The brief, chaotic spectacle outside the Quidditch boutique was finally over. Reunited with the impeccably groomed Len and the fashionably flustered Daisy, Owen Harris and his wife, Morgan, officially bid a warm but slightly rushed farewell to the Weasleys.
"Allen, we absolutely have to keep in touch! My old owl, Errol, is getting a bit… rickety, though, so don't feel obligated to write back instantly. Just let the old bird rest for a bit!" Ron was genuinely heartbroken to part with his new, impossibly cool friend—the wizarding prodigy who had just won him his favorite Seeker's poster.
"Sure thing, Ron. I'll keep that in mind," Allen replied, his response sounding perhaps a little more superficial than intended, his mind already miles away from his enthusiastic new acquaintance.
Externally, Allen appeared calm, perhaps even a bit reflective. Internally, however, he was in a state of controlled, academic euphoria. The sudden, glorious arrival of the Academic Superstar System felt exactly like getting a highly complex, next-generation device—a marvelous new toy that promised limitless potential.
He was already planning how to strategically deploy this power for maximum advantage in his immediate development. This System, unreliable as its communication might be, was the missing link, the cheat code that would catapult him from mere transmigration survivor to academic overlord.
The moment the family returned to their quiet, perfectly ordered home, the atmosphere shifted from triumphant to intensely anxious. The expensive, prize-winning flying broomstick, the Neptune, was entirely forgotten, left leaning against a coat rack. All four Harris adults—Owen, Morgan, Len, and Daisy—turned their laser-like focus onto the youngest son.
"Allen, I know you love books, son, but I honestly had no idea you were keeping this kind of excellence hidden from us!" Mr. Owen Harris wracked his brain, frantically trying to recall any past behavior that might have hinted at genius. In his desperation, he clearly misremembered the few times Allen had simply sat quietly reading, retroactively adding layers of fictional, solitary brilliance. "Why didn't you ever show us this capability?"
Len, the acknowledged top student, was visibly stunned, his usual haughty composure shattered. "Allen, this is… incredible. You haven't even been to Hogwarts, or even had a proper tutor. How did you acquire such specialized knowledge? Were you somehow aware of the questions beforehand?" Len simply couldn't comprehend that his younger brother could possess an intellect that so dramatically outpaced his own painstakingly earned achievements. The idea of Allen surpassing him was simply unthinkable.
"My sweet boy, how did you possibly manage that?" Morgan LeFay Harris gently stroked her youngest son's light-blond hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, her hand trembling slightly with maternal pride and deep confusion.
It was Emily, the youngest and most fiercely loyal, who leaped to his defense. "Mom, Allen is always smart! He just doesn't show off like Len does. Allen is the only one who can answer all my riddles! Len can't do it! I knew straight away that no silly question could ever stump Allen!" Emily's unconditional faith in her brother was touching, even if she entirely missed the fact that everyone else had simply played dumb to avoid her constant harassment.
Owen, relieved by the partial explanation, took Allen's face between his hands and examined him closely, a look of profound, dawning understanding—or rather, misunderstanding—in his eyes.
"No, I don't think Allen knew the answers ahead of time. The questions were highly irregular, more like those tricky logic puzzles taught in Muggle schools, not the rote learning we focus on. Allen, is that what they teach you in that Muggle primary school? Mathematical reasoning?" Owen pondered aloud. "Good heavens. Daisy and Len, you two were unlucky. Perhaps we really should send Emily to that Muggle school, too, for a proper foundation?"
"Absolutely not! I don't want to go to a Muggle school!" Emily instantly rejected the horror of enforced attendance, clinging to her father's leg. "Daddy, I want to stay right here with you!"
Daisy, ever the jealous Ravenclaw sister, chimed in, "Allen, when did you get this smart? When you go to school, you absolutely must surpass Len. You have to teach him a lesson!" Daisy, despite being in Ravenclaw, was chronically frustrated by Len's effortless academic dominance and hoped for a new challenger to dethrone him. She was, after all, more interested in chasing her niche interests than becoming a top student.
