Allen had no idea that a family drama was unfolding at Number Four, Privet Drive.
He was comfortably nestled in the creaking old armchair in his Baker Street apartment, a thick stack of parchment spread on his lap, and a uniquely shaped Quick-Quotes Quill in his right hand.
He found that pen in a stationery store in Diagon Alley; the tip automatically dispenses the right amount of ink when writing, saving him the trouble of dipping it repeatedly.
"Efficiency has indeed improved considerably." Allen examined the smooth handwriting with satisfaction.
"Unfortunately, it's still a bit troublesome. I'll see if I can buy an auto-writing quill from the Weasley brothers sometime."
The room was quiet, with only the scratching sound of a pen nib across the paper.
Occasionally, the sounds of cars honking in the London streets drifted in from outside the window, but separated by the barrier of subspace, those sounds were muffled and distant.
Allen looked down at the last page of the manuscript.
"Pride?" Harry said. "Are you out of your mind? They'll be furious if they heard I've almost died so many times and miraculously survived..."
Then, together they went through the exit and returned to the Muggle world.
He put down his pen, leaned back, and let out a long breath.
"Finally finished writing."
The first draft of " Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets " has been in development for nearly two months, starting from the summer vacation.
Of course, the main reason is that he is rather lazy.
However, the sense of accomplishment was still very real when I finished writing it.
Allen closed his eyes and tapped the system in his mind. "Hey, system, the second part is finished. When will you release it?"
The system light screen lit up immediately, and the blue characters flickered.
[The first part of " Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets " has been accepted. Publication date: September 1st. The system will automatically send the first nine chapters to the publisher at that time.]
"September 1st?" Allen calculated the date. "That's about two weeks... Great, just in time for Hogwarts to start."
He stretched and was about to stand up and stretch his muscles when the system screen didn't disappear; instead, a new line of text popped up.
[Settling all rewards for Part 1. Please wait...]
Allen paused, then sat back down in his chair. "All the rewards? Didn't we already give them out several times before?"
[The rewards distributed previously were interim rewards. Today's settlement is the final reward upon completion of the first part.]
The words on the screen began to scroll, like a long list.
[Reward 1: Muggle world income settlement.]
[ Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Complete Edition) has sold over eight million copies worldwide to date. After deducting the publisher's share and taxes, the total amount the host should receive from all royalties, merchandise licensing fees, and overseas publishing revenue is...]
Allen blinked at the number, then blinked again.
"... How many?"
He sat up abruptly and read the number again.
Then he silently shifted his gaze from the light screen to the old chair in the corner of the room, missing a leg, and then to the half-withered pothos on the windowsill.
"Should I move to a different place?"
He imagined that if he converted that money into coins, he could probably pave the entire length of Baker Street.
He touched his nose, deciding not to delve into what the number actually meant for the time being, lest he get so excited that he fell off his chair.
"Sigh, even though I've become a wizard, I still prefer the British pound."
[Reward Two: Part One - Philosopher's Stone Character Card Pool. The host may draw once, randomly obtaining the most proficient aspect of a character from this work.]
[Extracting... Please wait...]
Allen held his breath.
Last time, he drew Flitwick's magical combat skills, which directly boosted his combat abilities to a new level.
What will we get this time? Dumbledore's insight? Snape's Potions- making skills? Or McGonagall's Transfiguration?
The turntable on the light screen began to spin rapidly, blurring the names into a swirling shadow.
A few seconds later, the turntable slowly came to a stop.
[Extraction complete. Congratulations, host, you have obtained: Neville's Steadfast Will.]
Allen paused for a moment. "... Neville's Steadfast Will?"
[One of Neville's core qualities: an extremely unwavering belief in the people or things he identifies with. This belief can resist the corrosive effects of most spiritual spells, including the Imperius Curse.]
[When the host is in a state of unwavering will, any magic that attempts to distort their judgment or impose its will will be significantly resisted.]
Allen took a few seconds to process it, then nodded thoughtfully. "So this thing is actually a mental defense talent."
He thought about it and realized it was indeed quite practical.
After all, in the magical world, there are quite a few wizards who have been controlled by the Imperius Curse, and even some experienced adult wizards may not be able to completely resist it.
As a transmigrator who causes trouble all over the Wizarding World, having an extra layer of insurance is always a good thing.
"Good, I'll take it."
[Reward 3: Custom-made black trench coat (silver stripes)]
A 3D preview image of a trench coat appeared on the light screen.
It was a well-tailored black trench coat; the material looked heavy but not bulky.
Several very fine silver-gray stripes are inlaid at the collar and cuffs, which shimmer with a luster similar to flowing metal under the light.
The trench coat has a well-fitting shoulder line and the hem falls just below the knee, with smooth lines that exude an understated yet sophisticated air.
Allen leaned closer for a look, raising an eyebrow. "This style... is indeed quite cool."
[Function Description: Basic waterproof, stain-resistant, and provides light physical protection. The lining features multiple expandable pockets for storing books, wands, and other personal items.]
The fabric has self-healing properties; minor tears or abrasions can recover on their own within hours. When worn, the garment automatically adjusts its size to fit the wearer's body.
"Automatically adjusts size? And it can even self-repair?" Allen was increasingly satisfied as he looked at it. "This is a great product."
He reached out and clicked the "Claim" button on the screen. The next moment, a trench coat appeared out of thin air on his lap, neatly folded and carrying a faint scent of fabric.
Allen stood up, shook out his trench coat, and draped it over his shoulders.
The shoulder line was perfectly positioned, and the cuff length was just right; it did indeed automatically adapt to his body shape, just as the system had said.
He glanced down at the fine, silver-gray stripes on his chest, which gleamed subtly in the lamplight, exuding a low-key yet sophisticated feel.
