Originally, there were no paths in the world, but when people walk enough, a path appears.
Similarly, there were no huge pits, until Allen, the author of trouble, dug one right in front of Harry.
Although the word "artifact" was almost overused, there was no doubt, even Allen couldn't turn a few hours-old broken broom into a +13 magical relic. No, not even with extra special effects.
The magic on this broom was temporary, and Allen didn't create it just to make Harry happy, he wasn't Dumbledore, babysitting everyone with gentle guidance.
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When Harry was enjoying the thrill of flying, a sudden sense of wrongness hit him.
The broom, which had been obedient as a cat, suddenly turned wild and lashed out like a claw.
It stopped listening to Harry entirely and started rolling violently in midair.
"Allen! Allen! What's wrong with it?" Harry shouted, clutching the broom tightly, struggling to regain control.
But Allen didn't come to help. Instead, he strolled toward the corner rest area. If Harry hadn't been so focused on controlling the broom, he might have noticed that tiny lotus flowers bloomed wherever Allen's footsteps landed, an application of Zyra's ability, not some immortal cultivation feat.
As Allen neared the corner, he finally turned, flashing what Harry could only describe as a devilish smile:
"Now the lesson begins. Give it your all, I believe in you!"
With that, Allen slipped into the ice-isolated room, leaving Harry to face the rogue broom alone.
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This was far from pleasant, especially after last year's flying lessons.
The broom soared high and low, making sharp turns and sudden stops, rendering Harry's attempts at control useless.
Amid the chaos, Harry had an idea, so clever he wanted to cheer for his own ingenuity.
For safety, Allen had turned the floor into thick mud. Immersing his body in it was unpleasant, but it was far preferable to riding this airborne roller coaster.
So, as the broom darted unpredictably, Harry calculated its next low point. He loosened his grip with hands and legs, directing all his strength to his back, planning to land safely without swallowing mud.
The plan was sound, the preparation meticulous, but in reality, such a maneuver didn't exist.
Sometimes, when you think you're clever, magic is one step ahead.
Allen had obviously considered this.
As Harry released the broom, a strong force from the broom itself clamped him tightly, binding him together with it. This was a forbidden spell in Quidditch competitions, preventing players from using the broom to ram others intentionally.
But the spell wasn't the worst part. Harry's attempt to let go triggered other enchantments. The broom didn't just fly, it plunged through the mud as if to fulfill the rider's desire to touch the ground.
Not just a quick dip, the broom slid through the mud for a solid seven or eight seconds before taking off again.
Harry emerged utterly soaked, worse than a drenched chicken, as filthy mud dripped endlessly from him.
This repeated over ten times before the broom returned to its chaotic flight pattern.
Finally, Allen emerged from the ice-enclosed room. He raised his wand, and the ice dome covering the observation area turned into an opaque dark blue barrier, hiding everything from view.
Back in the center of the room, Allen summoned a massive plant from the mud, quickly weaving a green, elastic net.
"Snap!"
Allen snapped his fingers. The broom, previously flailing in the air, shot like an arrow toward him.
After releasing Harry, the broom, stripped of magical support, fell apart into pieces.
Harry staggered to his feet, then dropped to one knee, vomiting uncontrollably, the ordeal had drained even a Quidditch player's body.
When the heaving subsided, Harry was pale, his legs still trembling from exhaustion.
Allen waved his wand casually, the vomit vanished instantly. He faced Harry, relaxed:
"Lesson's over, Harry. Care to say something?"
"Allen, you big jerk!!!, blegh!" Harry spat, using all his strength to shout, triggering another bout of vomiting.
Allen didn't even frown. He tapped the ground, and two chairs quickly wove themselves from the green mat. Gesturing, he indicated Harry should sit. Allen took the other chair.
"I thought you'd perform worse, like rushing me with a punch?"
Harry didn't sit. He raised a fist, ready.
But with a thwack of flesh-on-flesh, he fell back to the floor.
"Sorry, I never said I wouldn't fight back," Allen said with a mischievous grin. He had easily bested the would-be attacker.
"By the way, do you know why we had this lesson?"
Don't touch unfamiliar flying machines? Harry thought, instantly recalling the heart-stopping journey to Hogwarts in the flying car.
This foolish kid was hopeless, Allen thought with mild disgust.
"No, I just want to tell you, if you have no control over something, don't recklessly risk your life!" Allen tapped Harry on the head with his curled finger.
Harry's head throbbed, and just like that, the mud stains vanished.
"All right, let's go. We still have a spell to master today."
A green path appeared under Allen's feet, leading to the ice house in the corner. Harry rubbed his head and followed closely behind.