On a crisp winter morning after the heavy snowfall, the sky was a deep, startling blue. When Allen pushed open the window, a sharp, bracing chill rushed in.
As the old saying goes, heavy snow often covers tracks; outside, the world was a vast, untouched whiteness, devoid of any obvious signs of human activity. However, this deceptive quiet did not mean absolute safety; the heavy snow could just as easily have buried evidence of something sinister.
Morgana Lefay prepared breakfast as usual, but the traditional ham and eggs did little to stir anyone's appetite.
When Owen revealed his final, fixed plans at the dining table, Morgana could no longer maintain her calm composure. "No, Owen, I am perfectly skilled and strong with magic. I can stay here with you, and we will face whatever comes, together."
"Dad, I really think a qualified Healer could be invaluable during a confrontation," Daisy interjected, clearly unwilling to sit idle in a safe location while her family faced unforeseen dangers. "I got into plenty of scuffles at Hogwarts, you know…"
An argument—or rather, a passionate expression of mutual concern—was about to erupt. Allen quietly slipped away, retrieving two full plates and a pot of breakfast tea. He called his little sister, Emily, and ushered her back to the room. He believed young children shouldn't be exposed to their parents' stressful confrontations, as it could severely damage their nascent understanding of security.
Emily wisely took her share of food, though her expression was already clouded with sadness. "Allen, why are Mum and Dad arguing?"
"Emily, we all have to separate for a little while because of some important things we need to do. Even though Mum and Dad are arguing, you must believe it's because they love each other so much," Allen explained patiently.
Emily looked even sadder. "Are you going to leave me too?"
"Of course not. I'm staying right here with you," Allen reassured her, continuing to comfort his little sister until the sounds of argument downstairs had faded. Then, Allen picked up the suitcases he had packed and came back into the living room with Emily. Their father was ready to transport them to Aunt Josephine's house.
To use Floo Powder for teleportation, the user must stand in front of the fireplace, take a pinch of the powder, clearly and loudly pronounce the destination, and then toss the powder into the flames. Emily was very young, and any slight mispronunciation could send her floating off to the wrong location.
Floo Powder, for the record, was invented by Ignatius Willsmith in the 13th century. Its production is rigidly controlled. The only licensed manufacturer in Britain is Floo-Pow, based secretly in Diagon Alley.
Floo Powder has never been in short supply, and its price has remained constant for centuries: two Sickles per scoop. Every wizarding family, regardless of wealth, kept a stash, usually in a decorative box or vase on the mantelpiece.
The method of legitimate Floo Powder production is a closely guarded secret, and all attempts at self-production have failed catastrophically. Morgana Lefay, at St. Mungo's, saw patients suffering from "fake Floo Powder" injuries at least once a year—wizards who throw their homemade concoctions into the fire and suffer the explosive consequences.
As the notoriously irritable Healer and St. Mungo's spokesperson, Rutherford Bock, often yelled: "Two measures per scoop, please! Stop asking for discounts, stop throwing your Neferpitou tooth powder into the fire, and for the love of Merlin, stop sticking your head out of the chimney! If one more wizard comes in here with a third-degree chimney burn, I swear I won't treat him. Two measures per scoop!"
When Owen carefully handed his two children over to his sister, Josephine, the usually reserved man seemed momentarily choked up. "We'll proceed exactly as planned. I hope everything goes smoothly. Allen, take care of your sister."
Owen embraced his children tightly, then turned and walked resolutely back toward the Floo connection.
Aunt Josephine, Allen knew, worked in the Ministry of Magic's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—a connection that had largely contributed to Len's early completion of his apprenticeship.
Aunt Josephine appeared much younger than her actual age, a powerful witch with unnaturally pale skin and sharp, piercing blue eyes. She wore a deep purple dress, a black silk cloak trimmed with sleek jet tassels, and a black hat adorned with purple velvet flowers that trembled slightly when she moved her head.
"Oh my goodness, my little sweet bear is still so utterly adorable!" Aunt Josephine hugged Emily tightly, nuzzling her face into the little girl's cheek. Emily looked helplessly at Allen, but seeing her brother's encouraging smile, she shyly rested her chin on her aunt's shoulder.
