Allen Harris stood amidst the fading shimmer of his own magic, his gaze fixed on the broken figures of Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory. They were clutching their eyes, groaning in a mixture of pain and disorientation as the golden particulates continued to cling to their skin. A cold, bitter pang of guilt twisted in his chest—a sensation he wasn't particularly fond of.
I was too slow, he thought, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his wand. Too imprecise.
The more he saw of this world, the more he realized the gaping holes in his own capabilities. He had stopped the fight, yes, but at what cost? Cho's hair was a ragged ruin, her face marked by the cruel hands of Pansy Parkinson. Cedric was a bloody mess. If he had been faster, if his repertoire of spells had been more versatile, he could have neutralized the Slytherins without catching the victims in the crossfire of his Flash Dust.
What if this happens again? The thought haunted him. What if it isn't a schoolyard brawl next time? What if it's my family? What if it's someone I can't afford to lose?
The limitations of his current power felt like a physical weight. He had spent months scouring the Ravenclaw archives, but the magic there was ancient, academic, and frustratingly slow to master. He needed an edge—something more practical, more visceral. His mind wandered to the Black Family's reputation for dark, efficient arts. He needed those hidden treasures, those forbidden texts. He needed to be more than just a "top student." He needed to be a deterrent.
The crunch of heavy boots on frozen snow broke his reverie. Hermione Granger burst onto the scene, her face pale and frantic, followed closely by the stiff, emerald-clad figure of Professor McGonagall and the diminutive Professor Flitwick, who was puffing to keep up.
They stopped dead, taking in the surreal tableau.
Allen stood like a silent sentinel on the periphery, his face an impenetrable mask of marble. Before him, a swirling vortex of golden mist obscured a dozen figures who were stumbling blindly, their voices a discordant chorus of swears and confused shouts.
"Allen Harris!" Professor McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip across the clearing. Her eyes were wide behind her square spectacles as she marched toward him. "Explain yourself this instant! What is the meaning of this... this chaotic display?"
Allen didn't flinch. He met her gaze with a gravity that made the Professor hesitate. "I would suggest, Professor, that you ask the Slytherins why they felt it necessary to ambush the Ravenclaw Seeker and a Hufflepuff student in a five-to-one assault. I am merely the one who ended the 'conversation.'"
The seriousness in his tone shifted the atmosphere instantly. McGonagall's frown deepened as she looked toward the golden cloud, realization dawning on her.
Professor Flitwick, meanwhile, had hopped forward, waving his wand in a frantic arc. "Finite Incantatem! Tergeo!" He tried a Purging Charm to clear the mist, but the golden dust simply swirled around the spell-light, unyielding and vibrant.
Flitwick turned to Allen, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. There was a spark of professional curiosity, perhaps even shock, in the Charms Master's eyes. "It's... anchored, isn't it? My boy, what did you use?"
"It's a persistent particulate anchor, Professor," Allen said, shrugging with a nonchalance that masked his inner turmoil. "Standard charms won't touch it. We just have to wait for the magic to burn itself out. Attempting to force it might actually cause the dust to flare and damage their retinas."
He turned his gaze toward the center of the mist, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto the blurry outline of Marcus Flint. Inside, a cold calculation was taking place. Hogwarts protects you for now, Marcus, Allen thought. But you can't fail your year forever. Once you graduate... once you're out from under McGonagall's wing... we'll see how brave you are.
A few yards away, hidden by the trees, Ron and Harry watched the scene with bated breath.
"Harry, stay back," Ron whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Look at that mist. It's wrong. It's not like anything we've seen in class. Harris is... he's dangerous, Harry. More than he lets on."
Harry didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the golden haze, his mind elsewhere, but Ron took his silence for agreement.
Suddenly, Draco Malfoy seemed to materialize from the shadows of a nearby shop, his expensive cloak fluttering. He looked at Ron with a sneer that was more habit than heart, his eyes immediately darting to the center of the clearing. He saw Allen, saw the state of the Slytherins, and a flicker of complex emotion—part fear, part respect—crossed his pale face.
Ron glared at him, his face turning the color of his hair. Malfoy simply looked Ron up and down, his gaze lingering on the Weasley's hand-me-down, bulky winter coat with palpable disdain, before walking past him as if he were part of the scenery.
Finally, the golden glow began to dim. The dust lost its luster, falling to the snow like dead embers. As the vision of those trapped inside returned, they were greeted not by a sympathetic audience, but by the towering fury of Minerva McGonagall.
The reprimand was swift and thunderous, but while McGonagall tore into Flint and his cronies, Professor Flitwick rushed to Cho Chang.
"Oh, dear, oh dear," the tiny professor squeaked, his wand glowing with a soft blue light as he knit together the scratches on her face. His expression turned grim as he examined her arm. "Her wrist is fractured in two places. Professor McGonagall, this girl needs the hospital wing immediately. This wasn't a scuffle; this was an assault!"
