Although Allen always adhered to a strict principle of gender equality when dealing with Slytherins or anyone else who had bad intentions toward him—no one got spared—this situation was clearly different.
These girls had been asked to help.
Even though the subsequent developments were entirely unexpected, Allen wasn't the type to shirk responsibility. If he was in trouble, he would face it—even through tears.
That didn't mean he was going to let these girls boss him around. No way. Guiding this early in the morning was not his plan, especially when he had zero interest in any of them.
Considering they had been summoned to help, Allen obviously couldn't just start punching them. But that didn't mean he was powerless.
Flying lessons were perfect. It had been years since he publicly demonstrated his broomstick skills—maybe they had forgotten the chaos he once caused.
With a smile, Allen turned to the nearest girl. "Quidditch is best enjoyed by everyone participating. Flying is key in the trials—want me to give you a quick flight?"
Being a somewhat famous former Quidditch player among students, Allen's offer was quickly accepted. Soon, he had a broomstick in hand—and a passenger.
In the magical world, a mountain road racing legend was nothing special. Knight bus drivers could have more fun, and vehicles were nothing compared to a flying broomstick. Flat-plane movement? Pfft. Nothing beats a broomstick.
With a mischievous grin, Allen confirmed she was ready, then pushed the broomstick to its limits. First, it shot straight up with maximum acceleration. At the moment when the ground below shrank to tiny black dots, he stopped the broom completely—three full minutes of free fall.
Amid screams in his ears, Allen adjusted the broom dramatically as they neared the ground, then yanked it up again. He accelerated crazily, and just as the passenger's terrified screams continued, Allen performed a nonstandard sloth-hug tree-roll—a maneuver used to dodge Bludgers. Simply put, he hugged the broom tightly and spun like crazy. Normally, the person stays glued to the broom, reducing surface area and holding on tight. Even if hit, it was nearly impossible to fall off.
…
Five minutes later, after stretching and exercising, Allen hopped off the broom feeling exhilarated. It had been a long time since he'd flown like that. Magic flight was stable, sure, but speed? Nothing beats a broomstick.
He was fine, but the brave girl's face was pale, utterly shaken. Just a few steps after landing, her legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees, vomiting.
"Cleaned up." Allen brushed away the mess and thoughtfully handed her gum and water. "You'll be fine. These are just basic Quidditch maneuvers. Clearly, you're not used to it. Rinse and chew this—it'll help. Another flight later, and you'll feel much better."
His concern was met with evasive glances. Eventually, she feigned fainting, and Allen pretended not to notice, turning to the others. "Looks like she needs a rest. Who's next?"
This time, a few hesitant looks met him. Finally, one girl replied with a small laugh, "We're fine. You go do your thing—we'll train ourselves." Nods followed, like little chicks pecking at grain, and Allen, sensing no pushback, simply turned and walked away.
That was enough. What if someone overly bold or thrill-seeking decided to try it? That would be a headache.
=======
After breakfast, Allen tidied himself, making sure his attire was polite yet casual, and headed to the school's section for trips to the island. Even though it was the weekend, there were few people around.
With such a large campus event, it was normal for those not flying to stay behind to cheer for friends and family. Allen easily blended in with the last group of seagulls and headed toward his destination.
The streets, usually packed, were empty—a bit disorienting. Shops on the island, however, remained calm. News of the event had already spread. Don't underestimate the speed of newspapers.
This wasn't Hogwarts. Without a domineering headmaster, the press here reported almost in real-time. Even last night's decision was now headline news. Allen also spotted betting organizations, with house teams from three schools listed. The odds for his own house winning were astronomical. Too bad he didn't have time—or teammates—to form a team. Otherwise…
Supporting his school, Allen placed a 100 Galleon bet on Gryffindor.
"What? But you're Hufflepuff?"
Pfft. Hufflepuff's main players graduated last year, leaving this year weak. He just wanted to bet on a sure thing. Besides, Gryffindor's main team hadn't lost a single player.
After taking care of these small matters, Allen headed to the island's most remote buildings—his destination.
Before reaching them, he was stopped by two wizards. "Sorry, this is private property. No entry."
Allen finally understood the extent of their wealth—private property!
He had never encountered such a term before, especially someone building it on this island. This was the magical world's equivalent of prime commercial land. In the UK, this would be akin to owning an entire Diagon Alley block.
Despite the wealth, Allen felt no pressure. If anything, facing this was less stressful than dealing with the girls this morning.
So, to the blocking wizards, Allen spoke calmly: "I'm here to meet your master today. Go ahead and notify them."
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