"Allen, have you eaten breakfast?" Upon receiving an affirmative answer, Aunt Josephine led them to stow their luggage.
The house was an old, somewhat dilapidated mansion. Aunt Josephine led them from the enormous fireplace in the living room into a long, twisting hallway. This passage branched off into several other dimly lit corridors. They followed one of these until they reached a flight of stairs that spiraled upward, the steps following one another endlessly.
The corridor was lined with doors, most of them locked, and the walls were covered with paintings. Some depicted bizarre, unsettling scenes, but most were portraits of severe-looking men and women in extravagant silk and velvet costumes. Allen walked slowly past them, examining the faces. It felt profoundly unsettling, as if those painted eyes were staring back at him.
Allen quickly realized the eerie difference: unlike the portraits at Hogwarts, these figures were all completely silent, unnervingly quiet, even though they could move freely within their frames. Emily instinctively pressed close to her brother; the sight was truly shocking for a young girl.
They finally stopped before a large, heavy wooden door. Above it hung a portrait of a small girl in a red dress embroidered with gold and silver thread. A dark green frog sat perched innocently in her hand. Her expression was blank, but her eyes held a sharp, unnerving curiosity.
Aunt Josephine, in a moment that surprised Allen, leaned close to the girl in the picture. "Mrs. Clark, these two children will be staying here for a few nights. I hope you'll grant them passage."
The frog in the little girl's hand suddenly leaped out of the picture. A moment later, the girl herself slipped out of the frame entirely.
"Ready," Aunt Josephine announced. With a gentle push, the heavy wooden door slowly and ponderously swung open.
The room was a massive bedroom, filled with ornate carvings and clear-grained wooden furniture. A huge window was covered with thick, stained-glass panes, and outside lay the vast, white wilderness, thickly blanketed in snow.
A large, soft bed covered with thick blankets was positioned in front of an ancient mural. The mural's content was difficult to decipher, but at first glance, it appeared dark and unsettling.
"Don't worry, darling. Although it looks a little scary, this is the safest place you could possibly be," Aunt Josephine explained, clearly sensing the children's unease.
Allen picked up his suitcase. "Thank you, Auntie. Don't worry, I will take excellent care of my sister."
"Alright, you both get some rest. I'll call you for lunch later. If you get bored, the library is right next door. You can have a look in there. I remember Mrs. Clark had quite a collection of children's books," Aunt Josephine said. She patted Emily's head again and turned to leave.
As Allen unpacked his suitcases, neatly hanging his clothes in the oak wardrobe, he wondered how he would possibly find Albert and escape this sanctuary. If only he were an adult, he could move freely without the constraints of his age.
After unpacking, Allen realized there was nothing suitable for Emily to play with, so he took her to the adjacent library his aunt had mentioned. This room was clearly unused, with all the books stacked neatly on the high shelves.
Aunt Josephine must have used some kind of powerful Cleaning Charm beforehand, as the room was pristine, without a single speck of dust.
Emily, lifted from Allen's hip, happily began playing in front of a small, low children's bookcase. She pulled out all the books, stacking them up into a pile, clapping her hands excitedly. She was using the books as construction blocks, not for reading.
The stack grew higher and higher, becoming precariously balanced. After Emily placed a thick storybook on top and threw a small toy at it, the fragile book tower collapsed with a loud crash.
Allen, having anticipated the fall, deliberately turned Emily over a few times to comfort her, but in doing so, he accidentally bumped the small children's bookcase. The case slammed against the heavy tapestry behind it, leaving a discernible dent.
Allen righted the bookshelf, then carefully lifted a section of the ripped tapestry. He discovered a narrow stair-tunnel behind it, with a faint, chilling breeze blowing out. Many ancient buildings had such secret passages, often used by previous owners as escape routes during danger. However, with Emily still clinging to him, Allen couldn't possibly go exploring.
After a hearty lunch, however, both children grew sleepy. Emily quickly drifted off in the soft, warm bed. Allen seized the opportunity.
This time, he asked Aunt Josephine to watch over Emily, using the excuse that he wanted to concentrate on some serious reading in the library, thus freeing him to explore the secret passage he had discovered earlier.