"Professor, speaking of prophecies, I know a thing or two about that too!" Allen said in a deep voice.
Dumbledore clasped his hands together, rested his chin on them, and looked at the young wizard opposite him with interest.
Looking Dumbledore in the eyes, Allen said, "I accidentally learned something from ancient texts. Prophecies are only a possibility for the future; things not mentioned in the prophecy can also come to pass."
Dumbledore said calmly, "When we know a prophecy, we can make the best preparations to deal with the fate that is most likely to occur."
"But the more you believe in a prophecy, the more likely it is to come true. As far as I know, there are two children who fit the criteria of the prophecy, and Neville is one of them." Allen gave Dumbledore a meaningful look.
Professor Dumbledore continued, "But Voldemort himself marked Harry."
"So you believe that the fate of these two children and these two families depends entirely on Voldemort's whim?" Allen's gentleness vanished, his voice as sharp as a drawn sword.
Professor Dumbledore, maintaining his composure, said, "This was entirely Voldemort's choice, Allen."
Allen, expressing his philosophy, spoke with conviction, saying, "Yes, the strong control their own destinies, while the weak are at the mercy of others."
"I believe my life should be in my own hands. I won't keep circling around a savior, waiting for victory to come. I will constantly strengthen myself to overcome all kinds of challenges," Allen stated proudly.
A slight sadness flickered in Dumbledore's eyes. This energetic young man reminded him of someone.
A handsome friend from his youth who, like him, admired power and was extremely interested in dark magic.
Yes, Allen had inherited a significant amount of dark magic from the Black family, and his fascination with power was very similar to Grindelwald's!
"Allen, everyone wants to be the hero, but following the traces of fate makes the path much easier." Dumbledore looked into Allen's eyes, as if re-evaluating the young man before him.
"Professor, I believe everyone is the hero of their own story; my life has its own unique brilliance," Allen insisted.
"Since you insist—" Dumbledore paused for a moment, then continued, "I hope you will stay away from Harry, not influence him, and not interfere with his duties."
Allen gave Dumbledore a deep look. Was he really that sure his plans would guarantee Harry's victory in that duel?
"Professor, my thirst for knowledge is insatiable," Allen suddenly changed the subject. "I hope you'll allow me to borrow books from the Restricted Section."
Dumbledore looked at Allen with surprise, "Allen, I think you've become too engrossed in dark magic. If that's the case—"
Allen instantly drew his wand: "Expecto Patronum!"
A silver phoenix shot out from the tip of his wand and began circling the office, much to Dumbledore's astonishment.
Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, tilted his head to the side and watched it with interest until the phoenix suddenly vanished.
Fawkes's gaze then focused on Allen, his expression filled with friendship and curiosity.
Dumbledore's expression softened. Someone completely immersed in dark magic couldn't cast the Patronus charm; it wasn't just a sign of powerful magical ability, but also an indication of having a protector, love, and hope in one's heart.
Moonlight gently filtered in, illuminating a silver ink bottle and a beautiful red quill pen.
A piece of parchment silently fell onto the table. Dumbledore picked up his quill, and the ink bottle cap opened automatically.
But he soon put the pen down again.
Professor Dumbledore suddenly said, "Allen, I sleep very soundly at night, and so does Madam Pince."
Although it might seem unrelated at first glance, Allen understood the situation perfectly.
Allen, in a deep voice, promised, "I think I can ensure this silver phoenix always soars in the sky."
Emerging from Dumbledore's office, Allen glanced at the monster guarding the door and involuntarily chuckled.
Professor Dumbledore, let's see whose method is more effective.
Allen walked towards Ravenclaw Tower.
The corridor was now silent, and night had completely fallen.
"Resurrection is within me, life is within me; I believe nothing is invincible, everything is possible."
Allen's faith grew stronger, his footsteps echoed in the air, but his heart was at peace.
"Allen!" It was Penelope; she suddenly appeared from around the corner.
"Penelope, you haven't come back yet," Allen said in surprise.
Their gazes locked in the silent night, and they smiled at each other.
The two of them slowly walked towards Ravenclaw Tower.
Allen lay down on his soft bed after washing his hands.
That night, strange changes were happening to Allen.
All the thoughts that had formed during the day's work and the evening's events suddenly vanished.
His body gave off an almost spiritual feeling, but his senses seemed twice as sharp.
It seemed like we had arrived at a very strange place.
A captivating song echoed across the vast, clear blue sea.
That voice—it sounded so much like the song Luna sang that day!
The song, with its enigmatic harmony, enchantingly evolved gradually from a solo section to a choral one.
Like Lorelei, a siren rising from the sea to the sky, she sought to trap a bewildered heart.
The enchanting music hadn't stopped. Allen felt as if he had arrived at a dimly lit library in a hazy dream; there, a beautiful girl with fluffy hair was bent over a table, diligently studying.
The girl's red lips were slightly parted, and her tongue lightly licked them.
Allen's gaze lingered on the woman's slender, white wrists and slightly parted red lips; her perfect front teeth appeared and disappeared as her lips parted.
Allen reached out with a yearning hand, but suddenly all the scenes vanished.
She entered the magic class. In the moonlight, Penelope sat in a chair, her dress slipping, and her firm, shapely legs reappeared before her eyes.
The moonlight flickered, and the three women transformed into ghosts, enveloping Allen, lifting him into the air and sinking him.
It was as if he had returned to the bed where he had fallen asleep, and the ghost leaned towards him.
He desperately tried to see his face; it looked so familiar, yet at the same time completely foreign.
Her feet were covered by a pure white dress, while half of her upper body was concealed.
Her hair flowed like water, and her gaze was captivating.
Allen closed his eyes, no longer daring to look, yet his senses were fully open to experience an unparalleled human joy.
Cold, soft lips were pressed against her parched mouth; yet her chest was warm and burning.
Allen felt this love was almost painful, this lust almost torture.
But the more she tried to push away this strange love, the more her senses were captivated by its mysterious and dreamlike charm.
Finally, she surrendered. She gave in to the joy, accepted the kisses, immersed herself in this unprecedented dream, and finally collapsed to the ground, exhausted, breathless, and drenched in sweat.