Although Goyle and Crab were extremely worried about whether Allen would strike them, it quickly became clear they were overthinking.
Normally, Allen wouldn't attack lower-year students on a whim, especially if they weren't Slytherins. After all, few dared pick fights with him outside that house.
Unfortunately for him, Allen's favorability with Slytherins had apparently plummeted to absolute zero. He was now the kind of person the seasonal guards would hunt down on sight. Even if he didn't provoke trouble, trouble would find him.
Just as the group decided to leave the three students alone and turn away, dozens of spells suddenly streaked toward them from behind. Perhaps because Ron's bald head stood out like a beacon, most of the attacks targeted him.
The assault was both stealthy and lightning-fast, as if rehearsed countless times. Each of Allen's companions had several spells aimed at them, and just getting hit by one of the colorful spells was enough to leave a lasting impression.
If the attackers had chosen different targets, their strike might have achieved impressive results.
But life doesn't work in "ifs."
The moment the first spell neared, Ron's backside got a hard kick, sending him flying to the ground. A shout rang in Harry's ears:
"Harry, Iron Armor spell!"
Years of grueling training, bloody tears and sweat, finally paid off. Harry instinctively cast a silver shield around himself. The incoming curses bounced off with BOOM BOOM BOOM, and when the last spell struck, the shield even developed visible cracks, but it still gloriously held.
Only then did Harry have a moment to see what was happening. While replenishing his shield, he noticed several of Allen's normally playful roommates surrounded themselves with the familiar gleam of the Iron Armor spell, each pinning down an attacker with relentless precision.
Although they usually joked around, they often discussed combat spells. For some courses, they had sparred with Allen, making them among the top-tier students in their year.
Of course, the most terrifying display came from Allen himself. He stood before Hermione, enveloped in a near-invisible layer of Iron Armor. The attackers' spells struck with no visible effect, while Allen's casual counterstrikes sent opponents collapsing, either petrified, knocked unconscious, or suffering strange side effects: teeth growing like prairie dogs, hair turning wild colors, usually green thanks to mischievous first-years.
The worst off was the Slytherin captain leading the attack, he was suspended midair. Not in a flying, magic-safe way. His robes didn't protect him; no enchanted undergarments shielded him, leaving his underwear exposed for all to see.
"Tsk tsk, Winnie the Pooh, Flint…" Allen commented after dealing with the rest. "I didn't expect a big-browed guy like you to betray the revolution. And if I'm not mistaken, that's a Muggle thing, right?"
Allen didn't use a harsher spell, humiliation was enough. Too much force could make even Slytherins cry. And for the sake of sustainable "fun," Allen didn't want to overdo it.
Without these Slytherins, who would camp in castle corners every day seeking a chance to ambush him? Without them, where would he find small witches and wizards to earn gold? To maintain their confidence in sneaking attacks, Allen had been saving his in-game gold for ages, afraid that an overpowered strike would scare them off. It's a hard life being Allen.
Flint, hanging in the air, wore a face of both shame and defiance, not the usual "fall and get up" Slytherin demeanor. He mumbled incoherently. Allen listened closely and realized the captain's tongue had been magically stuck to the roof of his mouth, no wonder he couldn't speak.
With a flick of his wand, Allen lowered Flint and released the tongue. Hopefully, this would teach him a lesson and allow a "better return" next time.
Coughing painfully on the ground, Flint scrambled up, his face still full of defiance:
"Why you, Allen, the Gryffindor?"
Really? You get hit and still argue?
Before Allen could respond, Flint explained:
"We weren't planning to attack you today. Even Slytherins wouldn't strike their own. I treated you as Gryffindor's team."
"Attacking Gryffindor's team?" Annie tilted her head.
"Exactly." Flint pointed at Harry and the still-prone Malfoy. "Our Seeker and theirs were both cursed and sent off for treatment. Madam Hooch called both teams in for a lecture. Someone rallied the unaffected players. We planned a counterstrike on Gryffindor."
It made sense, after all, no team leaves their Seeker defenseless. Using numbers to overwhelm the opponent was a smart tactic.
Allen shrugged. I had my fun; this explanation is fine.
"Alright, your choice, Flint. Seems it was just an accident."
Allen turned to leave with his companions. Finished fighting, no point waiting for a professor to show up.
But just as Flint helped the Slytherins to their feet and Allen reached the edge of the lawn, a wave of Gryffindors approached.
"Oh, Ron, nice haircut."
"Yeah, Mom will love it."
The two voices merged into one: "HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
No doubt, that's my big brother.
Amid their mocking, Harry asked, "Wood, why are you bringing so many people?"
"Oh, you know, Malfoy got hurt. I figured Slytherin would come to pick him up."••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
100 Power Stones = Bonus Chapter
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