Victory is always a wonderful thing, especially for hot-blooded young people.
In this battle that could be called a chapter of youth, there were tears, sweat, laughter, and unforgettable memories.
Of course, the tears part was provided courtesy of our dear Slytherin friend, Draco Malfoy.
Even though he came from a pure-blood, noble family, it didn't change the simple reality that he was still only eleven years old, at that age, crying was perfectly normal.
After all, poor kids grow up faster. Unlike Malfoy, who grew up with his family's house-elf to do everything for him, Ron had been helping around the house since he was young, his physical conditioning was leagues above Malfoy's.
For first-year wizards, wands weren't nearly as effective in a brawl as fists, and though Allen declared it was a one-on-one, even Malfoy's two loyal lackeys understood just how outmatched he was.
So, once they were immobilized, Malfoy's fate was sealed. And Allen noticed something else, the Gryffindors who stood up were "coincidentally" blocking the view of the fight behind them with their bodies.
Truly shameless, but Allen had no complaints.
He was only invited by Harry and the others as a precaution, after all, Gryffindor had front-row seats during the match. How could a lone Hufflepuff possibly rescue a poor little Slytherin while surrounded by dozens of Gryffindors?
Professor! It's not that I didn't want to help, there were just too many of them!
No, Headmaster, it's not that I, Allen, am weak, the enemy had a Gundam!
By the time the Gryffindors dispersed, three people were left lying on the ground, their whole vibe completely mismatched with everyone else present.
Tsk tsk. Who did this? So lacking in dignity.
Allen stared at Goyle and Crabbe's faces, now covered in heavy makeup, dozens of colors smeared everywhere, even their uniforms were decorated with newly added drawings and flamboyant lettering. The latest masterpiece depicted a lion casually stepping on a snake's neck while the words "stupid donkey" were scribbled underneath in mismatched handwriting…
Gryffindor's sense of aesthetics definitely needed work.
Allen stepped around the three and briskly left the scene.
Helping people up these days was dangerous, better to let Slytherin deal with their own. He definitely did not want to get falsely accused.
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"Good. Harry, eat this Chocolate Frog, take a break, then we'll continue your training."
Allen's words sounded like heavenly music to Harry. He didn't even have the strength to chew. He stuffed the Chocolate Frog into his mouth and collapsed backward onto his cushion, limbs sprawled wide as he let the chocolate melt on its own.
Why was he suffering like this? The answer was simple, Harry was in special training… and he had asked for it.
But now, exhausted to the point his eyes had gone dull, Harry suddenly remembered what he overheard after the match, and doubted his entire life. Snape was threatening Professor Quirrell, so why did it end up being his fault?
And not only did he take the blame, but when Allen said he would train Harry's Shield Charm to improve his survivability, he actually agreed happily.
Harry wanted to cry, but this was the path he chose. Even if he had to crawl, he had to finish it…
Now, how did the Shield Charm training work?
A very simple concept, defense only improves through practice.
There's a form of martial training among Muggles in other places called the "Golden Bell Iron Body Technique", in simple terms, you just get used to being hit.
One trains the body, the other trains magic, but the idea is the same, if you don't get hit dozens of times, how will you learn when to cast, how to adjust your defense, and how much magic to put into it?
What, surround yourself in an all-around full-power barrier all the time?
Don't be ridiculous, that's such a shameful waste of magic!
Of course, Harry was nowhere near that level. He could barely react in time to incoming spells.
So the solution?
Just keep hitting him.
Eventually, he'd get used to it.
To avoid hurting him, Allen picked a harmless little Jinx, one that makes you laugh uncontrollably.
At first, Harry thought it was fine, laughter didn't hurt. But the more he laughed, the more every inch of his body ached.
Eventually, he was laughing like a broken puppet, collapsed on the ground. Meanwhile, Hermione continued practicing with Allen, and despite being a genius, she still hadn't mastered it.
But after seeing Harry grow more familiar under all this torment, Hermione felt pressured. After half an hour of trying, she finally summoned a faint silver barrier.
"Congratulations, congratulations!" Allen clapped enthusiastically.
"Gw-reat jhob, Herm-ione." Annie mumbled through a mouth full of pastry, speaking too soon to swallow.
"Con… gratulations… Heh, Hermione…" Harry wheezed from the floor, still half laughing to death, but heartfelt.
Even among friends, there is always such a thing as a 'bad influence'.
Strength must be shared among friends! One person getting strong meant nothing, true greatness was leveling up together!
So, since Hermione could now cast the Shield Charm, she should naturally join special training,
But before Harry's joy could blossom,
A bucket of ice-cold water drenched his hopes.
And that bucket… was Allen.
"You did excellently, Hermione, I really couldn't ask for more. But you are different from Harry. His talent for defensive magic surpasses his age and magical capacity. For you, continuing to deepen this would only be a burden. So I advise you not to go further with this spell."
…Wait. That's not how this was supposed to go.
Allen paused, then continued:
"Instead, I recommend you focus on expanding your magic variety. For example, this one."
He demonstrated the jinx he used earlier.
After a moment of hesitation, Hermione tried it, and it worked flawlessly.
Confidence bloomed instantly, along with Allen's praise:
"Excellent, that's what I mean. For miscellaneous magic, your talent is unmatched. But talent must still be trained, simply learning it isn't enough."
"Training?" Hermione asked cautiously.
Then Harry noticed,
All three of them were now looking at him.
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