The aftermath of the Klein incident left a strange, quiet hum over the rest of their stay in New York. With the immediate danger neutralized, the city seemed to open up to them in a way it hadn't before. For the remaining days of their holiday, the group traded spell-casting for sightseeing, though their interests were hilariously divided.
Allen dragged a bewildered Jessica and Ian through the towering halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and up the narrow staircases of the Statue of Liberty. To the young American wizards, who grew up in a world where magic could solve almost any problem, Allen's fascination with Muggle engineering was baffling.
"I don't get it, Allen," Ian said, squinting up at the copper torch of Lady Liberty. "They built this without a single Levitation Charm? Why go through all that trouble just to move some metal?"
Allen smiled, running a hand over the cold, oxidized surface. "That's exactly why it's impressive, Ian. They didn't have a shortcut, so they had to be brilliant. There's a different kind of magic in sweat and blueprints."
Jessica seemed to enjoy it more than her brother, if only because it meant more time walking side-by-side with Allen, but the real highlight for her was watching her uncle. Leonard appeared to be bouncing back. On the surface, he was the same gruff, high-functioning Auror, barking orders into his communication mirror and prepping for his promotion. But Allen noticed the cracks.
Every night, the floorboards in Leonard's room would groan as he paced back and forth. Occasionally, Allen would pass by the open door and catch a glimpse of the man sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a silk scarf or a piece of jewelry that had belonged to the late boutique owner. He wasn't the heartless lawman the papers portrayed; he was a man mourning a ghost. If there were a potion to truly scrub a specific person from one's heart, Allen suspected Leonard would have drunk the whole vat.
The mystery of how Leonard had arrived at the mansion so quickly was finally solved during a quiet afternoon tea with Professor Flitwick.
"He didn't just walk out of the meeting, Allen," Flitwick whispered, his eyes grave. "The Magical Congress demanded a full report before they'd let their top Auror leave during a crisis. Leonard... he subjected himself to a memory extraction via Legilimency on the spot. He literally handed over the privacy of his mind to the council just so they'd clear him to go save Ian. It was an immense sacrifice of dignity and mental health."
The day of departure arrived far too quickly. Standing in the yard of the Nox estate, the air was crisp and smelled of impending snow.
"Here," Allen said, pulling a gold-embossed voucher from his pocket and handing it to Ian. "I already have a broom I like. You, on the other hand, need to stop flying that school-issued antique."
Ian stared at the Nimbus 2000 voucher, then at the luxurious, hand-carved wizard chess set Allen held out. The set was the same one Ian had been eyeing in the shop window for weeks—the pieces were made of obsidian and white marble, and they were notoriously aggressive.
"You're serious?" Ian's cool facade cracked, his voice jumping an octave. "Allen, I can't take this. This is... this is a fortune."
"Think of it as a bribe," Allen joked, clapping him on the shoulder. "So you'll actually write back. And don't lose to the Black pieces; they have a mean streak."
Ian didn't say much—he wasn't the type for speeches—but he reached into his bag and pulled out a small, pulsing glass vial. Inside, a thick, glowing blue liquid swirled like a miniature nebula. "Swooping Evil venom," Ian muttered, shoving it into Allen's hand. "Extremely rare, highly controlled, and incredibly useful if you need to erase a few bad minutes from someone's head. Don't get caught with it at customs."
For Jessica, Allen had prepared something more traditional. He presented her with a set of sparkling diamond jewelry—necklace and earrings that caught the winter sun and threw rainbows across the snow. She was far too young to wear them to a school dance, but the way she clutched the box told Allen she'd be keeping them under her pillow for years.
In return, Jessica handed him a package wrapped in soft tissue paper. Inside was a scarf, hand-knitted in the deep bronze and blue of Ravenclaw. It wasn't perfect; there were a few dropped stitches near the fringe, and the edges were a bit uneven compared to the professional one she'd made for Professor Flitwick.
"I didn't use a charm," she whispered, her face flushing pink. "I did it by hand. Every single stitch. I wanted it to be... real."