Allen remained silent, soaking up the mixture of shock, pride, and misplaced assumptions. The moment of quiet provided the perfect window.
The clear, almost unreal chime of the University Superstar System echoed in his mind.
"Congratulations, Host. You have successfully completed the Novice Trial Mission and secured the Grand Prize. The System rewards you with one Lottery Draw and one copy of the Skill Book: 'Spell Practice Strategy'."
"Well done, unreliable system," Allen thought dryly.
"Host, would you like to participate in the Lottery Draw now?"
"Of course. Why would I leave rewards unclaimed?" Allen mused. These System entities must be so incredibly naive. Any scholar knows that knowledge and equipment must be secured immediately. A new skill takes time to integrate and master; every second wasted is a second of lost superiority.
Instantly, a giant, shimmering roulette wheel materialized in his mental landscape. It was divided into seven bands of color—Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Cyan, Blue, and Violet—each band corresponding to an ascending rarity of prize. The areas visibly shrank in size, with the Violet band occupying the smallest sliver at the wheel's apex, signaling the most powerful, improbable rewards. A bronze needle hovered precariously over the center.
"Start the lottery."
The needle spun violently, blurring the colors into a terrifying wash of light. "Stop!"
With a slow, agonizing deceleration, the needle wavered, skipped over the larger Blue and Cyan areas, hesitated over the smallest sliver of Violet, and with a pronounced, satisfying click, settled firmly in the tiny purple zone.
"Luck! Unbelievable luck!" Allen felt a genuine spike of secret excitement and surprise. The tiniest area meant the highest reward, confirming the System's internal logic. "At least, judging by the luck of this host, I really am one of those ridiculous 'European' players."
A shimmering purple treasure chest appeared in his mental space. "Open."
Golden, ornate text slowly scrolled across the chest's surface: "Acquired Enduring Talent: Photographic Memory!"
Allen was stunned silent. "Photographic memory?" he asked the System, his mental voice sharp with disbelief. "Does this mean I literally recall everything I look at?"
"The Host's current state grants a Basic Tier Photographic Memory, allowing you to recall any written text you have ever seen with perfect fidelity."
"Only written characters? Even obscure things like ancient hieroglyphs or complex rune sequences?"
"As long as the symbols meet the basic definition of a written language, yes."
This was infinitely more valuable than any flying broomstick. For Allen, a Scholar about to embark on his studies at Hogwarts, this was the ultimate cheat. He knew the sheer volume of rote learning required—spells, potion ingredients, historical dates, and celestial movements. This skill instantly vaporized the learning curve, giving him a colossal, almost insurmountable advantage over every other young wizard, including the academically challenged Neville Longbottom.
Owen, interpreting Allen's stunned silence as profound contemplation, gently touched his arm, his voice low with deep regret. "Perhaps we didn't pay enough attention to your quiet time. I realize now that my youngest son is far more extraordinary than we gave him credit for."
Allen seized the opening, quickly constructing a flawless, retroactive explanation. "Dad, I genuinely love reading because my memory… well, it's always been excellent. I only have to read a page a couple of times to memorize it perfectly. You probably never noticed, but sometimes I sneak a peek at Len and Daisy's textbooks when they leave them lying around. I've actually been preparing for Hogwarts for a long time, just quietly," Allen fibbed smoothly, leveraging his father's known tendency to misremember details.
"What?! You looked in my textbook!" Daisy shrieked, instantly realizing her vulnerability. She was genuinely worried Allen might have seen the highly embarrassing doodles and sentimental notes she'd scribbled in the margins of her Charms text.
"Wow, this is incredible! Prove it, Allen! Prove it to them!" Emily, delighted and energized, scampered off to her room, returning moments later with a book so thick it bowed slightly in her small hands.
