The delicate morning sun barely pierced the heavy urban air. At dawn, a single dewdrop detached from a blade of grass, instantly scattering the light into a thousand shimmering, golden rays. Allen completed his final posture, the movement flowing seamlessly into stillness, marking the conclusion of the third sequence of the McLean Body Conditioning Technique.
"I've finally breached the third stage, meaning I've achieved the 'Beginner Level.' Let's see what kind of genuine surprises this unlocks." Allen was filled with buzzing, contained excitement.
His mind flashed back over the last eighteen months. The moment he received the Conditioning Technique, Allen had attacked the book with academic ferocity, dedicating every spare afternoon to meticulous study, visualization, and physical rehearsal. He was fortunate that his current Muggle school timetable was easy, allowing him to coast academically without incident.
His life had settled into a rigorous pattern: he tutored Harry and Fogg daily, transforming their grades from mediocre to excellent, and solidifying their deep friendship despite the constant, heavy-handed harassment from Dudley Dursley and his pathetic gang.
The external rewards had followed the effort. Morgan LeFeuy Harris, while largely indifferent to Muggle exam results, had been utterly delighted when Allen achieved straight A+ grades across the board in his final exams—a testament to the power of Photographic Memory. As a reward, she had given him a generous pile of Galleons and finally allowed him to begin piano lessons, a hobby he enjoyed and that provided perfect cover for intense finger dexterity training.
However, the real, relentless effort went into the mental disciplines. Allen dedicated a substantial portion of his energy to Occlumency—the magical defense against mental intrusion—and its offensive counterpart, Legilimency. Unlike a master like Snape, who maintained the shield constantly, Allen could only achieve brief, flickering moments of mental defense. Eighteen months of grueling effort had yielded mere seconds of functional control, a frustrating reminder of the sheer difficulty of guarding one's mind from wizards like Dumbledore or Voldemort.
Of course, compared to the tedious, abstract struggle of Occlumency, Allen's magical studies and the physical practice of the McLean Body Conditioning Technique were far more satisfying. Now, at the beginner level, the technique had delivered beyond expectations. He was significantly stronger and more agile, but the true benefit lay in gradual, precise muscle control.
Thanks to the intense finger exercises he'd performed while learning the piano, Allen no longer had to worry about a trembling hand causing a spell to misfire or ruining a delicate potion with a shaky pour.
After checking the bathroom mirror—a necessary precaution to ensure the technique hadn't given him any inconvenient side effects—Allen showered, changed from his training gear, and headed downstairs. Only Daisy was awake, already seated at the dining table, looking slightly slumped.
Allen, exhibiting a thoughtfulness that had become characteristic since his System activation, brewed a steaming, creamy breakfast tea for the family and placed a cup gently next to Daisy.
"Daisy, I've arranged to meet Fogg to see Harry today. Can you let Mum know?"
"No problem, you're being remarkably helpful this morning. Running low on pocket money, are we?" The fragrant milk tea instantly lifted Daisy's spirits. She rose, walked back to her room, and returned with several crumpled Muggle pounds, pressing them into Allen's hand. "They're useless to me, you might as well have them." Daisy took a grateful sip of her tea. "Just make sure you're back before dinner."
Allen reached the arranged meeting spot near the school gates. "Allen! Over here!" Fogg shouted, holding a large, grease-stained bag of fried fish and waving enthusiastically. Fogg, having also excelled in his primary school exams, had received a generous allowance from his delighted parents and looked like he was aiming to spend it all in one day.
The two friends first made a pilgrimage to Hamleys, London's largest and oldest toy shop, to select a proper birthday present for Harry. They then navigated the complicated bus system out to Little Whinging, making their way to Privet Drive.
"Number Four, Privet Drive, this is it!" Fogg, walking slightly ahead, confirmed the street sign and turned back to Allen.
Allen paused, his eyes instantly drawn to a large, tabby cat crouched on the wall of the property next door. He stared intently, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, looking for any tell-tale signs. Finally, he exhaled a silent sigh of relief.
The cat doesn't have spectacle-shaped markings around its eyes. It's definitely just an ordinary cat. Professor McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, wouldn't be standing guard at a Muggle door, let alone the door of Harry Potter's relentlessly abusive foster family, without a serious magical disturbance.
Fogg, impatient, had already rung the doorbell. A harsh, booming male voice barked from inside, "Dudley, go open the door!"
"Tell that weirdo to go away! I'm watching cartoons!" Dudley's voice was full of petulant impatience.
"You brat…" Heavy footsteps approached the door. A ticklish, fat, middle-aged man with unnaturally blond hair yanked the door open. It was Vernon Dursley. He asked in a harsh, suspicious voice, "Who are you two after?"
"Hello, sir, we're Harry Potter's classmates. My name is Fogg Brown. Is Harry at home?" Fogg asked politely.
"Harry? There is no Harry Potter residing here," Vernon Dursley lied instantly, already moving to slam the door shut.
Allen placed a hand on the door, pushing it back gently but firmly. "If I'm not mistaken, you must be Mr. Dursley? Is Dudley available? I'm Allen Harris, Dudley's classmate. We were hoping to take the boys out for the afternoon, if we have your permission…"
"You're Allen Harris? The top student in the class?" Vernon Dursley's harsh facade cracked with immediate, opportunistic interest. He peered at Allen suspiciously for a moment, then spun around. "Dudley! Your classmate Allen Harris is here looking for you!"
