked less like a man and more like a nightmare that had crawled out of a mass grave. His hair was a matted, filthy curtain that reached his elbows, and his skin was a waxy, sickly pale color, stretched so tight over his cheekbones that he looked like a living skull. When he grinned, it was a hollow, terrifying sight.
He was holding Penelope's wand, the tip trembling but pointed directly at her chest.
"Sirius Black," Allen said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register.
The man's deep-set eyes flickered with a spark of genuine surprise. "So... the tall one isn't an Auror? You're just... children. Hogwarts students?"
His voice was a dry, rasping croak, the sound of a man who hadn't spoken to another human soul in years. At the mention of the name 'Sirius Black,' the blood drained from Penelope's face. To her, this wasn't a man; it was the bogeyman of every headline for the last six months—the mass murderer who had broken the unbreakable prison.
"Kid... drop the stick," Black rasped, nodding toward Allen's wand.
"Don't you dare, Allen!" Penelope choked out, her face reddening under the pressure of his grip. "Go! Run and get the professors!"
"Quiet, little girl," Black muttered, his bony fingers tightening just enough to silence her.
Allen's mind raced. He knew the history. He knew Black was innocent of the betrayal, but he also knew the man was currently a cornered, half-mad animal who had just tried to ambush two students. He couldn't take chances.
Allen slowly crouched, his movements deliberate and non-threatening. He placed his wand on the cold floor. Then, he stood up, raising his empty hands to show he was "disarmed." He needed an opening. He needed Black to believe he had already won.
"Where is he? Where is Harry Potter?" Black's eyes were frantic, burning with a feverish intensity. "Tell me! Is he in the village? Is he here?"
"He's at the castle," Allen replied steadily, keeping his eyes locked on Black's. "Under the protection of Dumbledore. He's safe. Now, let the girl go. You don't want her blood on your hands."
A flicker of something—regret? Pain?—crossed Black's gaunt features. "I'm sorry, children. Truly. But you can't be part of this story. Obliviate!"
Black swung Penelope's wand toward Allen, the incantation leaving his lips with desperate speed.
"No!" Penelope screamed, thrashing in his grip.
Black, overconfident in his victory over a "wandless" boy, didn't account for the fact that Allen wasn't an ordinary student.
"Protego!" Allen shouted.
On the floor several feet away, Allen's wand flared. An invisible, shimmering dome of force erupted around Allen. Because the wand wasn't in his hand, the shield was weaker—wobbly and translucent—but it was enough. The Memory Charm hit the shield and skittered off into the wall, showering the room in blue sparks.
(In the wizarding world, true wandless magic is the pinnacle of skill, but remote casting—manipulating one's own wand from a short distance—is a rare bridge. It requires a profound connection to the wood and core, something Allen had cultivated through his unique studies.)
Black froze, his jaw dropping. He'd seen Aurors with twenty years of experience fail that move. Before he could recover, Allen lunged. He didn't go for his wand; he went for Black.
He slammed into the emaciated man, his youth and health proving more than a match for Black's prison-wasted frame. He grabbed Black's wrists, twisting them away to prevent another spell.
Penelope, seeing her chance, slammed her elbow into Black's ribs and broke free. She scrambled toward the floor where Allen's wand lay.
Black was snarling now, a feral, canine sound. "Smart kid... too smart!"
Realizing the girl was about to get a wand, Black dropped Penelope's wand entirely. He was a tall man, and despite his malnutrition, he had the reach of an adult. He swung a jagged, bony fist, catching Allen in the stomach. Allen gasped, the air leaving his lungs, but he managed to hook his leg behind Black's, sending them both crashing into the stone wall.
Penelope scooped up Allen's wand. She pointed it at the struggling pair. "Stupefy!"
A stream of chaotic, golden sparks erupted from the tip, nearly singeing the hair off Allen's head. She let out a cry of frustration. Allen's wand—with its specific loyalty and powerful core—was fighting her. It felt like trying to hold a live wire.
"Use your hands, Penelope!" Allen roared as he pinned Black's shoulders against the wall.
Penelope didn't need to be told twice. She saw Black preparing to bite or headbutt Allen, and she channeled all her fear and Ravenclaw indignation into her right leg. She delivered a sharp, brutal kick directly into Black's pubic bone.
The sound that left Black's throat wasn't human. It was a high-pitched, yelping howl, eerily similar to a dog that had its tail stepped on. He doubled over, his grip on Allen slackening.
"Ouch..." Allen winced in sympathetic pain, but he didn't stop. As Black staggered, Penelope delivered a second, follow-up kick with the precision of a professional seeker.
"That's for the neck-grabbing!" she yelled.
The second blow took the last of the fight out of Sirius. He slumped to the ground, panting heavily, his face buried in the dirt as he whimpered in sheer, unadulterated agony. Allen didn't hesitate; he dropped his full weight onto Black's back, pinning the man's shriveled arms behind him.
"Got him," Allen panted, his knuckles bruised and his heart racing.
Penelope stood over them, clutching Allen's wand like a club, while she used her other hand to retrieve her own wand from the floor. "Allen... we have to call the Ministry. We have to get the Dementors."
Allen looked down at the pathetic, trembling man beneath him. He thought about the stories—about the betrayal of the Potters, the explosion in the street. But he also thought about the hollow look in Black's eyes. And he remembered the Memory Charm. Black hadn't tried to kill them; he had tried to make them forget.
"Wait," Allen said, his voice torn.
In that moment of hesitation, Black's body began to warp. It was a sickening, fluid motion—his limbs shrinking, his ragged clothes merging into coarse, black fur.
"He's changing!" Penelope shrieked, backing away.
Before Allen could tighten his grip, he was no longer holding a man. A massive, bear-like black dog exploded upward from the floor. The sheer force of the transformation threw Allen backward.
The dog didn't attack. It didn't growl. It gave one lingering, haunted look at the two of them—its yellow eyes filled with a strange mix of shame and desperation—and then it bolted. It vanished into the dark crevices of the oval room, moving with a speed no human could match.
"He's... he's an Animagus," Penelope whispered, her voice trembling as she lowered her wand.
"An unregistered one," Allen added, standing up and brushing the stone dust from his robes. He looked at the spot where the dog had disappeared. "The Ministry has no idea. He's not on the list."
Penelope stepped closer to him, her hands still shaking. She reached out, her fingers glowing with a soft, blue light as she began to cast 'Reparo' on the tears in his clothes and 'Episkey' on his bruised knuckles.