He spun around in front of the mirror twice, then gasped in surprise:
How could someone as handsome as me exist in this world?
He grinned as he hung his trench coat on the hook behind the door, planning to wear it out tomorrow to see how it looked and maybe check out some other houses.
Meanwhile, in the Bloomsbury Publishing office in central London, Christopher sat behind his desk piled high with manuscripts, a cup of black tea that had gone cold in front of him.
He rubbed his temples with his fingers, his gaze falling on the stack of newly received submissions on the corner of the table.
Since the phenomenal success of " Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone," the publisher has been receiving piles of "imitative works" every day.
Some write about imposter students in magic schools, some about talking cats, and others about a broom's fantastical adventures after it runs away from home.
Barry had already started complaining about the lack of editors for the initial review, Christopher had gotten used to picking out a few manuscripts from the stack every evening, flipping through them, and then throwing them into the "rejection" box in disappointment.
But today seems a little different.
He casually picked up the top manuscript, intending to glance at it and put it down as usual, but out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of those familiar lines of text in the lower right corner of the cover.
His movements froze in mid-air, as if he had been frozen.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Part 1)
Author: Allen Wayne.
Christopher stared intently at the line of text, then slowly placed the manuscript back on the table, glanced at the back of the cover, and then flipped it back again.
"Am I dreaming?"
He muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously turning to the first page of the manuscript.
[Chapter 1 The Worst Birthday]
"It can't be fake, can it?" he whispered.
But when he read the second paragraph, the familiar, crisp narrative rhythm had already drawn him in.
The Dursley family ' living room, Dudley's imperious manner, Aunt Petunia's anxious expression, and Harry's suffocating feeling of being trapped in his room...
Christopher's gaze moved slower and slower across the paper, and his breathing became lighter and lighter.
The sky outside the window changed from bright afternoon sunlight to deep blue, then to pitch black, and the office lights came on, but he didn't notice at all.
Time slips through our fingers like water.
Christopher was completely immersed in Harry's sweltering summer; he saw Dobby fall from the sky, saw the pudding floating above the kitchen, and saw Uncle Vernon's face turn purple with rage.
He could almost smell the cream splattered on the floor and hear Aunt Petunia's suppressed screams.
He turned page after page, his left hand unconsciously tapping the table, as if urging himself to read faster.
He almost burst out laughing when he read about Harry and Ron driving that Flying Ford Anglia, wobbling and swaying, over Hogwarts.
When he read that Snape's dark eyes were staring coldly at Harry, he instinctively shrank back.
The only sound in the office was the turning of pages.
Until a voice came from the doorway.
" Christopher?"
Barry stood by the office door, looking at him with a surprised expression.
It was completely dark outside the window. A few sparse stars dotted the London night sky. The shops across the street had long since closed, leaving only a few streetlights casting a dim yellow glow.
Barry was carrying a thermos that was more than half empty. He had obviously just come out of his office and was on his way home when he saw the light was still on and peeked over.
"You haven't gone home?" Barry glanced at his watch. "It's past eleven... I thought you left this afternoon."
Christopher didn't look up; his fingers were pressed tightly against the edge of the manuscript, his gaze sweeping over the next line of text.
"... Have you been sitting here for hours?"
"Quiet," Christopher mumbled, turning to the next page.
Barry paused, then raised an eyebrow.
He knew, of course, that Christopher didn't like being disturbed while reading manuscripts, but this was the first time he'd seen it this way.
This old guy didn't even say hello, just left him standing at the door.
Barry hesitated for a moment, then went into the office and closed the door behind him.
He walked around the mountain of manuscripts, stood beside Christopher, and glanced at the contents of the paper.
"... Is this the new Harry Potter?"
Christopher then reluctantly glanced at him, but his gaze quickly returned to the paper:
" Allen Wayne's new manuscript appeared on my desk along with those new writers' manuscripts... just like last time."
Barry's expression changed instantly. He quickly walked around to the other side of the desk, pulled out a chair, sat down, and asked in a low voice, "The second book? How much is it?"
"The first nine chapters, supposedly the first part." Christopher turned a page, his tone carrying a barely concealed urgency despite his efforts to control it.
His breathing became increasingly shallow.
He turned to the next page.
"I think," Hermione said, "That if we pretend to be interested in this theory, maybe there'll be some hope..."
"Oh, come on, the teachers won't fall for that so easily," Ron said, "Unless they're incredibly stupid..."
Christopher flipped through the pages with great anticipation.
A blank page.
He flipped through it again from the beginning, checking each page with his finger, turning faster and faster, but there were no words.
The back of the last page was clean, with only one line of small print, in the same font as on the cover:
Part 1, complete.
Christopher stopped moving, staring at the line of text for a few seconds, as if trying to convince himself that it was actually "Part Two, please turn to the back to continue reading," or "this is just a misunderstanding," or "I'm dreaming."
But his eyes did not lie to him.
The words lay quietly on the paper, like a wall that forcefully kept his expectations outside.
"... The first part is finished?" He repeated the word, his voice trembling slightly at the end.
He abruptly looked up at Barry, his face showing an expression of near despair.
"The first part is over? That's it? He got stuck at the most crucial point and then told me the first part is over?!"
His voice echoed in the office, much louder than expected.
Barry was startled and leaned back, exclaiming, "Ouch—what are you yelling about!"
"He's stuck here!" Christopher stood up and held the page up to Barry.
" Hermione just found a clue! And Ron was still making sarcastic remarks! And then?! And then?!"
He put the manuscript back on the table, flipped to the last page, and flipped through it again, as if to make sure he hadn't missed any folds or interlayers.
The paper was spotless; nothing was left over.
He slumped back into his chair, covered his face with his hands, and wailed.
"Oh no... Part 1... is over..."