Chapter 46: Release

The dining hall instantly erupted into chaos as the young wizards screamed in terror!

Neville, who was supporting Allen, clamped his hands over his head the moment he heard the word “troll” and began screaming in panic too...

He hadn’t even realized he was still supporting a weak patient...

Allen suddenly lost his support and lost his balance...

Just as he thought he was going to land hard on his rear, he felt no pain from impact with the floor—he instead felt himself firmly seated on something soft...

He turned his head and immediately realized he had landed squarely on Professor Quirrell’s purple turban...

But his severely tested sphincter muscle, under the impact of this fall, completely defied his brain’s commands...

Allen felt the gases produced by violent chemical reactions in his intestines finally found an outlet...

He felt utterly exhilarated...

He thought that if he were still on Earth, this release would surely earn a Guinness World Record—maybe two: one for volume, one for duration...

Since there was no outdoor activity today and the castle was relatively warm, Allen had worn only thin clothing—his pants were just a single thin layer...

So he could feel the gases pass effortlessly through his thin pants and seep into Professor Quirrell’s purple turban...

Allen thought the material of Professor Quirrell’s purple turban was truly exceptional, especially in breathability and absorption:

The breathability was excellent because the gases he released encountered almost no resistance as they entered;

The absorption was superb because he felt no rebounding sensation against his buttocks—the purple turban had clearly absorbed it all.

The only problem was the shape of Quirrell’s occiput—it was slightly poking into his rear. Had he slept crooked as a child? Allen silently wondered.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but eventually all the gas accumulated in his intestines had been expelled through his sphincter; yet the internal reactions continued—he felt like a motorcycle idling in place, its exhaust pipe intermittently venting gas...

Allen suddenly felt relieved—he was glad he’d released now:

First, the terrified screams of the young wizards masked the sound of his release;

Second, Professor Quirrell was unconscious, so the only person who might have noticed was out of the picture;

Third, Professor Quirrell’s purple turban had such excellent absorption that the gas didn’t escape at all, eliminating any risk of exposure by odor.

Otherwise, today would’ve been another social death—far worse than last time.

At last, Allen’s brain regained control of his sphincter. He suddenly realized how inappropriate this was and quietly stopped the release, gripping his stomach as he struggled to stand up.

At that moment, Professor Dumbledore emitted several sharp, explosive firework sounds with his wand, and everyone fell silent.

“Prefects,” he said in a low voice, “take your house students directly to their dormitories!”

Percy naturally handled it with ease.

“Follow me! Don’t get separated, first-years! As long as you listen to me, there’s nothing to fear from a troll! Now, stay close behind me. Move aside—first-years are passing! Excuse me, I’m a prefect!”

Neville still hadn’t realized he’d just caused trouble. Terrified, he heard the prefect’s call and immediately pushed toward Percy—but didn’t notice he bumped into Allen again, who had just struggled to his feet...

Allen, already weak and nauseated, couldn’t withstand the impact...

He sat back down hard—and history repeated itself: his brain once again lost control of his sphincter, and the gas he’d been holding surged once more into Professor Quirrell’s purple turban...

But this time, the turban’s absorption seemed to have reached its limit—Allen could already smell something foul, overwhelmingly pungent.

“Allen, are you alright?” Harry asked anxiously.

Harry and Ron finally ran over, trying to help Allen up—but Allen gripped his stomach, pushed them away, and struggled to stand on his own, afraid they’d catch the odor.

“Don’t worry about me—I think I’ll need to see Madam Pomfrey today. You two go back with Percy!” Allen said, clutching his stomach.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances and quickly decided—they went to find Percy’s group of first-years.

Allen’s condition hadn’t improved; he still felt gas continuously forming in his belly. He needed to go to the hospital wing to see Madam Pomfrey again.

He took his first painful step...

But then a young wizard passed by and shoved him—Allen once again experienced the same fate as before, sitting a third time on Professor Quirrell’s purple turban.

And the gas accumulated in his belly broke through his sphincter for the third time...

Allen looked closely—it was Malfoy, smirking at him triumphantly, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of petty revenge!

“That’s a lesson from Lord Malfoy!” Malfoy said, then quickly vanished into the crowd.

But Allen had no time to care—he only wanted to find Madam Pomfrey and fix his problem.

Yet this time, Allen felt Professor Quirrell’s body trembling slightly, and his heart jolted.

Was Quirrell about to wake up?

Or was he just overwhelmed by the stench?

As Allen was lost in these thoughts, a familiar voice came from beside him: “Allen, why haven’t you left yet?”

It was Professor Dumbledore—he’d noticed the anomaly and came over to investigate.

Instantly, Allen no longer felt Quirrell’s trembling. He wondered if he’d imagined it...

But he quickly dismissed the thought and told Professor Dumbledore about his condition—though he only mentioned stomach discomfort. By then, the internal reactions had gradually subsided.

Professor Dumbledore’s deep blue eyes, peering through his half-moon spectacles, fixed intently on Allen. Allen kept his head down, unable to meet his gaze.

Then he waved his hand and summoned Hagrid.

“Hagrid, take Mr. Finis to the hospital wing,” Professor Dumbledore said.

“Right, Headmaster!” Hagrid stepped forward and scooped Allen up in his arms.

But the smell made him frown. “What’s going on? Why’s it so stinky here!” Hagrid muttered under his breath.

Allen thought quickly: “Maybe Professor Quirrell brought the troll’s odor with him...”

“Bloody hell!” Hagrid muttered. He accepted the explanation without doubt—Quirrell always smelled strange anyway.

“Allen, you’ll stay in the hospital wing tonight! It’s very safe there! Don’t wander off!” Professor Dumbledore warned.

Allen nodded eagerly in agreement, and Hagrid carried him away.

The last thing he saw was Professor Dumbledore pinching his nose as he inspected Quirrell’s condition...

Hagrid quickly delivered him to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey gave Allen another potion—this one was far better than the last; his symptoms eased rapidly.

After drinking the potion, Allen soon fell into a deep sleep...

In his dream, he still saw Professor Quirrell’s purple turban...