Ravenclaw's Diadem

"His name?" The Grey Lady's expression betrayed a flicker of fear. "He gave himself a name that no one else dared to utter. There is a trophy of his in the Trophy Room." It seemed The Grey Lady had no intention of speaking that person's name. But Allen already knew; of all the names the wizarding world dared not speak, none was more infamous than the Dark Lord.

Allen felt wronged. Although he was indeed outstanding, how could he possibly be like the ambitious Voldemort? "Do you think I am like him? But I haven't deceived you!"

"I... don't... know... He was... flattering. He seemed... to know... how to show sympathy..." The Grey Lady closed her eyes, seemingly lost in memory, or perhaps regret.

"Did he take something very important from you?" Allen asked softly.

"It was indeed important, but it did not belong to me." The Grey Lady's voice was heavy with bitterness.

"If you can, please describe it in detail. Perhaps I can help you find it." Allen was extremely sincere; he had the ability and the willingness to help The Grey Lady.

"You? Generation after generation of students have forced me to reveal its whereabouts. No one can resist its allure..." Following The Grey Lady's gaze, Allen looked at the top of Rowena Ravenclaw's head. Ravenclaw's Diadem rested there; even though it was merely a statue, one could still discern the magnificence and intricacy of the diadem.

"So, what you were tricked out of was Ravenclaw's Diadem. No one can resist the temptation of increased wisdom, but the wise know that true power always comes from within oneself." Allen's tone was steady, but this struck a nerve with The Grey Lady.

"You don't understand. This diadem does more than just increase one's intelligence; more importantly, it is knowledge—knowledge that increases wealth!" The Grey Lady seemed provoked, looking at Allen with disdain, as if she were looking at someone profoundly ignorant.

There was indeed a mystery here. Allen became further convinced of this.

"When you can find Ravenclaw's Diadem, then come and talk to me." The Grey Lady seemed to feel that further conversation was useless and turned to vanish into the statue.

"A diadem, huh?" Allen shook his head with a smile and returned to the dormitory. Edward was fast asleep, seemingly unaware of Allen's departure. After a quick wash, Allen drifted off to sleep.

The next day, although Allen had slept late, he still rose early to prepare for his morning exercise. The more he practiced the Basic Body Refining Technique, the more he could feel his own agility and strength. Allen was immersed in this growth of power, and also intoxicated by the wonders of the magical world.

However, today he also delved into Master Geber's insights on alchemy, because some things might need to be prepared in advance—for instance, a diadem. To imbue a diadem with the function of increasing wisdom—that would be simply marvelous!

At breakfast, as the owls swarmed into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was drawn to a long, thin package carried by six long-eared owls. The owls flew toward the Gryffindor table and landed in front of Harry.

Seeing the undisguised joy on Harry's face from afar, Allen guessed the contents of the letter immediately. Harry must have received his first broomstick—a "Nimbus 2000."

But there was nothing to be jealous of; Allen himself possessed a "Neptune" with excellent performance. Quickly downing the oatmeal in his bowl, Allen headed to find the Head of Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick. Just moments ago, Professor Flitwick had sent Allen a note via owl, asking him to come find him after breakfast.

"Allen, I am very pleased to see another exceptionally brilliant wizard born into our house. Your performance in every subject is outstanding; even Professor Snape has to admit that. But life, beyond books and studies, has many beautiful sceneries and interesting things waiting for you to explore, try, and experience. I heard from Madam Pince that you spend almost all your spare time buried in the library. I believe that in the long run, this is not good for your health," Professor Flitwick said earnestly.

It had to be said that Professor Flitwick was a responsible Head of House and a reliable teacher. He cared not only for the students' academics but also for their lives and thoughts. This was truly rare.

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick! I will be sure to adjust my schedule in the future and balance work with rest. In fact, reading is a form of enjoyment for me!" Allen was deeply moved and looked at Professor Flitwick sincerely.

"Oh, that is truly remarkable. To be so studious at such a young age—perhaps that is why you are far more excellent than the other young wizards." Studious students were always prone to gaining a teacher's favoritism!

"But do you have any interest in Quidditch?" Professor Flitwick asked.

"Quidditch? Professor, first-year students are not allowed to bring broomsticks, nor can they join the Quidditch team." Allen looked at Professor Flitwick in confusion, but he had a guess in his heart. Could it be the possibility he was thinking of?

"Yes, the rules are indeed as such, but I have just learned that Harry Potter of Gryffindor has been specially recruited to become the youngest Seeker in a century. According to Madam Hooch, your talent is no less than Potter's. Your brother Albert was an excellent Seeker when he was at school. I believe Ravenclaw can also specially recruit you as a Seeker. We haven't won the Quidditch Cup in a long time—so long that I can barely remember when we last won!" Professor Flitwick was indeed intending to specially recruit Allen into the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.

Recalling the feeling of flying on a broomstick during flying lessons, Allen agreed without hesitation.

Professor Flitwick was very pleased. Allen was so steady, and his stature, far taller than his peers, paired with his agile movements, seemed to make victory a possibility.

"This isn't some old-model broomstick; this is a Nimbus 2000. You said you had what at home, Malfoy? A Comet 260?"

"Comets are flashy enough, but they aren't in the same league as a Nimbus."

"How would you know, Weasley? You can't even afford half a broom handle. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

It was the voices of Ron and Malfoy; it seemed they were arguing over broomsticks.

"I hope you aren't fighting, children?" Professor Flitwick asked in his squeaky voice.