Chapter 18

Professor Snape nodded expressionlessly to Professor McGonagall and said, “Let’s begin!”

At this moment, Professor McGonagall, who had been silent for a long time, adjusted her glasses and her gaze swept back and forth across the six of them.

“Now, who can explain to me exactly what happened?” Professor McGonagall said.

The six of them kept their heads down, none daring to speak; Allen opened his mouth but felt as if a large stone had lodged in his throat, producing no sound.

“Draco, you tell us what happened—don’t be afraid!” Professor Snape said slowly and deliberately.

Malfoy gave a vague account of the entire incident, but was quickly interrupted by Harry: “Malfoy, there were plenty of witnesses!”

Malfoy had to revise his story, but still downplayed Allen’s fall.

Ron could no longer hold back and loudly recounted the entire sequence of events; Professor McGonagall grew increasingly grave, her eyes filled with dread.

“Professor Snape, what do you think?” Professor McGonagall said sternly.

“I believe this was caused by youthful impulsiveness. No one suffered serious injury, and Crabbe has already paid for his recklessness. I suggest deducting twenty points from Crabbe, ten each from Malfoy and Goyle, and ten each from Weasley, Potter, and Finis,” Professor Snape said, still slow and deliberate.

Professor McGonagall pressed her lips tightly together—this meant her temper was rapidly worsening.

"I disagree. Crabbe's actions were vile and dangerously reckless. If someone else had been on that out-of-control broomstick, someone would be dead. Hogwarts hasn't had a student death in fifty years!" Professor McGonagall said sternly. "Crabbe must receive a severe punishment: one hundred points deducted. The other five each lose twenty."

Professor Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Ron cut him off—how could he stand such long pauses, so slow and methodical?

“Professor! Those three are the real culprits—why are we being docked so many points?” Ron demanded loudly.

“Mr. Weasley, this is the final decision!” Professor McGonagall didn’t even glance at Snape.

Ron wanted to argue further, but after a furious glare from Professor McGonagall, he stammered and fell silent.

Professor Snape snorted and turned to leave; as he passed Harry and Allen, he gave them a cold, expressionless glare, then walked out without a word, taking his house’s students with him.

Harry and Allen felt a wave of relief— they had thought they’d be expelled, yet somehow they’d gotten off scot-free—but they dared not show it, since Professor McGonagall was still watching.

“Now, go back to your dormitories and rest. I’ll have dinner sent to you,” Professor McGonagall told the three.

Allen and the others relaxed inwardly and quickly thanked Professor McGonagall.

“Go back now! Don’t annoy me—I’m angry just looking at you!” Professor McGonagall issued another dismissal.

When Allen lay back on his four-poster bed again, he felt unreal—so much had happened today, as if an entire year had passed.

Neville had been sent back from the hospital and was now fast asleep; his brand-new Memory Orb was carefully placed on his bedside, glowing softly in the lamplight.

“Allen, good night!” Harry’s head emerged from beneath his curtains.

“Allen, Harry, good night!” Ron yawned as his head popped out from under his own curtains.

“Good night to you both!” Allen smiled warmly at them.

The three exchanged glances and saw in each other’s eyes exactly what they themselves felt.

They laughed happily, as if some invisible barrier had shattered, drawing them closer together...

Allen lay face-down on his bed again (mainly because he couldn’t lie on his back),

his mind rapidly replaying everything that had happened: the fear upon first seeing his wings, the rage after being insulted, the exhilaration of flying side by side, the desperate struggle during the fall from above, the triumphant return—each scene flowed through his heart, finally settling on the moment all three dove together.

Allen adjusted his position to lie more comfortably; the near-death experience had made him deeply appreciate the value of life—last time, dying had been like Zhu Bajie eating a ginseng fruit: before he could savor it, he was gone. This struggle to survive was far more searingly real.

But now he felt something else—something that, in some way, mattered even more than life itself. It was the first time he had felt this in this world.

“Is it friendship?” Allen buried his face in his pillow, murmuring softly.

“Maybe love will come later?” he added silently to himself—but instantly sensed the ambiguity in that thought, shook his head, and banished it.

Allen reached back to touch his inconvenient wings, thinking how they’d vanish when he slept, and how he didn’t know when they’d reappear—his heart began to feel a strange reluctance.

He pulled out his wand and examined it closely, thinking over Dumbledore’s words from that morning.

Should he sleep with his wand tonight?

Before today, this had been a real question.

But after Dumbledore’s advice and the afternoon’s brush with death, it was no longer a question.

Allen’s inner strength surged; he resolved to face his deepest fears directly.

He recalled Dumbledore’s remark that his transformation would be influenced by his subconscious.

If he held his wand during his innate transformation, its effect would strengthen—likely causing random changes to parts of his body or organs. What form would be best?

He needed to think carefully—maybe if he thought hard enough, he’d transform into exactly what he wanted!

Allen’s thoughts began to wander, past-life knowledge flashing through his mind.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head: What if my lower half transformed entirely? Like becoming a mermaid’s tail? Or a snake’s tail—would that make me a descendant of Nüwa? Maybe Slytherin would like that.

Allen slapped his own head, trying to shake the thought loose—but once a train of thought starts, it’s hard to stop.

He then realized: if my lower half became a fish or a snake, wouldn’t I lose...? That was a terrifying prospect!

Allen had lost all control over his mind’s momentum; his thoughts raced further: Could it randomly turn me into an animal?

A flood of bizarre knowledge from Bilibili and Zhihu surged into his mind: What good would turning into an animal do?

A small voice inside his head whispered: !

Another voice chimed in: !

Allen was stunned by his own wild imagination and bizarre knowledge base—how had his thoughtful reflection turned into this?

He tried to slam on the brakes in his mind, desperate to clear his thoughts!

But it was too late—the momentum was too great!

His mind held only one thought: What if it randomly turns me into a pig?

Allen groaned and covered his face: What did I do to deserve this? How did it come to this?

He gave a bitter smile at the wand in his hand—this was a world governed by mind, and his power was shaped by his subconscious. And now his mind was full of pigs.

If I sleep with this wand tonight, will I really turn into a pig tomorrow?

It’s very likely!

Just moments ago, his mind was filled with profound thoughts on life and friendship—how did it end up here?

Screw it!

He angrily tossed the wand into the bedside drawer and pulled the covers over his head, preparing to sleep.

Pfft!

This body is only eleven years old!

It would truly vanish into thin air!