Chapter 38: Social Death

That night, Allen slept uneasily; he dreamed of walking alone through the Forbidden Forest.

When he woke, he could not shake off the panic from his dream.

But all of this was interrupted by something else.

Still half-asleep, he felt a tightness in his chest and thought to roll over, get up, and pull back the curtains for some air.

Then he discovered he could not roll over.

He trembled as he reached out to examine his body; though he had transformed into all manner of strange forms over the past few months and his tolerance had greatly improved, what he had become today shattered his mental limits, forcing a scream from his throat.

The scream startled the entire dormitory.

Chaos erupted inside; finally, Harry pulled back the curtains, revealing Allen’s condition to the others.

Harry stared blankly at Allen lying on the bed; his anxious expression faded, replaced by him biting his lip hard to stifle a sound, desperately fighting to keep his mouth from curling upward, feeling a surge of air rising from his lungs, pounding against his palate.

Harry was barely holding back his laughter—and it was costing him dearly.

Someone broke first; soon, everyone in the dormitory burst into laughter.

The entire dormitory became a sea of joy.

Allen had transformed into a turtle shell.

Allen ate breakfast gloomily; it had been brought from the Great Hall by his roommates.

He had just recruited Hedwig again to deliver a letter to Professor McGonagall, explaining his condition and requesting a leave of absence.

Only now did he have the chance to examine his shell closely.

The shell was lighter than expected—only about ten pounds—and its weight was distributed across his shoulders and waist, making movement bearable.

The shell’s back was brown; from the mirror, Allen always thought he saw a metallic sheen on its surface, suggesting strong defensive properties.

The shell was not large—just two spans wider than his chest and abdomen—but its structure was peculiar. He tried curling his head, arms, and legs inside; though this act triggered another round of laughter from his roommates, he somehow managed to retract his arms and head—though his legs still stuck out.

Allen even fancied the idea of removing the shell entirely, only to sadly discover his back seemed fused to it.

Allen was utterly despondent. He had hoped to transform something useful for the night’s Forbidden Forest excursion, not this!

Though the shell looked sturdy and might prove useful in the forest, walking around like this meant total social death.

Allen wanted to cry but had no tears left.

Still, judging by his condition, he wouldn’t need to go to the Forbidden Forest tonight—or attend any classes today. He’d just stay in the dorm and endure the day. Allen thought silently.

A tapping came at the window—Hedwig had returned.

Allen quickly opened the window to let her in.

Hedwig dropped a letter and flew off.

Allen opened it—it was indeed Professor McGonagall’s reply—but its contents made him hesitate.

Professor McGonagall was intrigued by his condition, but her busy schedule prevented her from visiting Gryffindor Tower. Some examinations and research could not be conducted in the dormitory, so she requested he honor his signed agreement to assist with research by coming to her office.

Allen read the letter several times.

He confirmed he had not misread it.

Then he fell into turmoil.

Professor McGonagall had always been kind to him; he did not want to disappoint her. She had even mentioned last time that she would increase his research stipend. If he refused now, would that offer vanish? Allen rapidly weighed the pros and cons.

In the end, he decided to meet Professor McGonagall—but first, he must conceal his shell.

His first problem was how to dress. He did not let his past-world thinking limit him: he took his clothes, cut them with scissors into wearable shapes, then cast a Repairing Charm to restore them after putting them on.

He had used this trick before to shrink oversized robes—magic was so convenient!

Then he used the same method to fashion a massive cloak from his bedsheet, one that would fully conceal him.

Allen stood before the mirror, satisfied with his appearance.

“Good thing my bedsheet was clean—no strange patterns on it!” Allen mused, staring at his cloak.

Allen quickly realized he was being foolish—witches and wizards had Cleaning Charms; no one washed bedsheets in this world.

Dressed and ready, Allen set out, hurrying through Hogwarts’ corridors.

It was nearly class time; the halls were crowded. Allen was already well-known at school, his strange talent known to all—now, his attire drew intense curiosity.

Young witches and wizards kept trying to approach and inspect him, but Allen said nothing, ignored them, pulled his cloak tighter, and quickened his pace.

But it wasn’t just students who were drawn to Allen’s appearance—also the portraits and Hogwarts’... ghosts...

Today, the one fixated on Allen was Peeves, the school’s most mischievous ghost.

The moment he saw Allen, he shrieked with delight: “Ha! Hogwarts’ strangest student has become even stranger!”

He circled Allen endlessly.

But Allen did not want trouble; he kept walking, head down.

“Heehee! Why are you dressed like that?” Peeves chased after him, hurling moldy peanuts at him.

Allen grew irritated and reached out to shoo him away: “Peeves, leave me alone! Go play somewhere else—I’ve urgent business!”

But Peeves shrieked louder: “Look! A weird student dressed like this is going to class!”

“Peeves, if you keep this up, I’ll call the Bloody Baron to teach you a lesson!” Allen remembered Ron saying Peeves feared the Bloody Baron and threatened him.

But Peeves said nothing—instead, he acted. He dove beneath Allen’s cloak.

Instantly, the part of Allen where Peeves touched felt like plunging into icy water.

Before he could recover from the sensation, he felt the cloak slipping from his hands—Peeves had seized the cloak and soared upward.

Allen was suddenly exposed to hundreds of staring eyes.