Chapter 48

Allen slept well in the hospital wing and received a sincere apology from Madam Pomfrey early that morning—the potion he’d drunk the day before had indeed expired.

Madam Pomfrey then asked if he’d suffered any adverse effects from drinking it; Allen felt a pang of guilt and made up two vague excuses to placate her.

Only after confirming Allen was unharmed did Madam Pomfrey allow him to leave the hospital wing.

Free at last, Allen hurried toward Gryffindor Tower, remembering his conversation with Harry and Ron the night before—he intended to urge Ron to apologize to Hermione again.

The moment he returned to the Gryffindor common room, he saw Hermione, Harry, and Ron chatting happily—Hermione appeared to be helping Harry and Ron with their homework.

Allen couldn’t believe what he was seeing; he thought he’d imagined it...

“Cough, cough...” Allen cleared his throat to draw the trio’s attention. “Good morning, all! Could someone explain what’s going on? The news I heard yesterday wasn’t like this.”

“Allen! Are you feeling better?” Harry asked with concern.

“I’m fine!” Allen replied, noticing Ron and Hermione exchange a quick glance.

Harry then enthusiastically recounted what had happened the night before, with Hermione and Ron adding details.

At first Allen paid little attention, but as he listened, his expression grew serious, and by the end he was gaping in astonishment.

He hadn’t expected so much to happen while he slept—the trio was already forming, and they’d defeated a troll! No adult wizard could be certain to accomplish that.

A flood of thoughts crossed his mind.

Was fate’s wheel turning again? Had the trio truly formed like this? These three were truly the protagonists—blessed by fortune, they’d defeated such a massive troll without a single scratch!

If I’d clumsily interfered in this plot yesterday, I’d probably have been crushed flat by that troll’s club! After all, I had no real strategy against trolls—even my Levitation Charm was still shaky. Thinking of it, Allen felt a wave of relief.

He began reconsidering whether he should continue attending Professor Quirrell’s lessons.

Allen felt deeply sorry for what had happened to Professor Quirrell yesterday. Though Quirrell had been unconscious and unaware, the thought of facing him again made Allen feel uneasy.

That unease grew in his chest until he seriously considered quitting Quirrell’s lessons altogether.

He was torn—Quirrell’s one-on-one teaching was simply too effective, and he hated the idea of giving it up.

But Harry and the others’ ordeal that night served as a warning, and Allen swiftly abandoned his plan to avoid Quirrell.

He realized how weak he still was—only two months into term, and already such powerful creatures were appearing. What would come next? Compared to his inner struggles, his own life mattered far more.

“Allen, what are you thinking about?” Hermione noticed him staring blankly and called out to him.

“Huh? Nothing! I was just thinking about the troll—you guys were amazing!” Allen replied, flustered.

“It was all thanks to Harry and Ron—I was so terrified I just cried the whole time!” Hermione said, blushing.

Looking at this beautiful, adorable girl, Allen felt a pang of shame—he’d treated Hermione as a mere tool, never truly paying attention to her life or feelings. Especially yesterday, when she’d cried in the girls’ bathroom all afternoon—he’d been the last to find out.

Thinking of it, he guiltily said to Hermione: “Hermione,

I’m sorry. As your only friend at Hogwarts...”

She cut him off: “Just coming to the library with me made me so happy! And you’ve helped me a lot with my studies!”

“Now we’re all friends! And two of us are the top students in first year—Hermione and I won’t have to worry about homework anymore!” Ron, sensing the awkwardness, jumped in with a joke.

“Yeah, now Ron’s been dubbed Hogwarts’ ‘Troll Slayer’!” Harry added.

All four burst into laughter.

From then on, the four became close friends—the friendship of eleven-year-old boys formed as quickly as that...

Allen found it all wonderfully strange. He still didn’t understand why he’d become friends with the trio, but he finally concluded it was because of his calm, mature demeanor—it gave people a sense of stability.

The next day, when Harry went to Filch’s office to retrieve a book, he saw Professor Snape with a leg wound—and immediately formed unpleasant suspicions.

The four analyzed the troll’s appearance that day. Harry and Ron were convinced Snape had let it in—to distract everyone while stealing whatever was guarded by the three-headed dog.

Allen and Hermione disagreed. Allen based his doubt on vague memories—he recalled Snape as a positive figure. Hermione simply believed no school teacher would do such a thing.

In the end, neither side could convince the other, and the disagreement was left unresolved.

As November arrived, the weather turned bitterly cold. The mountains surrounding the school were gray and blanketed in snow; the lake was as hard and cold as quenched steel. Frost coated the ground every morning.

The Quidditch season began.

After weeks of training, Harry was finally ready to play—he would face his first-ever match on Saturday: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

Word had leaked that Harry was Gryffindor’s Seeker, and he drew widespread mockery.

By Saturday morning, Allen was woken early by the excited chatter of Quidditch fans—even Neville was buzzing with anticipation for the match.

Allen decided not to go to the library. Though he had no interest in Quidditch, he knew Harry would want all his friends to attend, no matter how embarrassing it might be.

So he took along a newly acquired book on Ancient Runes to watch the game.

By eleven o’clock, nearly the entire school had gathered on the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch. Many students brought telescopes. The seats were raised high into the air, yet it was still hard to see the action clearly.

Fortunately, Allen had randomly acquired the eyes of a certain bird—his distant vision was exceptionally sharp.

Harry’s friends had prepared a massive banner in advance—a giant old bedsheet from Ron’s bed, emblazoned with “PORTER WINS.” Dean, skilled in drawing, had painted a huge Gryffindor lion beneath it.

Hermione then cast a clever charm that made the banner’s ink shimmer with shifting colors.

Seeing it, Allen couldn’t help thinking of his own bedsheet, still missing since Peeves had stolen it.

Allen watched the two teams march onto the pitch—Harry, the smallest among them.

He couldn’t resist waving the massive banner with his roommates, hoping Harry would see it...

The match began at once, and Allen saw Harry shoot into the sky like an arrow...