"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," Allen murmured, recognizing the famous collection. He opened it eagerly.
"The Legend of the Three Brothers!" Emily declared, pointing to the chapter. It was her favorite, the one she always asked Allen to read, even though she didn't fully grasp its darker themes.
Allen focused. The moment his eyes scanned the page, the text was not merely read; it was scanned, indexed, and filed in his mind with the cold, precise efficiency of a digital scanner. He paused, feeling the confidence flood his system. He didn't need the book anymore.
Instead of handing it back to Emily, he passed the storybook to Daisy, challenging her unconsciously. Then, in a perfectly modulated, clear voice, he began the recitation:
"Once upon a time, three brothers were walking along a lonely, winding path. As dusk approached, they came to a river. The water was too deep to wade, and swimming was too perilous. But the three brothers were skilled in magic, and with a wave of their wands, a magnificent bridge instantly appeared over the treacherous waters. When they reached the middle of the bridge, a hooded figure blocked their way…"
The Harris family was utterly paralyzed. Daisy's mouth hung open, her earlier competitive jealousy dissolving into pure, wide-eyed astonishment. Allen continued, reciting the story word for word, including the exact punctuation pauses, making it clear that despite the brief length of the entry, he had memorized it perfectly in that single glance.
The revelation hit them with the force of an unexpected Blasting Charm: the most unassuming, quiet member of their family was, in fact, the genuine prodigy.
Allen smoothly transitioned into the dark, famous ending. "...and the third brother lived to a very great age, only taking off his Cloak of Invisibility to hand it over to his son. Then, he greeted Death as an old friend. He departed the world with him gladly, as equals."
Allen finished the narration, the final words landing with satisfying dramatic weight. He looked smugly at his intensely excited mother, Morgan LeFay. "Mom, I'm suddenly quite thirsty."
"Oh! Oh, of course, darling! You've been speaking for so long!" Morgan LeFay was utterly flustered. She immediately waved her wand, and the copper kettle flew automatically into the sink, where water gushed from the tap. Then, the kettle lifted itself onto the stove, and a roaring, intense blue flame ignited beneath it. Even in her flustered state, her wandless, silent mastery of household charms was evident.
"Thank Merlin, Allen. You make your mother so incredibly proud." Morgan LeFay lovingly ruffled Allen's hair again, then quickly smoothed it back down, trying to regain her composure. "That's far too slow. Allen, go get yourself some of that pumpkin juice. But don't drink too much and ruin your appetite before dinner."
"Okay, Mom. I'll grab one for Emily, too." Allen jumped up, remembering the small, satisfying victory of being allowed to drink before dinner—a luxury usually forbidden to the two youngest children.
"It's getting late, and you must be starving after all that excitement. Daisy, come help me. I think we need to make something decadent—veal and kidney pie, perhaps, and a nice tripe pudding…" Morgan LeFay, needing a practical outlet for her adrenaline, headed straight for the kitchen, dragging a still-dazed Daisy out of the living room.
Meanwhile, Owen and his eldest son, Len, gravitated immediately to the magnificent flying broomstick, Neptune, which still leaned against the wall. They were already deep in hushed, technical discussion about protective charms, storage, and insurance protocols.
What pure-blood wizard could truly resist the sheer allure of a top-tier racing broom? Even Allen, despite his academic obsession, felt a pull toward the adrenaline-fueled sport.
Emily, whose heart Allen had won with the promise of pumpkin juice, continued to cling to her brother, peppering him with excited questions, convinced now that her brother was more miraculous than any magic in the world.
Later that night, exhausted but deeply satisfied after a large, rich meal, Allen finally collapsed into bed. The feeling of the Photographic Memory humming quietly in his mind was intensely comforting.
What an utterly phenomenal day, he thought, allowing himself a genuine, private smile. And it feels wonderfully good to have my little sister's faith entirely in my corner. The game had officially changed.