6: Chapter 6 The Temptation of Lady Malkin's Robes Shop

Leaving Flourish and Blotts, Harry carried his textbooks in his arms, walking much slower than before.

It wasn't that the books were heavy; it was that his head felt heavy.

He had just seen a wand that chose its own master, seen piles of gold coins, and heard Lucius Malfoy talk about "stances" in that uncomfortably polite way.

The magical world was not quite what he had imagined.

Not everyone would embrace him just because he was Harry Potter.

At least, Allen Potter wouldn't.

Rubeus Hagrid bought two pumpkin pasties from the street, shoved one to Harry, and handed the other to Allen.

Allen took a look.

"I don't eat sweets."

Rubeus Hagrid scratched his beard: "Why are you so picky, kid?"

"It's training from the orphanage diet. Being alive is good enough; being picky is another matter."

Harry lowered his head and took a bite of the pasty, not daring to interject.

Rubeus Hagrid led them into a robe shop.

The sign at the door read: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

The shop was much brighter than Flourish and Blotts. Black robes hung along the walls, and several new students stood on footstools, being measured by tape measures.

A short, stout Witch walked up with a professional smile on her face.

"Hogwarts new student? Dear, you've come at just the right time. Step up; I'll be done measuring in no time."

Harry was pushed onto the footstool on the left.

Allen stepped onto the right.

Madam Malkin waved her wand, and two tape measures flew up and circled around the two of them.

This time, Allen did not let his Spatial Displacement repel the tape measures.

It was just buying clothes; there was no need to scare the tailor.

"Good shoulder width, but you're both too thin." Madam Malkin looked at Allen, then at Harry. "You two should eat more."

Harry smiled awkwardly.

Allen yawned: "I suggest you write a letter to the British Orphanage Association."

Madam Malkin paused, pretended she hadn't heard, and continued measuring the sleeve length.

The shop door bell rang.

Draco Malfoy walked in.

Behind him, there was no Lucius, only a servant holding a parcel, standing far away at the door. Without his father suppressing him, the arrogance returned to Draco's face.

He saw Harry, then saw Allen, and his footsteps paused.

"What a coincidence."

Harry glanced at him: "Hello."

Draco ignored Harry and walked straight to the footstool next to Allen.

Madam Malkin hurriedly greeted him: "Mr. Malfoy, your robes are ready to be measured too. Please step up."

Draco stepped onto the third footstool, and the tape measure began to work.

He turned his head and sized up Allen.

"You said earlier in the bookstore that you didn't represent Harry."

Allen closed his eyes: "Good memory."

Draco was choked up, but he held it in.

"So which branch of the Potter Family are you exactly? My father said the Potter Family used to be considered an ancient family, but they got too close to certain people later on."

Harry looked up.

He didn't understand this "too close," but he could tell it sounded unpleasant.

Allen didn't open his eyes.

"My father was James Potter's own brother. Pure-blood, a branch of the Potter Family. My parents died early, so I didn't have time to participate in your adults' team-picking games."

Hearing "pure-blood," Draco's attitude relaxed slightly.

"Then why are you in an orphanage?"

"Because dead people can't raise children."

Madam Malkin's hand, cutting the thread, paused for a beat.

Harry's throat went dry.

Draco was also stuck. He had prepared a few Malfoy-style taunts, but the words were too blunt, making them hard to respond to.

Allen finally opened his eyes and looked at Draco in the mirror.

"Any more questions?"

Draco pursed his lips.

"Will you enter Slytherin?"

Harry's hand gripped the hem of his robe.

He wanted to hear the answer to this question too.

Allen looked at his black school robe in the mirror, his tone casual.

"The Sorting Hat decides."

Draco was dissatisfied: "I'm asking if you want to."

"Slytherin has resources, families, and rules. Gryffindor has courage, impulse, and a tradition of losing points." Allen paused, "I don't like losing deals."

Draco understood the second half, and his eyes lit up.

"So, you will choose Slytherin."

"I only said I don't like losing deals."

Harry finally couldn't help but speak: "Gryffindor isn't just about impulse."

Allen looked at him.

"How many Gryffindors do you know?"

Harry shut his mouth.

Draco chuckled.

Harry's face burned, but he couldn't refute it. He had just entered the magical world; he didn't even understand what the houses were.

Allen withdrew his gaze.

He didn't dislike Harry.

But Harry brought trouble with him.

Dumbledore's arrangements, Lord Voldemort's soul fragment, the public expectations behind the name of The Chosen One—none of it was clean. Getting too close would only get him dragged into it.

Draco was different.

The Malfoy Family child was arrogant, sharp-tongued, and loved to show off, but his weaknesses were laid out on the table: family honor, his father's opinion, the circle's approval.

Easy to manipulate.

