Allen stepped through the hidden door and was immediately surprised. It wasn't a room but a cramped, dark spiral staircase leading deep beneath the shop floor.
The walls along the twisting, stone-lined corridor were adorned with decaying murals that didn't just look chilling—they sounded chilling. They emitted a chorus of terrifying, muffled noises: deep groans of suffering, chilling howls, screams of infernal torment, and the visceral, unsettling scrape of metal against stone. These sounds, coupled with the dim, sickly green lighting, created an atmosphere of pure dread.
Allen shadowed Mr. Borgin as quietly as possible, treading lightly on the creaking, old wooden stairs until they reached a heavy, imposing redwood door at the bottom. The hunched shop owner pushed the door open, but before Allen could fully assess the interior, a loud, metallic snap and bang echoed through the chamber, and the entire space was instantly flooded with a blinding, stark white light.
The cold, unforgiving light revealed a windowless storage room packed tight with sinister inventory. Immediately outside the door, Allen saw all manner of strange, preserved exhibits: withered biological specimens, dusty mummies, and rows of jars containing organs and unidentifiable biological parts suspended in unknown, yellowish liquids.
The left wall was a vertical landscape of storage compartments, stacked impossibly high. In the right corner, several large, ancient bronze chests were stacked neatly. Next to the chests, a long, silver table served as a display case.
Resting on a velvet cushion inside a glass cover, Allen saw a shriveled human hand, a blood-stained deck of tarot cards, and a dull, lifeless glass eye. Above the table, an iron rack held a variety of colorful potions and glassware.
Allen's eyes snapped to the corner of the shelf above the table. A dark-blue, unassuming orb sat randomly among a cluster of other oracle spheres on a small wooden stand. The System's triumphant confirmation pulsed in his mind: This was the humble Magic Orb of the Goddess of Fortune, Fowles, he had risked everything for.
Mr. Borgin, having successfully illuminated his treasury, sat down at the long table, carefully placed the cursed necklace tray down, and opened a drawer to retrieve and put on his gloves. He then selected a bottle of purple potion from the shelf, clearly intending to begin his detailed, slow examination of the necklace's dark power.
Allen, seizing his moment, took a cautious step into the room.
He was instantly betrayed.
A sudden, dazzling flash of white light engulfed his body. The high-level defense mechanisms embedded in the treasure room's walls had instantly countered the Illusion Charm on his robe. He stood, nakedly visible and entirely defenseless, in the heart of the restricted chamber.
The moment the light appeared, Mr. Borgin reacted with the reflexive speed of a snake. He snatched his wand, spun around, and began spitting out a string of non-verbal curses directly at the intruder.
"Splode Intestinum! Splode Intestinum!" Mr. Borgin hissed, the words sounding guttural and panicked.
Allen, whose physical prowess had been honed by the McLean Body Conditioning Technique, ducked and twisted, utilizing his small stature and the surrounding clutter for cover. The rapid-fire curse—the potentially fatal Intestine-Expulsion Spell—smashed into the shelves behind him, shattering bottles and jars. Their liquids pooled and mixed on the floor; a preserved skull tumbled down, its jaw clicking open and shut with a dreadful sound.
Borgin, a professional dark purveyor, was likely unwilling to risk Azkaban for the Unforgivable Curses, but the mere fact he resorted to the notorious Intestine Spell, invented in the sixteenth century by Urquhart Laharlal (whose portrait hangs in St. Mungo's), caused Allen's blood to run cold. Allen knew the spell's gruesome effect—the expelling of a person's internal organs—but not the necessary counter-spell.
Instead of rising to cast a spell, Allen, still crouching low, launched himself from the ground at Mr. Borgin using both hands and feet. It wasn't a sophisticated attack, but a sudden, feral leap. Mr. Borgin, worried Allen might rise and strike with a potent curse, was utterly caught off guard by the sheer unexpectedness of the physical charge. In his panic, he thought he was facing something far worse than a boy—perhaps a werewolf or a vampire, whose bites were whispered to be magically untreatable.
Driven by the need for self-preservation and the terror of infection, Mr. Borgin was forced to abandon his wand and the poison spell he was preparing, lunging backward to avoid the physical contact.
Allen, despite committing theft, had no intention of causing lasting harm. His focus was solely on the prize. He scrambled over the silver table, grabbed the small, dark-blue Magic Orb from the shelf, and sprinted back towards the redwood door.
"Locomotor Mortis! Crurae Immobilis!" Borgin bellowed, already recovering. He leveled his wand and fired a series of Leg-Weakening and Leg-Locking Spells, trying to immobilize the retreating thief.
In the narrow, confining space of the spiral staircase, Allen's physical conditioning was his only true defense. He moved with the agility of a primate, leaping, ducking, and contorting his body to dodge the torrent of spells that whizzed past. Just as he was about to burst through the exit door, he missed a subtle trip hazard: thick vines suddenly sprouted from the wooden railing. Though he managed a desperate jump to avoid entanglement, he was struck in the back by a Stunning Spell silently cast by Borgin.
Fortunately, Allen's brand-new Hogwarts robe reflected the relatively weak, easily cast stunning charm. The protective enchantments Mrs. Harris had insisted upon deflected the spell, sending the magic harmlessly into the ceiling. Mr. Borgin was forced to stop his pursuit, raising his wand to create a temporary, transparent Shield Charm in front of himself to avoid his own rebounding magic.
This provided the final, critical moment Allen needed. He shot out of the stairwell and, exploiting the time difference, instantly reactivated the Illusion Spell on his Mage's Robe, vanishing from sight and capitalizing on his chance to escape.
He quickly left the oppressive gloom of Knockturn Alley. The sudden, dazzling sunlight of Diagon Alley hit him like a physical blow, a stark contrast to the darkness he'd just fled. He kept walking, putting distance between himself and the magical bazaar.
He felt no profound guilt, rationalizing that Borgin was an aggressor and a supplier of instruments of death. He was the "innocent victim" in this exchange, and Allen mentally resolved that any future profitable exchange with Borgin would be slightly less price-sensitive to compensate.
[Congratulations, Host. You have obtained the Magic Orb of the Goddess of Fortune, Fowles. The magic orb can remove certain negative effects and curses. Time remaining until mission deadline: 13 hours and 43 minutes.]
With the clock ticking, Allen checked his mental map again. He was astonished to see that the lizard-like creature was no longer in the magical world but had moved deep into the Muggle world, specifically in Central London, near Baker Street Station.
Allen made a swift, executive decision. He hailed a taxi to the nearest Tube station and proceeded to Baker Street. There, a large, bronzed plaque confirmed the station's historical significance: "This platform is part of the world's first Tube line, built in 1863."
Unlike typical stations, Baker Street featured historical posters above the platform seats, vividly depicting the station's opening in 1863. It was a veritable museum of the London Underground's history.
But Allen couldn't afford to linger. He watched the icon representing the lizard-like creature on his mental map shift rapidly to another location.
Allen hesitated. Should he keep chasing a moving target? He glanced down at the Tube map he had just picked up for free. When he compared the creature's real-time movements on his internal map to the published Tube routes, he made a staggering discovery.
The lizard-like creature's movements perfectly matched the route of the London Underground system.
"Do they really take the Muggle underground? A cursed magical creature is using the Tube to evade me?" Allen's disbelief was quickly replaced by analytical focus. The creature was demonstrating a surprising level of intelligence and adaptation.