9: Chapter 9 The Last Night at the Orphanage

On the eve of September 1st, St. Marys Orphanage was uncharacteristically quiet.

It wasn't because the children had become well-behaved; it was because Mrs. Martha hadn't dared to come upstairs today.

The shadow of Rubeus Hagrid standing in the doorway that day was still etched in her mind. A "big friend" capable of warping the doorframe was enough to teach her to keep her mouth shut.

Allen Potter was quite satisfied with this.

With one less person looking for trouble, he could sleep for ten more minutes.

After locking the door, he pulled the curtains shut, leaving only an old desk lamp by the bed. The bulb had a loose connection, flickering on and off, casting a yellow hue on the peeling wallpaper.

Allen sat on the edge of the bed and raised his hand to press down on the old wooden box.

The next second, the box, satchel, robe parcel, cauldron, and herb box all vanished.

Inside his Portable Space, the items fell into their pre-designated areas.

The outermost layer was the living area. The Hogwarts robes were folded, the cauldron was against the wall, the herbs were stored in separate compartments, and the small glass vials were wrapped in cloth to prevent them from shattering into a pile of tuition fees while walking.

The middle section was the book area.

The books bought from Flourish and Blotts were already arranged in two rows, ranging from first-year textbooks to advanced theories on space, varying in thickness. Allen didn't use a bookshelf; the space didn't have the conditions for that yet. He simply used old wooden boards as dividers and stuck on a few parchment labels.

Charms.

Transfiguration.

Defense.

Space.

Families.

He placed the last category separately in a corner.

"A Brief Genealogy of British Wizarding Families" and "The Rise and Fall of the Sacred Twenty-Eight" were pressed together.

These two books didn't teach spells, but they were more useful than many spells.

The Wizarding world was not a fairy tale book. Surnames, vaults, the Board of Governors, the Ministry of Magic, newspapers—pulling out any one of these could crush a student until they couldn't catch their breath.

Harry Potter didn't understand this yet.

Draco Malfoy thought he understood.

Lucius Malfoy understood, but he was too accustomed to standing by the adults' card table, often forgetting that children could also flip the cards.

Allen pushed the two books further in.

Useful.

He would dismantle them slowly later.

The Portable Space was larger than last time. The expansion brought on by sleep was very stable, and the boundaries had been pushed to about 120 square meters. It wasn't huge, but it wasn't small either; at least it was more reasonable than this room in the orphanage.

Allen stood in the center of the space; there was no floor beneath his feet, yet he could stand firmly.

This space listened to him.

It was much more honest than the outside world.

In the corner, the little black snake, "Void," coiled on a stone slab. It raised its head, its silver eyes looking first at Allen, then at that cracked pocket watch.

The cracked pocket watch was placed next to the ebony box, with blue light seeping from the cracks in the casing. The light was faint, but Void would stare at it every so often, as if watching a mouse that could bite.

Allen walked over and tapped the cracked pocket watch with the tip of his wand.

The Thestral tail hair wand touched the casing, and the edges of the space gave a gentle tremor.

The piles of books didn't fall, and the medicine bottles didn't shatter.

The vibration only occurred on the spatial level.

Allen withdrew his wand and noted the reaction.

"It's not time yet."

Void flicked its tongue.

Allen glanced at it: "You don't understand, don't pretend."

The little snake retracted its head.

Allen paused for a rare half-second.

This creature was smarter than most people in the orphanage, at least it wouldn't scream when he was tired.

He turned and walked to another open area.

There was one more thing to confirm tonight.

The wand.

The blackthorn and Thestral tail hair wand sold to him by Ollivander was different from ordinary wands. An ordinary wand was a tool for a Wizard to cast magic; this one was closer to an extension of his Spatial Displacement ability.

Allen raised his wrist and, following the basic movements in "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1," performed the wand motion for the Levitation Charm.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

An old ink bottle floated up half an inch, then tilted to the left.

Allen stopped.

It wasn't a failed spell.

It was that when he cast the spell, he instinctively layered in Spatial Displacement. After the magical path was amplified by the wand, the bottle didn't just float up; it was pulled into a deflected angle.

A good thing.

Also a trouble.

In a Hogwarts classroom, if this kind of displacement appeared every time he cast a spell, Professor Flitwick wouldn't think he was a genius; he would just drag him off to research it until after dinner.