Flitwick's aura shifted. For a moment, the jovial teacher was gone, replaced by the legendary dueling champion he had once been. He turned a chilling look on the Slytherin students. Even Marcus Flint, usually so full of bravado, flinched back, his crooked teeth chattering.
"Professor, we're hurt too!" Flint whined, rubbing his stinging eyes. "That Harris kid blinded us! We couldn't see for ten minutes! I thought I was going deaf!"
"A small price to pay for your 'bravery,' I should think," McGonagall snapped. "Everyone, back to the castle! Now!"
She turned to Allen, who was currently kneeling beside Cedric, murmuring a basic Episkey to close a gash on the Hufflepuff's cheek. "Mr. Harris. You are to come with us. This will be settled in the Headmaster's presence if necessary."
"Of course, Professor," Allen replied smoothly. He helped Cedric to his feet, supporting the older boy as they began the long trek back toward the lake.
Watching them walk away, Ron felt a surge of inexplicable bitterness. "You see that? Wherever Harris goes, there's a disaster. It was the same in Egypt, Harry. He attracts trouble like a magnet."
Hermione, who had been standing silently nearby, turned to Ron with a look of utter bewilderment. "Are you actually blaming him for this, Ron? He just saved Cho from being permanently scarred!"
"Maybe he planned it!" Ron spat, the words coming out before he could think. The sight of Hermione defending Allen was like salt in a fresh wound. "Maybe Malfoy and him set the whole thing up just so he could swoop in and look like the hero. It's classic Slytherin stuff, isn't it?"
"You absolute idiot," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling with anger. "Allen is many things, but he isn't a monster. Do you honestly think he'd arrange for his own House's Seeker to be attacked just for a bit of glory?"
"Maybe he wants her spot on the team!" Ron shouted recklessly.
Hermione stared at him as if he had grown a second head. The disappointment in her eyes was more piercing than any hex. "Malfoy didn't 'plan' this with Allen. He came to warn Allen. He was repaying a debt because Allen showed him mercy earlier this term. The Slytherins had been planning to jump Roger Davies and the Ravenclaws for weeks."
She took a step toward Ron, her jaw set. "Allen ran here to stop a massacre. And he did. It's pointless talking to you when you're like this, Ron. You're so blinded by your own jealousy that you can't see what's right in front of you. I'm going back to the castle to give my testimony. Goodbye."
She spun on her heel and ran, her boots kicking up sprays of snow as she headed toward the gates.
"Hermione! Get back here!" Ron roared. "We're Gryffindors! We're supposed to stick together!"
But the air remained silent.
"Harry? Did you hear her?" Ron reached out blindly and grabbed Harry's shoulder.
Harry didn't jump. He didn't even blink. He had been standing there, under the cloak, but his mind was miles away, trapped in the memory of a conversation he'd just overheard in the Three Broomsticks between Fudge and Hagrid. His parents... betrayed by Black. The world felt like it was tilting on its axis. He didn't care about Allen, or Ron, or the House Cup. He only cared about the man who had murdered his family.
Inside the castle, the atmosphere in the Great Hall's side chamber was suffocating. The Slytherin students stood in a line, heads bowed, while Severus Snape stood in the corner, his shadow long and menacing.
"Professor Snape," McGonagall began, her voice cold enough to freeze the Black Lake. "Marcus Flint and his associates have maliciously assaulted the Seekers of two other Houses. This is a level of premeditated violence I will not tolerate."
She turned to the Slytherin Hourglass. With a sharp flick of her wand, the emeralds within vanished with a sound like falling rain.
"I object," Flitwick squeaked from the side.
Everyone turned to him. "Professor Flitwick?" McGonagall asked.
"Deducting points from Slytherin is a hollow gesture, Minerva," Flitwick said, his eyes hard. "Severus has already publicly withdrawn his House from the competition this year. Taking points from a House that isn't playing is no punishment at all. It's a farce."
Allen, standing in the back, felt a surge of pride for his Head of House. Exactly, he thought. A real price needs to be paid.
McGonagall nodded slowly. "You are correct, Filius. Very well. Slytherin will start the next academic year with a deficit of one hundred points. Furthermore, every student involved in this ambush will serve detention every Saturday for the remainder of the semester. Mr. Filch will be notified of their... 'duties.'"
Flint looked like he wanted to argue, but one look at Snape's face—which was a terrifying mask of silent fury—silenced him.
"Professor," Cho Chang spoke up, her voice small but firm. Her arm was in a sling, and her hair was a jagged, heartbreaking mess. "Cedric... he didn't have to stay. He stood by me when everyone else ran. He shouldn't be in trouble."
"He won't be, Miss Chang," McGonagall said, a softenng in her eyes. "Fifty points to Hufflepuff for an act of genuine chivalry."
"And Allen," Hermione added, stepping forward from the doorway. "He stopped the fighting before anyone else could."