Allen immediately unwound his old scarf and wrapped the new one around his neck. It was thick, warm, and smelled faintly of the jasmine tea Jessica liked to drink. "It's perfect, Jess. Best bit of gear I own."
The smile she gave him was enough to brighten the entire grey morning, even as a stray tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
The flight back to London was a blur of engine hums and clouds. As the plane soared over the Atlantic, the lives they left behind in New York continued to spin in their own orbits.
Back at the airport, Ian watched the plane disappear, then turned to his sister, who was still dabbing at her eyes. "Stop it, you crybaby. You're making a scene."
"Shut up, you lazybones!" Jessica snapped, though there was no heat in it.
"Look," Ian said, his voice turning uncharacteristically soft. "We've got the brooms now. And Uncle's moving up in the world. Who's to say we can't fly over to England this summer? I want to see if this Hogwarts place is actually as magical as Allen says, or if he's just a good storyteller."
Jessica brightened instantly. "You mean it? We can go?" She was already imagining the Great Hall, the moving staircases, and perhaps meeting that handsome Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Allen had mentioned in passing.
In the heart of the city, Leonard Nox was officially sworn in as the Head of the Auror Office. He looked formidable in his new robes, though those close to him knew his temper would always be his greatest hurdle. He was a man of highs and lows—a stormy sea that could sink ships or carry them to glory.
In the Wizarding District, the boutique that had once been the center of high fashion stood silent. The beautiful, sharp-tongued proprietress was gone, leaving behind only rumors. Some said she'd fled to Paris; others whispered darker tales of a life of crime. But in the Blind Pig pub, life was louder than ever. Leon, now sporting a noticeable belly and a wardrobe of velvet, was busy serving up "Specialties of the House" to a packed crowd. He was in his element, a man who could turn a stranger into a regular with a single well-placed joke.
And in a quiet, sun-drenched church in the Muggle suburbs, Simon stood at the altar. He was no longer the frightened boy caught in a magical crossfire. Dressed in his clerical whites, he looked at the sunlight streaming through the stained glass and saw not just light, but the memory of an "angel" who had saved him. His faith was no longer a duty; it was a passion.
When the plane touched down in London, the damp, familiar chill of home greeted Allen. After bidding a fond farewell to Professor Flitwick, Allen Apparated directly to the Harris household. The moment he stepped through the door, he was engulfed in the chaos of family.
He handed out gifts like a conquering hero. The pouch of Galleons from President Picquery went straight to his mother, whose eyes nearly popped out of her head. Mr. Harris was delighted with his Gillywater and Exploding Snap, and Daisy spent the next hour parading around in a miniature version of the magical robes Allen had brought back. Even the "Sweet Bear" sister was pacified, though she complained loudly that her mother's gift looked "shinier."
But as the holiday reached its final hours, a different kind of tension began to settle in Allen's chest. Sitting on the Hogwarts Express, watching the English countryside streak past in a blur of green and grey, his mind drifted.
He thought of the Forbidden Forest—of Gaia's fierce protection and Firenze's cryptic wisdom. He wondered if the realistic, enchanted dragon eggs he'd gifted Harry and Ron would cause a stir. Hagrid would surely love them, and Allen planned to use them as a conversational wedge to grill the giant about dragon-rearing techniques.
"Roger is going to kill me when he finds out I gave away a Nimbus 2000," Allen muttered to himself, leaning his head against the glass. Even with a team full of them, the captain was a hoarder of talent and equipment. He reached into his trunk and touched the soft fabric of the robe he'd bought for Penelope, hoping it would convey everything he hadn't found the words to say.
But as the castle towers finally appeared through the mist, Allen's hand drifted to the Swooping Evil venom in his pocket. The Chamber of Secrets was still open. Riddle's diary was still out there, a horcrux-fueled time bomb. And then there were Tina's words—the warning that there was more than one monster in the dark.
Hogwarts was home, but this year, home was a place of shadows. And Allen knew that the "gifts" he had brought back from America—the gold, the venom, and the newfound resolve—were going to be needed sooner than he thought.