168: Chapter 168 The Broken Broom

"His broomstick is broken. Potter can't claim he's lucky this time, can he?"

Draco stood in the middle of the corridor. His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough for the Gryffindor side to hear.

Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him, trying to look fierce, though with limited effect.

Harry had just come out of the Hospital Wing, his face still pale.

Ron supported him and immediately exploded upon hearing this. "Malfoy, do you want a beating?"

Hermione held her books against her chest, looking first at Harry, then at Draco, and finally, her gaze landed on Allen.

She was clearly waiting for Allen to speak.

Allen leaned against the window, flipping through an old Quidditch supply catalog without looking up.

Draco continued, "Nimbus 2000, smashed into firewood by the Whomping Willow. What a pity. The last shred of dignity of the Potter Family has shattered along with it."

Ron lunged forward half a step, but Harry held him back.

Harry's fingers tightened, and the little bit of color on his face drained away even faster.

"That's enough, Draco," Pansy whispered a reminder. "A Professor might come by."

Draco ignored her.

He looked at Harry, his words sharper than usual. "Every time, someone catches you. Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, and now even a broomstick has died for you."

Harry stared at him. "At least I will be playing."

Draco's expression froze.

Students on both sides of the corridor immediately made low murmurs.

Zabini looked down, opening and closing his candy box.

Nott didn't laugh; he only wrote a line on his paper: Draco countered, emotions rising.

Allen finally closed his book. "Let's go."

Draco wanted to say more, but Allen had already passed by him.

There was no push or pull, yet Draco stopped talking and followed, with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

Ron cursed from behind, "Cowards!"

Draco's shoulders tensed.

Allen didn't turn back. "Don't stop."

After turning the corner, Draco couldn't suppress his anger. "Why did you stop me? His broom is broken; what's wrong with me laughing at it?"

"You've already had your laugh."

"I could have laughed better."

Zabini leaned against the wall. "And get points deducted by McGonagall even better?"

Draco glared at him. "You all are very good at speaking up for Gryffindor today."

Nott closed his notebook. "It's not helping them. Harry just woke up from the Dementor's influence. If you keep provoking him, he will remember it. And after he remembers, he will want to win even more."

Draco sneered. "He has no broom."

Allen handed the Quidditch supply catalog to Nott. "Write it down: Nimbus 2000. Harry Potter will get a better broom before the end of the year."

Nott's pen stopped on the paper. "How can you be sure?"

Draco was also stunned. "Better? What's better? Nimbus 2001? That's what my family's team ordered."

Zabini's eyes flickered. "Firebolt?"

Draco's expression changed. "That thing just came out; the price is ridiculously high. Who would give it to him?"

Allen leaned against the stone wall, his eyelids drooping. "Because his luck has always been very good."

Draco opened his mouth, but couldn't find a retort.

Nott wrote on the paper: Prediction, Harry will obtain a higher-grade broom. Source unknown. Possibly related to Black.

Zabini saw the last line, and his candy box clicked softly. "What if Black sends it?"

Draco's voice tightened. "A fugitive sending Harry a broom? Is he crazy?"

"Black might not necessarily want to kill Harry," Nott said. "That is, assuming our previous judgments are all correct."

Draco paced irritably. "You all think he's looking for the rat. But the one near Ron is already fake. What will the Black dog do once it smells it?"

Allen looked out the window. The edge of the Forbidden Forest was still wet after the rain, and the wind blew from the direction of the Quidditch pitch, carrying the smell of broken Wood and broom polish.

"It will be more desperate."

At noon that day, the wreckage of Harry's Nimbus 2000 was delivered to the Gryffindor Common Room. The news spread quickly. Some said the broom had been smashed into a dozen pieces by the Whomping Willow, while others said only a wet stick remained. Ron was cursing the Whomping Willow in the Great Hall, while Wood looked like he had lost half his team.

At the Slytherin table, Flint laughed the loudest.

"The Gryffindor Seeker has no broom. Next match, they can send Weasley up on a mop."

Several upperclassmen laughed along. Draco also wanted to laugh, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he saw Allen put down his dinner knife.

"Don't follow along."

Draco swallowed his laugh. "I haven't said anything yet."

"It's written on your face."

Pansy whispered, "Why can't we laugh? The whole school is laughing."

Allen looked at her. "Because if you laugh too early, you'll get slapped in the face."