"Please come in," Vernon Dursley said, grudgingly stepping aside. Although Vernon despised bookish, "cultured" people, the social prestige of having the top student seek out his son was enough to override his prejudice.
"Harris, Brown, why are you—?"
"Yes, Dudley, we came by to share a few boxing tips with you," Allen interrupted smoothly. Before Dudley, who looked absolutely terrified, could finish his sentence, Allen stepped forward, clapped a hand on Dudley's meaty shoulder, and firmly guided him into the living room.
The living room was painfully clean and meticulously tidy. Above the fireplace, the photographs told a clear, devastating story: Dudley, large and smiling, posing with his bike; Dudley at the park; Dudley hugging his mother. Not a single photograph suggested the presence of a second child. Allen glanced at a dark recess beneath the staircase. He knew, with dreadful certainty, that Harry was in that moment still locked inside.
"Bang, bang, bang…"
From the darkness, a frantic muffled sound emerged. "Allen! Fogg! I'm here!" Harry was desperately trying to alert his friends.
"Is that Harry's voice? Mr. Dursley, are you illegally imprisoning Harry?" Allen stared directly at Vernon, his voice laced with manufactured legal severity.
"Yes! We haven't seen Harry for ages! He missed his final exams!" Fogg, hearing the sound, looked genuinely distressed.
"Of course not! How could that be? We look after him so carefully… Oh, blast it!" Mr. Dursley was caught in his own lie, realizing the children knew Harry was present, contradicting his denial.
Allen ignored the flustered excuses. He reached over, located the thin latch on the cupboard door, and effortlessly pried it open.
Before the Dursleys could react, Harry scrambled out of the darkness. The cupboard door stood slackly ajar, a gaping void that perfectly symbolized the grim reality of Harry's childhood.
Allen's prior judgment of the situation, based solely on his memory of the novels, had been detached—a task to be completed. But seeing the physical reality of the neglect—the dark, suffocating cupboard—ignited a fierce, unexpected rage.
No wonder Harry is so painfully skinny, always swimming in oversized, hand-me-down clothes! The abuse was far more visceral and severe than Allen had allowed himself to imagine. It was a stark, brutal contrast to the pampered bulk of Dudley. Without the protection of parents, Harry was simply an object to be trampled. Yet, despite this environment, Harry retained an innate sense of justice and kindness, a likely inheritance from his mother, Lily.
Allen's thoughts turned violently to the wizarding world. And Petunia Evans Dursley… she allowed this, despite knowing the power of the magical world!
The fury crystallized into a cold condemnation of Dumbledore.
Dumbledore is a genuine bastard, Allen thought, his hands clenching in his pockets. He knew Harry's condition. Yes, the archaic blood magic required Harry to live here, but Dumbledore could have easily intervened!
A simple, magical threat to the Dursleys, or even giving Hagrid a few of the Potters' Galleons for an adoption payment, would have vastly improved Harry's childhood! But Dumbledore refused to do even this small thing, knowingly leaving the boy to suffer. He actively orchestrated an unhappy childhood!
Allen realized the horrifying implication: Dumbledore, in his Machiavellian chess game, may have intended the suffering, calculating that a neglected, desperate boy would be easier to control and gain favor with once introduced to the magical world.
Furthermore, repeatedly orchestrating the child's near-death experiences under the guise of 'tests' to prepare him to save the world was the height of irresponsibility for the most powerful light wizard and Headmaster. (Allen recalled the official acknowledgment on the Pottermore website confirming Dumbledore's failures.)
The sight of Harry's bruised, emotionally fragile state, emerging from the darkness, transcended Allen's academic detachment. He was genuinely angry.
"Mr. Dursley, I suspect Harry has been confined to that dark cupboard for an extended period. I have reason to believe, and both Fogg and I have now witnessed, evidence of illegal imprisonment and abuse. If Harry's situation does not improve immediately, I will be compelled to seek legal counsel for him." Allen suppressed his rage, channeling it into a severe, professional warning.
"That's right! My sister is a lawyer, and if Harry needs it, our entire family will help him without hesitation!" Fogg, though trembling slightly, backed Allen's bluff with fierce loyalty.
Harry looked at his two friends with immense gratitude. In his dark, desperate world, Allen and Fogg were the unexpected sources of light, hope, and unconditional defense.
"Fine! Fine! Harry, I was planning to take you to the amusement park, but now you just take your friends and get out of my house!" Vernon Dursley sputtered, his face scarlet with guilt and impotent rage, clearly intimidated by the mention of lawyers.
Allen, Harry, and Fogg exchanged a quick, knowing look. They knew they couldn't push too far, as Harry was trapped here until he turned seventeen. They gathered their things and hurried out.
"You guys are so great! You know, on Dudley's last birthday, I accidentally let a boa constrictor loose at the zoo… The Dursleys were never angrier—that's when they locked me in the cupboard!" Harry chattered excitedly, like a bird finally released from its cage, sharing his terrifying adventure over a shared bag of fried fish with Fogg.
"Harry, slow down. Don't rush the story." Allen's eyes widened as he spotted a motorbike approaching in the distance, a man in a uniform at the helm. "It looks like the postman is coming to your house. I think he has a card for you." Allen remembered his planned surprise and called out to Harry, interrupting his tale.
"A card for me?!" Harry stopped chewing, his eyes huge with surprise. No one had ever sent him a card in his entire life.
Allen, who had only intended the congratulatory card as a superficial gesture, was completely taken aback by the intensity of Harry's reaction.