143: Chapter 143 Routine Interrogation

"Mr. Potter, it is impossible for a person to be sleeping every single moment."

Snape stood behind the desk, with Allen's extra essay spread out under his fingers. Red ink marked everything from the title to the end; the paper was so heavily edited that there wasn't a single blank space left.

Allen sat in the chair, his eyelids half-drooped.

"Professor, you underestimate my love for sleep."

Snape pushed the essay in front of him.

"For the corrosive effects of Basilisk venom on soul residues, you handed in three and a half inches of scrap paper."

"The topic was too difficult."

"In your first year, you could write about the purification risks of Unicorn blood."

"That was just study notes."

"And this one?"

"Written while sleepy."

Snape's fingertips pressed down on the corner of the paper, and a potion bottle clinked softly on the desk.

"On the night of the Chamber of Secrets incident, you were sleeping in the Common Room."

"Yes."

"Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle all remember the time."

"I sleep for a long time, so I'm quite conspicuous."

Snape stared at him, his black robes trailing on the floor. The dampness of the Dungeon climbed up alongside the hearth fire, and snake specimens floated in the potion liquid.

Allen gripped a knut in his sleeve. The entrance to his Portable Space was compressed to a pinhole; the void was far from the ebony box, and the diary remnants were securely sealed in a stone tube.

"The moisture on your shoes comes from the Black Lake, there is dust from the stone crevices of the Dungeon on your robe hem, and your wand's casting frequency was low last night."

"The Professor checks very thoroughly."

"Because you lie too cleanly."

Allen thought for a moment.

"I can lie a bit dirtier."

Snape's wand tapped the tabletop.

"Less with the dry humor. There was a third party in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry's memory was altered, Ginny only remembers a silver light, Fawkes refused to provide a complete picture, and the scene was mixed with Phoenix fire, Basilisk blood, turbulent Memory Charm, and Spatial Displacement."

He leaned in closer.

"Do you think I would attribute all of this to Gilderoy Lockhart?"

Allen answered earnestly.

"He would be happy."

The old Wizard in the portrait in the corner shrank back into the frame, failing at pretending to sleep.

Snape walked around the desk and stopped in front of Allen.

"When did you start studying Spatial Magic?"

"Before I started school, I could make things change positions."

"Who taught you?"

"No one."

"Potter Manor?"

"The outer hall and the study."

"The Dungeon?"

"I didn't go."

Snape's black eyes were close to him.

"Dumbledore asked the same question."

"The Principal cares about students."

"You deceived him too."

"Professor, that sentence puts pressure on me."

"You would feel pressure?"

Snape leaned closer; the hearth fire dimmed, and the shadows of the snakes in the specimen jars swayed behind the glass.

"You returned from the scene of death last night, changed your shoes, handled your alibi, lay back in bed to pretend to sleep, and were even able to mention Flint stealing materials in front of me."

Allen looked at him for two seconds.

"Flint did steal them."

Snape swallowed the curse he was about to utter.

"Who exactly are you protecting?"

"Myself."

"Only yourself?"

"And my sleep."

There was no incantation for the Legilimency.

Snape crashed directly into the outer layer of Allen's consciousness: the narrow bed in the orphanage, Mrs. Martha's scolding, the steam at the station, the corner of the Slytherin dormitory, the failed cauldron in Potion Class, the boy sleeping by the lake window.

The images were excessively clean, as orderly as a tidied drawer.

Further in, it was blank.

That blank space neither resisted nor cracked; it simply swallowed the Legilimency, not even spitting out an echo.

Snape continued to push forward.

Allen was sleeping.

Pushing further, it was still sleeping.

Allen's fingers pressed against the knut, his breathing maintaining a sleepy rhythm. Deep within the Portable Space, the void looked up, staring at the black line probing in, while the cracked pocket watch did not light up.

When Snape pulled out, his expression was so bad it could extinguish the hearth fire.

"Is there anything in your brain besides sleep?"

Allen blinked.

"Homework."

"Homework written like this?"

"That's why I need to sleep."

A soft sound came from outside the door; Draco stood at the doorway holding a stack of inventory sheets, his face taut and pale.

"Professor, the inventory sheets you wanted."

Snape turned his head.

"When did I ask you to deliver them now?"

"You said today, last night."

"I said this afternoon."

"I remembered wrong."

Snape took a silver-green wax-sealed letter from the drawer and threw it on the desk.

"Your father just wrote to me, hoping I would look after you, and incidentally reminding me not to let certain students with awkward statuses affect the judgment of the Malfoy Family."

Draco did not look at Allen.

"My father is concerned about my studies."

"He should be more concerned about his position on the board right now."

Draco clutched the list, the edges of the paper crumpling.

Allen spoke up.

"Professor, if you need to lecture Malfoy, I can go back to sleep first."

"Sit down."

Snape put the letter back into the drawer.

"Both of you, you think of yourselves as chess players."

Draco said immediately, "I didn't."

"You don't even dare to ask about the things your father sends out, yet you still want to play dumb?"

All color drained from Draco's face.

Allen looked up.

"Professor."

"Shut up, Potter."

