Chapter 17

Allen dove toward Malfoy and his two companions like a hawk.

Harry finally saw what Allen held in his hands—two broken branches still covered in green leaves—and instantly understood these were the weapons Allen had fashioned for himself.

But he noticed Allen held the branches strangely, gripping them in the middle; shouldn’t he hold one end for maximum reach? Harry silently criticized him.

Malfoy and his group were nearly at the castle’s front gate, but they couldn’t outrun Allen, who flew through the air.

In an instant, Allen caught up to them, darted past at speed, and swung one branch to knock Crabbe down.

Crabke collapsed to his knees, clutching his head against the ground, his rear end raised high as he wailed, “I’m sorry! I know I’m wrong! Spare me!”

But Allen had no intention of letting him off—Crabbe’s round, exposed buttocks were the most obvious target.

Allen turned and repeatedly swooped past him, raining blows upon his backside until Crabbe screamed and crawled wildly across the grass.

Eventually, Allen’s weapon was so battered it began to fade.

Crabbe could no longer bear it, sobbing, “Draco! Gregory! Come help me! Hurry!”

Malfoy and Goyle exchanged a glance, both seeing the same answer in each other’s eyes; they silently stepped backward, refusing to respond, terrified of drawing Allen’s attention.

At that moment, a roar came from inside the castle: “Allen Finis! Stop this!”

It was Professor McGonagall arriving.

“In all my years at Hogwarts—I have never—”

Professor McGonagall was too stunned to speak; her spectacles glinted with fury, “—how dare you—”

But Allen, consumed by rage, ignored her. He spread his wings, turned, and prepared to resume attacking Crabbe, who crawled helplessly across the grass, his robes smeared with green plant juice.

Just as Allen expected to savor the sweet rush of revenge, he heard Professor McGonagall’s incantation.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Then Allen found himself frozen—wings spread, arms still in attack pose, suspended motionless in midair.

“It’s not his fault, Professor—”

“Silence, Miss Patil—”

“But Malfoy—”

“Enough, Miss Granger. Well, Weasley, Potter, come with me.” Professor McGonagall spoke without mercy.

She turned to head back to the castle. Malfoy, meanwhile, let out a quiet sigh of relief, a look of triumph crossing his face—but it did not escape McGonagall’s sharp eyes.

She halted and spoke coldly to Malfoy and Goyle: “Malfoy, Goyle, you will come with me. You will carry Crabbe. I will notify Professor Snape to deal with you.”

Malfoy and Goyle’s faces fell, but they dared not disobey. With tearful expressions, they helped Crabbe up and stumbled after the group.

Professor McGonagall marched toward the castle, her wand controlling the petrified Allen floating above them. Harry and Ron mechanically followed. Harry wanted to speak in their defense, but his throat felt locked.

The young witches and wizards watched the procession being led away, exchanging silent glances.

At that moment, Madam Hooch hurried back, stunned by the scene.

“What on earth has happened?”

No one answered her.

Professor McGonagall led them across the school grounds. Teachers and students heading to meals stopped and stared at this bizarre procession, pointing and whispering—especially at Allen, floating helplessly in midair.

He drew every eye. Even with his thick skin, this time he was utterly exposed.

The pose was too humiliating—especially holding two broken branches, his face frozen in rage. In this context, it was laughable. Worse, he floated in plain view, every detail visible—even those at the back didn’t need to stand on tiptoe.

Yet people still pressed forward, only held back by McGonagall’s furious glare.

Only George, Fred, and Jordan dared provoke her. George shouted to Jordan, “Ha! This morning we bet whether little Allen could fly—and look! He really flew! Pay up, one Galleon!”

Jordan retorted, “We bet he’d fly under his own power! He’s levitating now—you owe me money!”

“You’re blind! Allen’s pose proves he was frozen mid-flight! Pay up, don’t cheat!” George refused to let it go.

Fred, however, watched Ron dodging in the group with interest and exclaimed, “Stop arguing! Look—our dear little Ronny’s right there in the line!”

George’s attention snapped to Ron. He shouted, “My dear little brother Ronny—did you get caught stealing the school toilet seat for Ginny?”

Ron’s face turned as red as his hair. He ignored his brothers, turning his head away.

Fred then lectured Ron seriously: “Ron, lift your head! As a proud Weasley, even if you’re about to be expelled, you must hold your head high!”

Ron fell for it. He lifted his head, forcing himself to stare straight ahead—right at the floating Allen.

“Aha! My good brother, just like that!” Fred laughed. “Now tell me—what color are Allen’s underpants today?”

Laughter erupted from the crowd. Ron quickly dropped his head again. Allen rolled his eyes—he was wearing jeans. There was no way anyone could see his underpants.

Professor McGonagall could take no more. “Are the three of you planning to join the other six in detention?”

George and his brothers fled the scene at once, leaving behind a trail of laughter.

Filch clutched his cat, beaming as he watched Allen’s group. He hadn’t seen so many students punished at once in years.

Only as they reached the castle did Professor McGonagall lift the spell, lowering Allen to the ground—she couldn’t navigate the castle’s narrow corridors with him floating.

Allen’s fury had vanished. Now he felt regret—first, for being too showy; second, for wondering if he’d be expelled.

Professor McGonagall brought them to her office and studied the six students with a stern gaze, saying nothing.

The six stood like wilted eggplants, heads bowed. Only now did they grasp the gravity of their actions; each grew increasingly uneasy.

Then came a knock at the door.

In walked a man with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It was Professor Snape.