Chapter 13: Conflict

The Great Hall.

The young wizards were having breakfast.

Draco Malfoy was enthusiastically recounting his Quidditch experiences, describing how he had skillfully dodged a Muggle crop-spraying airplane.

Around him, a circle of first-year students from all houses listened intently, occasionally gasping in awe.

Malfoy clearly relished the attention, speaking with even greater vigor.

At that moment, Allen Finis entered the Great Hall, dragging his long wings, carefully navigating past the tables so as not to bump the utensils.

The young wizards noticed him and surged toward him, shrieking as they reached out to touch his wings; some reckless children even tried plucking feathers, and Allen instantly lost his composure.

Fortunately, Percy was also eating breakfast; using his prefect’s authority, he silenced the students, allowing Allen’s roommate to pull him out of the crowd—but his wings were now smeared with various jams and butter.

The young wizards still refused to disperse, clustering around Allen, peppering him with questions, though none dared touch him anymore; Ron and Harry were actively maintaining order among the questions.

Allen had no choice but to eat his breakfast while answering the students’ questions; even some upperclassmen paused to listen.

What Allen didn’t notice was that Malfoy was watching him from afar, his eyes filled with envy and resentment.

Just as Allen’s explanation left him parched, a haughty voice cut in: “What’s so special about a ‘bird-man’?”

Allen stopped and turned to find Malfoy flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, his hair slicked back into a gleaming pompadour, chin raised in arrogance as he stared down at Allen.

Allen knew the best way to deal with such an arrogant fool was to ignore him completely, so he glanced at Malfoy once and returned to answering the students.

Naturally, being ignored made Malfoy even more furious; he shoved through the crowd and stepped right up to Allen: “Has this stupid pair of wings made you deaf too, half-breed?”

Ron and Harry’s eyes blazed with rage; they moved to confront Malfoy, but Allen grabbed them both and calmly said to Malfoy: “Oh? What do you want?”

“I just can’t stand people like you misleading everyone!” Malfoy tried to claim moral superiority.

“Oh, then thank you for the reminder.” Allen had no intention of stooping to the level of a brat; he tightened his grip on Harry and Ron and once again ignored Malfoy.

“No one has ever dared ignore me like this!” Malfoy grew even more enraged.

“Well, now someone has. No need to thank me.” Allen replied, still calm.

The surrounding students burst into laughter; Ron laughed the loudest, slapping the table in delight.

Malfoy’s face flushed crimson to his ears; he had never been so furious, and for a moment, he was too enraged to speak.

But Allen, whose mood had brightened that morning, had no intention of letting him off; staring at Malfoy’s pompadour, he suddenly recalled a meme from his past life’s short videos, and said to Malfoy: “You must use a lot of hair gel to keep that hairstyle. At your age, using that much gel every day will make you go bald.”

The Muggle-born wizards erupted in laughter; those from wizarding families looked confused.

Malfoy felt as if his soul had been struck; though he didn’t understand what “hair gel” meant, a voice deep within his soul told him he had just endured the most vicious insult of his life.

Consumed by rage, Malfoy spat out: “You mudblood, orphaned bastard—didn’t your dead parents ever teach you how to speak?”

Allen’s face darkened instantly. As a transplant, his parents on Earth had always been a deep wound he refused to touch; as a Chinese man, filial piety came first.

He could endure insults aimed at himself—he’d laugh them off—but if his parents were insulted, that was something he could never tolerate.

Allen shot to his feet, his wings snapping fully open in fury; the rush of air from their spread sent the surrounding students stumbling backward and extinguished many floating candles above the hall.

The students realized then just how vast Allen’s wings were—over five meters across, nearly as tall as an adult wizard when fully extended.

Allen advanced toward Malfoy, step by step, casting his wings’ shadow over him; Malfoy felt like a small beast pinned by a predator, trembling as he retreated, his cronies Crabbe and Goyle frozen in terror.

At that moment, Allen felt someone tightly hugging his waist; he turned to see Harry, Ron, and Neville holding him.

He was about to shake them off when Professor McGonagall’s voice rang out: “Aren’t you all eating breakfast? Don’t you have classes this morning? What are you all doing gathered here?”

No one dared defy Professor McGonagall’s authority; everyone quickly dispersed.

Allen instantly calmed down; everyone pretended nothing had happened.

Professor McGonagall shot sharp glares at Allen and Malfoy before walking away.

Back at his seat, Allen regretted his earlier outburst—it had been too conspicuous—but since it was done, there was no point in regretting it.

Harry looked at Allen sincerely: “I held you back because we’re both orphans—Hogwarts is our last home. I don’t want my best friend expelled from Hogwarts.” His voice softened at the end.

Allen’s heart softened instantly; perhaps it was the words “home” and “best friend” that had melted something inside him.

He gently looked away, unable to meet the bright green light in Harry’s eyes; he sniffed softly and said to Harry, Ron, and Neville: “I’m fine now. Thank you all.”

Neville’s face turned bright red; after a long pause, he managed: “Allen, you’re a good person. Don’t stoop to Malfoy’s level.”

Ron seized the moment to joke: “Allen, did you know Fred, George, and Jordan are betting on whether you can fly with those wings? They’re planning to trick you up to the top of Gryffindor Tower and push you off!”

“Ha! Then I’d better be careful—I don’t want to be the first ‘bird-man’ to die from a fall!” Allen joked.

Everyone laughed at Allen’s wit and returned to their breakfasts.

At that moment, Hermione sat down across from Allen, holding a book titled *The Quidditch Through the Ages*, and said cheerfully: “Your wings are dirty. May I clean them for you?”

Allen felt a flicker of surprise—had we become this close already? But letting her clean them didn’t seem wrong.

He gave a slight nod: “I’d be honored.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she recited the incantation steadily: “Scourgify!”

Instantly, all the jam and butter vanished from Allen’s wings, restoring them to pristine white.

This lifted Allen’s spirits; he thanked Hermione warmly.

Hermione opened the book on the table and said: “Don’t thank me—I couldn’t bear such a pure white pair of wings getting dirty.”

“Besides, the way you looked when you flew into a rage was far more impressive than any legendary wizard in this book!” Hermione glanced at Allen quickly, then added the words just as swiftly.

Allen was momentarily speechless.

Hermione felt awkward; she looked past Allen and quickly changed the subject: “Don’t mind that. You should be paying attention to Malfoy—he looks furious, clearly unwilling to accept it.”

Allen turned to look at the Slytherin table; Malfoy was red-faced, explaining something to other students, clearly ashamed of his moment of fear, desperately justifying himself.

Suddenly, he seemed to sense Allen’s gaze; he turned, and their eyes met across the hall. Allen clearly saw humiliation and resentment in Malfoy’s eyes; he let out a faint, dismissive snort and turned away, ending the stare.

Hermione, sitting across from him, had seen it all; she whispered: “We have Flying class with Slytherin this afternoon.” She lifted her copy of *The Quidditch Through the Ages*. “Want some flying tips from me?”

Allen smiled gently at her: “I’d be delighted.”