Snape pushed the essay back.

"Do you think that by cleaning up the traces, others will believe you are just a second-year student who sleeps?"

"I am a second-year student."

"A second-year who can use Spatial Displacement to block spells?"

Allen paused for a breath.

"Professor, do you have evidence?"

The office went quiet; Draco even held his breath.

Anger churned in Snape's black eyes, but he kept it suppressed at the edge.

"You like asking for evidence."

"Students need to protect themselves."

"You protect yourself at Hogwarts, incidentally protect The Chosen One, destroy the Dark Lord's old items, and then wipe everyone's memories into silver light?"

Allen looked at him.

"That sounds even more exaggerated than Gilderoy Lockhart's books."

The old Wizard in the portrait couldn't help but let out a laugh, then immediately pretended to cough.

Snape turned his head, and the portrait closed its eyes, playing dead.

Draco lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly, but he forcefully steadied himself.

Snape tapped the essay back in front of Allen.

"Rewrite it, fifteen inches, same topic, due tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is for final exam review."

"Then don't sleep tonight."

Draco couldn't help but speak up.

"Professor, he was…"

Snape swept a glance over, and Draco swallowed the rest of his sentence.

"Malfoy, get out, and put down the inventory sheets."

Draco looked at Allen hesitantly and left, closing the door.

Only two people were left in the office.

Snape took a small glass bottle from the drawer, the pale silver liquid inside swaying gently.

"Dumbledore asked me not to scare the children."

Allen looked at the bottle.

"The Principal is considerate."

"I agree with the first half."

Snape put the bottle down.

"So I will no longer ask about the Chamber of Secrets."

Allen looked up.

Snape stared at him.

"I will ask another question: you have seen Lord Voldemort's remnant soul twice, is that correct?"

Allen did not answer.

"Last year, the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell's back of the head; tonight, the Chamber of Secrets, the diary projection."

Snape's fingertips rested on the mouth of the bottle.

"Harry doesn't remember clearly, but you might: the method of the remnant soul's parasitism, the method of Horcrux contamination, and the method of severing the life-draining thread."

He pushed the bottle half an inch closer.

"If you continue to hide these under your pillow, the next time, it might not just be one Ginny Weasley who dies."

Allen's fingers rested on the edge of the essay.

This time, Snape wasn't looking for evidence; he wanted intelligence.

"You want me to write a report?"

"Anonymous. Only write about the Dark Arts mechanism, not where you were."

"For Dumbledore?"

"For me."

"The Professor wants to bypass the Principal?"

Snape's expression darkened.

"I want to have something useful in my hands before the next time someone throws a fragment of the Dark Lord into the school."

Allen put away the essay.

"I will consider it."

"Give me an answer before the final exams."

"Okay."

Allen walked to the door, and Snape's voice pursued him from behind.

"Potter, if you really were in the Chamber of Secrets, don't think everyone will always play along with your silver light game. Granger has already woken up, and she is harder to fool than The Chosen One."

"I have already raised her threat level."

Snape paused for half a beat.

"You rank your classmates by threat level?"

Allen looked back, sleepiness hanging openly on his face.

"The Professor does too."

"Get out."

In the corridor, Draco stood leaning against the wall, the list in his hand nearly shredded.

Allen came out, and he immediately followed.

"He mentioned my father's letter."

"I heard."

"And the board seat."

"Normal."

Draco stopped before the corner, his voice dropping.

"Allen, I used to think my father knew everything."

Allen did not urge him.

"He taught me who to approach, who to stay away from, who has value, and who only deserves to get out of the way. He said the Weasley Family was ridiculously poor, said Dumbledore was pretending to be a good person, and said Muggle-borns would eventually dirty the magic world."

He crumpled the list into a ball.

"But he shoved the diary to Ginny; she is only in her first year."

Allen looked at him.

"That is the part you need to remember."

Draco let out a laugh, harsh and grating.

"You are even more annoying than him when you speak."

"Thanks."

"That's not a compliment."

"I'll take it as one."

In the shadow of the corridor, Nott walked out, his fingertips tapping his cuff.

"Finished?"

Allen handed him the essay.

"Fifteen inches, the corrosive effects of Basilisk venom on soul residues. Find some materials."

Nott scanned the title.

"Snape suspects the Horcrux mechanism?"

"He wants an anonymous report."

"Are you giving it?"

"Giving half."

Draco frowned.

"You're actually writing it?"

Allen looked toward the Great Hall; the noise of the students rose again, the petrified ones had woken up, and Hogwarts was starting to pretend to return to normal.

But the things in the wall crevices had never truly disappeared, and Lord Voldemort would not stop just because one diary was destroyed.

"Give him the useful parts and let him get busy."

Nott nodded.

"Snape researches the remnant soul, Dumbledore deals with Lucius, Granger chases the silver light, and Harry watches over Ginny."

Zabini came up from the stairs and happened to hear the last sentence.

"And what about you?"

Allen reached his hand into his sleeve; the knut was ice-cold.

"Sleep."

The three of them looked at him simultaneously.

Allen added.

"And final exams, by the way."