Chapter 15: Aerial Duel

The aerial standoff continued.

Malfoy stared cruelly at the three across from him, the events of the day replaying endlessly in his mind; new grudges and old resentments surged into his heart. Crabbe and Goyle’s sturdy bodies gave him great security, and a sense of impending revenge filled him with sweet pleasure—he felt his body trembling slightly with excitement, the sensation exquisitely delicious.

Although Allen had recovered his breath, he still felt terrible. Without solid muscle to cushion the impact, he felt the shock had not faded; his bones still ached faintly. He tasted iron in his mouth, and upon closer inspection, a faint sweetness. Allen knew where in his mouth he was bleeding, but dared not let Harry or Ron notice—he swallowed hard.

“Get down quickly!” Hermione shouted urgently from the ground. “Madam Hooch said not to move around—you’re going to get us in trouble!”

But these words moved not a single one of the six boys in the air. Ron, though uncertain, refused to retreat under such circumstances.

Their gazes intertwined in midair, as if sparks would fly.

“Hand it over now!” Harry shouted again. “Don’t think having Crabbe and Goyle behind you will protect you!”

Malfoy and his two companions seemed to sense Allen’s weakness and Ron’s insecurity, and paid even less heed to Harry’s words—their arrogance grew bolder.

Malfoy licked his lips, sneering and haughty, wiggling his middle finger at Harry and the others. “Come on! Don’t just talk big!”

Harry glanced back at Allen and Ron; their eyes met. Ron and Allen gave Harry a resolute look.

Allen had never before felt such determination to do one thing. Perhaps it was after Dumbledore’s guidance today that his thoughts had cleared. Perhaps the feeling of free flight in the air had brushed away the shadows in his heart. Perhaps he had suppressed it for too long.

Allen now had no distractions and was utterly calm. He knew he must crush Malfoy’s arrogance now—otherwise, Malfoy would establish psychological dominance over him, and Allen would never hold his head high again at Hogwarts.

“Don’t worry about me,” Allen whispered to Harry and Ron. “You fly best, Harry—you take the lead on Malfoy. This brat acts tough, but he’s a coward at heart. If you threaten him a few times, he’ll crack. Ron and I will be your wingmen—we’ll draw off Crabbe and Goyle.”

Ron looked utterly confused. “What’s a wingman?”

“It means supporting Harry,” Allen explained helplessly. Then, recalling some aerial combat documentaries he’d seen, he added everything he could, regardless of relevance:

“We’re at a physical disadvantage, but we’re far more agile. Maintain altitude. Dive to attack. If you miss, break off immediately, climb back up, and look for another chance. If you hit, lock onto their tail and keep firing! If they lock onto you, make sharp evasive maneuvers to break free!”

The two stared blankly. They understood the meaning, but it sounded so strangely odd.

They nodded quickly in agreement, pretending they fully grasped Allen’s brilliant strategy.

At that moment, Crabbe and Goyle charged toward them with grim smiles. The earlier aerial collision had made them aware of their physical advantage—and filled them with confidence of victory.

“You handle Goyle,” Allen told Ron one last time.

Then all three pulled up on their brooms and began climbing.

Crabbe and Goyle foolishly followed, but since they started lower and were heavier, they were quickly left behind.

Allen’s trio finally reached sufficient altitude—roughly as high as Gryffindor Tower—while Malfoy, still level with a large tree, ordered his two lackeys to chase Allen’s group.

He also loudly mocked their cowardly avoidance of battle.

At that moment, Allen looked around and saw the majestic grandeur of Hogwarts Castle; the shimmering Black Lake; the wisps of smoke rising from Hogsmeade Village; distant emerald mountains, dense forests, and an endless, beautiful sunset…

The sunset blinded Allen’s eyes. He felt his chest wide open, his heart pumping blood powerfully through his body, every cell singing with joy. He locked onto Malfoy’s position below and shouted:

“Ace pilot requesting combat!”

Then he dove like an arrow, Harry and Ron right behind him.

Malfoy finally realized the trio’s intent—but it was too late. He had neither altitude nor speed. He could only watch helplessly as they closed in rapidly, struggling to evade.

Malfoy’s evasive maneuvers worked—he wasn’t hit by any of the three. But the trio’s goal was never to collide—he would be crippled if they did at that speed!

Their goal was to close in fast and create a local numerical advantage.

The strategy succeeded. The trio instantly pulled away from Crabbe and Goyle, closing in on Malfoy with lightning speed.

Now they had ample time to surround and overwhelm Malfoy.

Harry and Ron, due to inertia, flew past Malfoy.

But Allen, thinking quickly, spread his wings early to slow down. The wind from his wings disrupted Malfoy’s broom control. Allen spun his broom and locked onto Malfoy’s tail, grabbing his long robe to prevent him from accelerating away.

Harry and Ron now turned their brooms and caught up. Ron flew above Malfoy to block his ascent. Harry and Allen flanked him on either side, each freeing one hand to punch Malfoy continuously—beating him into cries of pain.

Allen listened closely and noticed the most repeated word was “my father.”

Good moments were always fleeting. Crabbe and Goyle soon neared the battle. The trio had no choice but to break off and climb again, seeking another opportunity.

The young wizards on the ground screamed incessantly, stunned by the spectacular aerial duel. Only Hermione shouted anxiously—Allen noticed her voice was hoarse.

But now Malfoy learned his lesson—he kept his two lackeys close. Harry’s trio circled everywhere but found no good opening.

Seconds ticked by.

Finally, Malfoy cracked first. His arrogance and malice vanished, replaced by vulnerability and grievance. He raised the memory ball high.

“Here, see if you can catch it!” he shouted, hurling the glass sphere high into the air. “That’s enough today! I’m letting you go!” Then he swiftly descended to the ground.

Harry saw the sphere rise as if in slow motion, then begin to fall. He leaned forward, pointing his broom downward—in a flash, he accelerated into a dive, chasing the sphere—the wind howled past his ears, mingling with the crowd’s screams. He reached out and caught the sphere just one foot above the ground.

He straightened his broom in time, then gently landed on the grass, his palm firmly clutching the memory ball.

Harry raised the memory ball triumphantly, turning to show his friends his victory—but heard the young wizards erupt in terrified screams.

He looked toward the sunset and saw a boy with enormous white wings riding a broom, hurtling toward the sun. The broom’s tail was incomplete, continuously shedding branches…

The broom seemed uncontrollable, accelerating relentlessly toward the sun. The boy stretched his wings wide to slow down—but to no avail.

Everyone watched as the boy rose higher, flew farther, shrinking into a tiny black dot, vanishing into the sunset’s glow—like a great bird chasing the sun, dissolving into its light.

What followed made everyone’s hearts rise to their throats: the black dot fell from the sun, falling endlessly… along with the disintegrating broom…

Everyone clearly saw the boy struggling desperately to flap his wings and maintain balance;

Everyone hoped for a miracle!

But reality was cruel. The freezing wind at high altitude battered the boy’s body, spinning him uncontrollably in midair. The golden sunset bathed his white wings in a tragic hue…

The boy still could not maintain balance!

Everyone felt the boy’s desperate will to survive—but he continued accelerating downward…

Many young wizards could not bear to watch; they shut their eyes in anguish.

Finally, no miracle came. The black dot fell into the distant Forbidden Forest…

Vanished from all sight…

“Thud!” The memory ball dropped from Harry’s hand onto the grass.

Harry’s heart sank with it…