The massive response of everyone pulling out their money at once startled even students from other houses. Ravenclaws, however, seemed unconcerned, and Gryffindors, eyes glinting with excitement, were restrained by their prefects. As for the Slytherins, they sneered, muttered something about "country bumpkins," and turned away. This behavior was technically within school rules, so no one could intervene.
But someone stepped forward. Annie walked several paces and stood before Marshall, who was busy collecting piles of bets. Her voice, as always, was light and playful with a hint of mischief, but at this moment, to Marshall, it sounded like the voice of a devil itself.
"Hmm, let's say this: it seems my brother is somehow involved in this bet. So, a little commission isn't too much to ask, right?"
Marshall thought he saw black wings behind her and sharp fangs at the corners of her mouth.
Alas, one must bow under the eaves, especially when you're powerless against Allen.
Although Allen didn't know the exact amounts or the odds, he still received a small cut of the profits from Marshall, without even realizing it.
What?
Marshall losing money?
Please, what a naive question, when had the house ever lost?
Even though everyone had bet Allen could deal with the pixies in record time, Marshall had meticulously calculated the exact time it would take and the number of spells Allen would use, creating a perfectly precise wager.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
Soon, the weekend of the first week after the school year began arrived. This was the official day third-year students could leave campus.
This meant Annie no longer needed Allen's illusion spell to move freely. Yes, school rules are just rules; if you don't get caught, you haven't technically broken them.
Allen's roommates were also allowed to go, but one usual member was missing: poor Marshall.
The unlucky boy had nearly been ruined by Lockhart, and now, rumor had it, he was secretly drafting essays for first-years to earn some pocket money.
Here's what happened:
While students headed to their first class, Madam Pomfrey entered the classroom with a resigned expression. In a nearly emotionless voice, she delivered the news: their new, beloved Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had fallen gravely ill due to "maladaptation" and couldn't teach the first lesson of the semester.
All eyes turned to Marshall, the one who had confidently promised the opening of the bets. By unwritten rules, he not only had to return the stakes but also cover an additional 0% as compensation…
It's worth noting that some students had bet all sorts of stakes due to a lack of cash: a month of Transfiguration homework, two weeks of Divination misfortune, a week of laundry, and so on.
Needless to say, when the bet was canceled, all these debts fell squarely on Marshall's head.
A tragic story.
Yet the story didn't end there.
According to well-informed Ravenclaws, whose knowledge had even been acknowledged by portraits of senior alumni, Professor Lockhart was hospitalized due to a serious injury.
And why did Madam Pomfrey appear so composed, almost smiling like Lin Bingbing?
The answer was simple: she had been barely suppressing laughter.
Lockhart's injury was… rather extraordinary. To assert his authority before upper-year students, he had decided to "go big."
Instead of using the pixies from the day, he chose faster, more dangerous creatures to intimidate the older students. And, to avoid failure and embarrassment, he rehearsed the spell in his own office.
What a ruthless person, he had deceived others so much that he ended up deceiving himself. He truly believed he could control the creature. As for the day's chaos, that was merely the "mistake of a great man."
In short, Professor Lockhart had successfully hospitalized himself, rescued personally by Dumbledore.
Of course, this was unofficial news. No one could guarantee its accuracy. He would still have remained in the Defense Against the Dark Arts position!
Professor Snape probably had a thousand complaints about this, but Dumbledore stopped him from "self-destructing."
Regardless of the school's internal chaos, Allen and friends were having a blast. Compared to Hogwarts, with its moneyless students, Hogsmeade offered no homework, no essays, no sneaky Filch, and no tedious rules. Here, there were pranks, desserts, magical trinkets, and all kinds of drinks, assuming you had enough galleons.
After another blow to their wallets, the group returned to campus around noon. There they found poor Marshall hanging laundry, clothes that obviously didn't belong to him.
No doubt, the unlucky boy was paying off debts again. Allen and friends passed boldly, pulling out snacks and candy. They spread out a huge blanket under the sun and began their lunch.
"Go for it, Marshall! We believe in you!"
But good times are always short-lived. As they enjoyed their meal, a reddish bear and two companions approached, maintaining nearly ten meters' distance. With them were a dwarf and two bodyguards.
It wasn't until they came closer that Allen recognized them: Harry and friends, and Malfoy with his two lackeys.
The "bear" was Ron, his fur still visibly burning away at a pace the eye could see, occasionally scraped off by Harry and Hermione's magic. From the size of Harry's bag, it was clear this had been going on for some time.
Meanwhile, Malfoy occasionally bent over to vomit green worms. Thanks to Allen's suggestion, Ron had purchased a new wand with his brother's secret stash over the break. Even amidst mishaps, the wand performed perfectly, and Malfoy bore the brunt of its effects.
Allen quietly set down his cake and rose to meet them, it seemed lunch was about to get very interesting.••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
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