Even though Allen's attempt to stir emotional resonance failed completely with the two still-too-young wizards, it didn't stop them from continuing to trash-talk Hogwarts' Potions Master…
Unfortunately, trash-talking didn't help anything, because they had no real evidence that Snape was actually the culprit.
Guesses were useless.
They couldn't even get past the professor in question, let alone bring their complaints to Dumbledore.
Watching the two happily roast Snape nonstop, even Allen couldn't keep watching. He simply turned his head away, reading while listening to their dramatic speculation.
Come on… those five points I lost for Hufflepuff yesterday, were they deducted for nothing?
Today's snack was a large batch of frozen persimmons brought back by Selma over Christmas, she had visited her father's home in the East, and returned with local specialty fruit.
And the eating methods of Hufflepuffs… were truly eye-opening.
Some sprinkled salt on them.
Some mashed them into a spread for bread.
Someone even tried stewing meat with them.
Allen, half complaining and half impressed, handed one to Annie. After passing through her icy flame's touch, it came back frosted over with crystalline ice.
Being a wizard is amazing!
Seeing the two eating happily, even Harry and Hermione joined in,
As for Professor Snape, coughing cough, we'll continue his public trial next time.
Unfortunately, there would be no next time.
The next time Allen saw Harry, the Chosen One's face was full of despair.
The upcoming match was Gryffindor vs. Slytherin,
and the referee… was none other than Severus Snape.
Karma always comes back around.
Heaven's justice may be slow, but it never misses.
Deny it all you want, no one escapes fate!
Harry was kind, but he had wrongly accused someone purely out of suspicion… and this was the price.
Fred and George, still emotionally crushed after Percy's funeral, were already unstable. Harry's fear of being cursed made the team's morale worse.
And then Snape being the referee… was the final straw.
No, an entire haystack strapped on top of the final straw.
Captain Wood had a thousand complaints in his heart, but fortunately, his stress was not as bad as expected. After all, Gryffindor lost all the time anyway…
Well, Wood couldn't accept that mentality at all.
But amid all the losses came one good thing,
Before the match, Harry finally managed to cast the Shield Charm.
Even though the barrier was thin enough that a stiff breeze felt like it could blow it apart, it was still a success.
If the same curse incident happened again, Harry could at least break the effect once. Even if he couldn't land safely, the professors would have time to react and rescue him.
This allowed Harry to finally breathe.
No one likes being powerless.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
No matter how long one tries to delay, the execution ground still awaits.
Love it or hate it, the Quidditch match would not wait.
From what Allen knew, Gryffindor had done extensive preparation.
Including assigning players personal defensive watchers to prevent foul play.
And, most dramatically, they formed a small strike squad to interrupt Snape the second he attempted dark magic.
Allen silently observed a moment of silence for those brave fools.
But all their efforts were immediately proven pointless because the final boss arrives last.
Just seconds before the teams walked out, the packed student stands suddenly erupted with cheers. A pathway opened on its own.
No red carpet.
But the man walking through it shone brighter than any celebrity,
Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.
This kind of spectacle had happened decades ago, when Dumbledore was still a Transfiguration professor. Back then, a young student named Tom Riddle once muttered:
"He can be surpassed."
And indeed, years after that student graduated, he returned as Voldemort, leading his Death Eaters in rebellion.
But Hogwarts was no Qin Empire, and when the Dark Lord staked everything trying to kill a legendary child, his reign fell apart.
Awkward.
And now, today's students have to rely on a sixty-year-old Voldemort to represent rebellion.
Truly, each generation is worse than the last.
Then again, not entirely.
Because just as Allen was finished mocking the state of the world, someone entered.
A former master of the Elder Wand.
A man who nearly killed Dumbledore.
A formidable wizard.
And then that wizard… poked Ron in the forehead.
Followed by,
"Oh, sorry, Weasley. Didn't see you there."
His two goons cackled behind him.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
Never mind. Previous respect revoked.
This was not a legend.
This was the Clown Brigade.
"Do you think Potter will manage to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want to bet? How about you, Weasley?"
The provoking continued,
Shameless and loud.
But Ron, who had not recovered from losing a brother, was already at his emotional limit.
BOOM!
His punch landed cleanly into Malfoy's gut, the noise swallowed by the crowd.
Goyle and Crabbe tried to intervene,
but two near-simultaneous Petrification spells froze them in place.
"Nope. One-on-one."
Allen put a finger to his lips in a shh gesture, and a sound-proofing barrier dropped over them.
Let Ron vent. Malfoy is actually a good punching target.
Allen turned back toward the field,
just in time to see Harry dive sharply and seize the Snitch.
A new record.
The roaring cheers drowned the stadium.
Allen silently dispelled the sound barrier.
Seems he didn't need to cover anything up after all.••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
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