2: Chapter 2 Hagrid the Savage and the Mighty Meat Shield

The morning, three days later, and the rain in London had yet to stop.

On the second floor of St. Marys Orphanage, the storage room smelled of moldy oatmeal mixed with dampness, so stifling it was hard to breathe. Allen was curled up on an old bed, fast asleep.

Deep within his consciousness, his Portable Space was expanding bit by bit. The boundary swallowed the void, and the blank space was pushed into his control zone. With only half an inch left, a new level was about to be pried open.

The longer he slept, the stronger he became.

This was his greatest asset in this world.

"Bang, bang, bang!"

The door shuddered under the pounding, and plaster fell from the walls. The wooden corridor shook, and someone in the orphanage let out a scream, only to immediately cover their mouth.

"Open the door, I know you're in there, boy of the Potter Family!"

The voice outside was terrifyingly gruff, making the iron bed frame hum.

Allen's consciousness was forcibly dragged back.

The next moment, the door groaned as it was smashed off its hinges by brute force, spinning into the corner and scattering wood shavings everywhere.

The boy on the bed opened his eyes.

Interrupted.

He had been just a hair's breadth away from touching the new level of his Portable Space.

Allen pushed himself up, his black eyes devoid of sleepiness, replaced only by the gloom of having his progress ruined.

"You have ten seconds to explain."

He looked at the doorway, his voice icy.

"If you can't explain yourself, you'll likely be breathing through your mouth for the rest of your life."

A behemoth stood outside the door frame.

The man was too tall to be a normal Wizard, his messy hair and beard almost obscuring his entire face, and his mole-skin coat was wide enough to serve as a tent. The storage room was already cramped; his presence made the air in the room feel scarce.

The Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, the half-Giant Rubeus Hagrid.

Allen's gaze drifted past Hagrid, spotting a scrawny boy hiding behind him.

The boy clutched the edge of Hagrid's coat, peeking out. His old, round glasses were held together by tape, his black hair was a mess, and the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead was impossible to hide.

Harry Potter.

The Chosen One.

The hurdle in Lord Voldemort's destiny.

And in Allen's eyes, the most useful shield.

"Oh, sorry, sorry." Hagrid squeezed into the room, his boots creaking on the floorboards, "This door was far too flimsy. I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. You must be Allen Potter, right?"

He scratched his head, lowering his voice slightly, though the room still hummed with his presence.

"You and James, er, that is, your uncle, you do look a bit alike. But your eyes, tsk, they don't look like those of an eleven-year-old."

Harry stood behind Hagrid, staring at Allen for a long time.

The same black hair, the same surname Potter.

When he left the Dursley family, Hagrid told him he had one relative left in the world.

This thought had sustained him the whole way.

"You, you're also named Potter?"

Harry finally spoke, his throat tight.

"Hagrid said you were the only relative I have in this world."

The room went quiet for a moment.

Allen's brow twitched.

As expected, this body was Harry's cousin.

In the original story, James Potter never had any brothers. It seemed the butterfly effect of his transmigration had forcefully granted him a legitimate identity.

As for being a relative?

Allen looked at Harry, who appeared like someone long abused who had suddenly found a lifeline, but felt not a ripple in his heart.

Blood-relative filters, brotherly love—those things were useless to him.

In his eyes, Harry might as well have had five words written on his forehead: Natural Scapegoat.

"I am Allen Potter."

He kicked off the covers and got out of bed, smoothing his wrinkled collar.

"As for being relatives, if you mean we share some of the same genes, then sure."

Harry stood frozen.

He had expected a hug, or at least a word of welcome.

But there was nothing in the look Allen gave him.

When Dudley bullied him, the malice was written all over his face. This cousin was different; he couldn't even be bothered to show malice.

"Ahem, ahem."

Hagrid, likely sensing the awkward atmosphere, quickly waved his fan-sized hand.

"Alright, you two, there's plenty of time for reunions later. We need to go to London now to get your school supplies. Professor Dumbledore specifically instructed me to ensure you both get to school safely."

Having said that, Hagrid turned and walked out, his broad back blocking most of the corridor.

Allen grabbed the worn coat by the bed, threw it on, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked past Harry.

"Still standing there?"

He didn't look back.

"Do you intend to go to Hogwarts dressed like that?"

Harry bit his lip, the anticipation in his eyes fading a bit, but he hurried to follow.

At the end of the corridor, Mrs. Martha huddled in a corner with a few orphans. Hagrid's size had terrified them, and no one dared to stop them.

Once Allen walked past, she stared at his back, gritting her teeth and cursing under her breath.

"Damn freak, finally getting out of here."

Allen paused for a split second.

He didn't look back.

The permanently broken chandelier above suddenly came loose, crashing straight down and landing right on Mrs. Martha's foot.

"Ah! My toes!"

Mrs. Martha clutched her foot, rolling on the ground, her screams echoing down the corridor.

Hagrid turned back, looking confused.

"Oh, Muggle buildings are truly terrible. Are you two alright?"

"We're fine."

Allen walked past her without even sparing a glance.

"Retribution arrived right on time."

Harry's Adam's apple bobbed.

He felt that was definitely not an accident.

When he looked at Allen again, the curiosity in his eyes had lessened, replaced by awe.

The three of them left the orphanage and squeezed onto the subway to downtown London.

As soon as Hagrid's massive frame entered the carriage, the surrounding Muggles immediately moved aside. Some pretended to read newspapers, others stared at his mole-skin coat before quickly looking away.

Hagrid himself felt nothing, continuing to tell Harry about the Wizarding world.

"You-Know-Who, you know, Harry? That's a person whose name cannot even be spoken."

He tried to lower his voice, but it still sounded like he was shouting right in people's ears.

Harry's eyes lit up as he listened.

"So, my mom and dad, were they really..."

"Yes." Hagrid's beard trembled, "James and Lily were both brave people. You survived, Harry; that fact made the whole Wizarding world remember you."

Allen, sitting opposite, leaned against the seat back, his eyelids half-lowered, looking as if he could fall asleep at any moment.

Hagrid glanced at him and muttered.

"Does this kid have narcolepsy?"

Harry looked at Allen and lowered his voice.

"Maybe. He seems sleepy all the time."

Neither of them noticed that Allen was not asleep.

His mental energy had already spread out, bypassing seats, passengers, and metal handrails, covering several meters around him.

He was testing his soul defense.

Just as Hagrid said You-Know-Who, a faint ripple of Dark Arts drifted from afar, carrying the scent of prying and marking, sweeping toward this carriage.

The curse sensing left by Lord Voldemort on his name.

The scar on Harry's forehead twitched slightly.

That ripple swept past Hagrid, brushed against Harry, and finally touched Allen.

On the outside of Allen's soul, that independent layer of interdimensional space rippled slightly.

The Dark Arts magic drilled in, failed to leave any trace, and was instantly swallowed.

Absolute soul immunity.

All mental probes and soul attacks were ineffective against him.

Allen's eyelids lowered further.

Not even the Dark Lord's curse sensing could see through him.

Then Dumbledore's Legilimency would likely only see a blank space, clean to the point of suspicion.

With this trump card, it wouldn't be so easy for those old foxes at Hogwarts to catch him out.

"We're here, the Leaky Cauldron."

Hagrid stood up, his head nearly touching the ceiling of the carriage.

"Stick close to me, lads. The gates to the Wizarding world are about to open for you."

Allen opened his eyes and lazily stretched his shoulders and neck.

He looked out the window at the gray London, the sleepiness in his eyes slowly fading.

"Let's go."

He stepped out of the carriage.

"Go and see those lambs waiting to be slaughtered."