Allen didn't like working overtime.

Especially other people's overtime.

He changed his motion, suppressing the spatial fluctuations and retaining only the normal magical output.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The ink bottle rose, wobbled twice, and landed back on the ground.

Average level.

Sufficient.

He tested the introductory Transfiguration gesture again, turning a button into a small round disk. He failed twice, but succeeded halfway on the third attempt; the edges of the button had a few extra burrs.

This time he was very satisfied.

This was how it should be in class.

Too poor and he would be targeted by the Professor; too good and he would be too.

Being ordinary was the protective coloration.

By the seventh practice, drowsiness pressed down on him.

His body warned him first: if he kept pushing, he might fall asleep at King's Cross Station tomorrow.

Allen exited the Portable Space and returned to his small room in the orphanage.

A car drove by outside the window, and its headlights slid through the gap in the curtains.

He didn't go to sleep immediately.

A piece of parchment was spread out on the table; it was the enrollment strategy he had written for himself.

There weren't many words.

First, House goal: Slytherin.

Gryffindor was too noisy, Hufflepuff was too scattered, and Ravenclaw was suitable for reading but not for hiding power. Slytherin had many troubles, but also many resources.

Snake pits produced vipers, but also trade.

Second, hide Spatial Displacement ability.

He could display ordinary talent in Charms and Transfiguration, but he couldn't touch spatial theory. At least not in the first year.

Third, utilize Harry Potter.

Let The Chosen One stand in front, to be watched, to be expected, to be tested.

This wasn't mistreating him.

Given Harry Potter's personality, even if no one pushed him, he would walk into danger himself. All Allen had to do was not jump down after him.

Fourth, contact Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was arrogant, vain, and wanted to prove himself. His flaws were laid out on the table, which made him safe. As long as he didn't realize he was being led, this chess piece could be used for a long time.

Fifth, stay away from Dumbledore.

Allen drew an extra line under this point.

The old Principal was not an enemy.

At least not for now.

But a man who could leave Harry Potter with the Dursley family for ten years wouldn't abandon his schemes out of pity. For someone like that, the phrase "for the greater good" could cover up too many things.

Allen didn't intend to be anyone's "greater good."

Sixth, guard against Snape.

Legilimency was a trouble.

The soul interlayer could block it, but blocking it too cleanly was an anomaly in itself. Snape wasn't Rubeus Hagrid; he wouldn't let go of suspicious points just because of a phrase like "I'm tired."

Thinking of this, Allen picked up his quill and added a sentence after the sixth point.

Avoid eye contact with him.

After writing it, he looked at the parchment and suddenly smiled.

Entering school at eleven, others prepared candy, pets, and new robes.

He was preparing counter-intelligence, political alignment, and mental defense.

Hogwarts, this school, had a very comprehensive educational direction.

Footsteps came from outside the corridor.

Someone stopped at the door.

Allen put away the parchment and tucked it into the Portable Space.

Outside the door was Billy.

The ringleader of the children who once wanted to cause him trouble held back for a long time through the door panel before speaking: "Potter."

Allen leaned back in his chair: "The door isn't broken, knock."

It was quiet outside for two seconds.

Knock, knock.

Very lightly.

"What is it?"

Billy's voice was hushed: "Are you really leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Are you coming back?"

"I'll be back during the holidays."

There was no sound outside the door again.

After a while, Billy said: "Mrs. Martha said if you go to that school, you'll turn into a monster."

Allen looked at the door panel.

"She got it backward."

"What do you mean?"

"I already am."

A burst of rapid footsteps came from outside the door; Billy came quickly, but ran away even faster.

Allen turned off the desk lamp.

Not bad.

No one would knock on the door again tonight.

He lay back on the bed, and the old bed frame made its familiar creaking sound.

In the Portable Space, the books sat still, the wand was back in place, the cracked pocket watch pressed down on the blue light, and Void coiled on the stone slab, not moving about.

120 square meters.

A wand that resonated with space.

A remnant of time of unknown origin.

A little snake that could warn of spatial fluctuations.

And half of the Potter legacy.

Having these things on an eleven-year-old freshman was enough to keep any Professor from sleeping soundly.

So they couldn't know.

Allen closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, King's Cross Station.

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Hogwarts Express.

A new chessboard was right ahead.

The first thing he had to do was very simple.

Get on the train, find a corner, and take a nap.