Madam Malkin draped the black robe over Allen's shoulders and went to the front to pin it.

"Raise your arms, dear."

Allen did as told.

Draco continued to ask: "What do you think of Muggle-borns?"

Harry had just relaxed a little, but he looked up again.

This question was even more grating than before.

Allen didn't answer immediately.

There were others in the shop, and Madam Malkin was there too. For an eleven-year-old new student, talking about blood discrimination in a place like this was stupid, not a stance.

"I have no interest in stupid people. Blood status can't take exams for someone, nor can it block curses for them."

Draco frowned: "But pure-blood families have heritage."

"Having a heritage doesn't mean every Heir of Slytherin knows how to use it."

These words fell into Draco's ears; they weren't heavy, but they scraped.

He flushed: "Are you talking about me?"

"If you want to think so, that's fine."

Madam Malkin lowered her head to sew the buttons, her shoulders shaking slightly.

Harry almost laughed out loud but held it in.

Draco was quite angry, but he didn't flip out.

Interestingly, he was even more willing to keep chatting.

The little young master was used to flattery since childhood; occasionally getting a soft but sharp jab was refreshing. Especially since the person saying this was named Potter, was a pure-blood branch, and didn't stand on Harry's side.

This weight was enough for him to endure it.

"Then, what do you think I should do?"

Harry was stunned.

After asking, Draco also regretted it a little.

Allen glanced at him.

This was the entry point.

No need to pat shoulders, no need to act like brothers, and definitely no need for passionate speeches. Children in the pure-blood circle were filled with family prestige from a young age; what they feared most wasn't being scolded, but being treated as a useless Heir of Slytherin.

Allen's tone was casual.

"Don't provoke people when you're not sure. If your father is present, you can be arrogant; if he's not, you'd better figure out who you're facing first."

Draco wanted to refute, but remembered the scene in the bookstore where he was suppressed by a single sentence from Allen.

He changed his question: "What about Harry?"

Harry looked at Allen.

Allen lowered his head to adjust his cuffs.

"Harry is now the signboard of the magical world. Anyone who touches him will be targeted by everyone first. If you want to compete with him, you can, but don't put yourself in the spotlight."

Draco quieted down.

This sounded much better than "don't mess with Harry."

It wasn't about fear; it was about it not being worth it.

In the Malfoy Family's education, "worth it" was more persuasive than "kindness."

After hearing this, Harry felt even more blocked in his heart.

Allen didn't scold him, nor did he defend him.

He just treated him as a symbol that would attract trouble.

This felt worse than hostility.

Madam Malkin pinned the last needle for Harry.

"Alright, Mr. Potter, don't move, the needles haven't been collected yet."

Harry responded softly.

Draco looked at Allen.

"We will meet again after school starts."

"Hogwarts is only so big; we can't avoid each other."

"If you enter Slytherin, I can introduce you to some people."

Allen raised his eyes: "The list Mr. Malfoy gave you?"

Draco flushed again.

"I know people myself, too."

"Then wait until you can distinguish who is a friend and who just wants to borrow the Malfoy name before you introduce them."

Draco opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

These words were unpleasant, but they hit the nail on the head.

He never lacked people around him, but were those people surrounding him because his name was Draco, or because his surname was Malfoy?

He hadn't thought about this question before.

Now that it was casually thrown out by Allen, it stung accurately.

Madam Malkin put away the tape measure and smiled to smooth things over.

"Alright, the robes for the three young gentlemen are all altered. You'll need them when Hogwarts starts, don't lose them."

Allen paid and put the robes into a bag. Using his turn as cover, the bag slid into his Portable Space, leaving only a light, empty outer packaging.

Draco noticed.

He didn't see clearly how the things disappeared, but he was sure that Allen hadn't handed the robes to anyone.

Harry saw it too, but didn't ask.

He had already learned: things Allen didn't want to talk about were pointless to ask, and would likely just get him stung.

The three of them walked to the door.

Rubeus Hagrid was squatting outside, holding half a rock cake in his hand; seeing them come out, he patted the crumbs off his robes.

"All bought? Next, we still have to buy cauldrons and potion ingredients."

Draco stood by the shop door, not leaving immediately.

"Allen Potter."

Allen stopped.

Draco looked at him, his tone much more restrained than it had been in the bookstore.

"I will remember what you said just now."

Allen was so sleepy he was running out of patience.

"Oh, then you're really great."

Upon hearing this, Rubeus Hagrid was so amused he almost dropped his rock cake.

Harry followed with his head down, his chest feeling stuffy and sour.

For the first time, he clearly realized that there was a line between him and Allen.

Allen would not stand by his side.

At least not now.

And Draco Malfoy watched Allen's departing back, his fingers tapping on his silver buttons, with only one sentence left in his mind.

The Potter who doesn't represent Harry.

This is important.