Pansy didn't understand. Zabini understood, slowly stuffing the candy back into the box. "A better broom."

Nott added, "If Harry really gets a Firebolt, the louder you laugh now, the worse you'll look later."

Draco looked very uncomfortable. "Why would he get a Firebolt?"

"Ask the person who sends it."

"I don't know who sent it!"

Allen pushed his pumpkin juice away. "So don't set the stage for others."

At the teachers' table, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore were talking in low voices. Snape stood to one side, holding a roll of parchment; by the direction, it looked like he had just returned from the Hospital Wing. Lupin didn't sit down; he spoke a few words to Harry at the door and handed him a piece of chocolate.

Harry took the chocolate with a complex expression.

Draco followed Allen's gaze. "Lupin is very good to him."

"The son of an old friend."

Nott wrote, "Lupin and Harry's contact deepens," and "Black storyline pushes emotional judgment."

Zabini whispered, "The son of an old friend, the enemy of an old friend, the traitor of an old friend. It's a real mess."

Draco poked his potato with a fork. "I'm starting to hate the word 'old friend'."

In the afternoon Potion Class, Snape had clearly heard about the broken broomstick. He made Harry cut an extra portion of daisy roots, then deducted five points from Gryffindor on the grounds of a "shaky hand."

Ron was so angry he almost knocked over his cauldron. Hermione helped Harry stabilize his potion while whispering, "Ignore him."

When Snape walked over to the Slytherin side, his gaze paused on Allen's desk. Allen's potion color was standard, and the heat was standard—so standard that no one could find a fault.

"Mr. Potter, the Dementor reaction report."

Allen handed over the parchment.

Snape took it and flipped through two pages. "You believe that the effect of Dementors on different students depends on the activity level of their painful memories."

"Textbook viewpoint."

"You wrote in the report that some individuals may have a delayed reaction due to the outer protection of the soul or abnormal mental structure."

The silver knife in Draco's hand almost cut his hand. Nott lowered his head to organize his materials, and Zabini stared at the cauldron as if there were candy in it.

Allen put the daffodil roots into the mortar. "Theoretical hypothesis."

Snape's gaze pressed down on him. "Hypotheses are best not growing legs and running to the Quidditch pitch to read books on their own."

Harry turned back from the front row. Hermione heard it too, and her quill stopped on the parchment.

Allen looked up. "Professor, I was reading 'A History of Amulets' at the time."

Snape's face was cold. "Hand in an eight-inch excerpt of the book tomorrow."

Draco almost made a sound but forced himself to hold it back.

After class, Harry waited for Allen at the door. Ron stood beside him, looking reluctant. Hermione was holding her books, clearly the mastermind.

"I want to ask about the Nimbus," Harry said.

Draco immediately frowned. "Why are you looking for Allen because your broom broke? He's not a carpenter."

Harry looked at Allen. "You heard Malfoy mocking me this morning, and you said nothing."

Draco's temper flared up again. "Potter, pick a better reason if you want to look for trouble."

Allen put his book into his bag. "What do you want to ask?"

Harry gripped his bag strap. "Did you know something would happen a long time ago?"

Hermione continued, "You told us not to run around before the match a few days ago, and you've been recording the Black dog."

Ron muttered, "He even records the Black dog."

Allen looked at Harry. "I only knew that the Dementors would lose control."

"Why didn't you tell the Professor?"

"Tell who? Would things sent by the Ministry of Magic listen to a student's suggestion?"

Harry was choked for words. Hermione didn't back down. "Then you could have told Dumbledore."

Allen looked at her. "You handed in the prophecy yesterday; did Dumbledore come to see me today?"

Hermione's expression faltered.

Draco immediately seized the opportunity. "The Principal is very busy, busy letting Dementors onto the Quidditch pitch."

"Draco."

The moment Allen spoke, Draco shut his mouth again.

Hermione hugged her books tighter. "Professor McGonagall gave the prophecy to Dumbledore. She said she would handle it."

"The result of her handling it is that he didn't come to me." Allen walked past them. "So don't leave everything to those above. The things they have to manage are dirtier than you think."

Harry stood where he was, his face darkening. The anger he felt after losing his broom was pressed into something else by this sentence.

Ron looked at Allen's back. "He's really annoying when he talks."

Hermione didn't refute him. She lowered her head and wrote two lines in her notebook, then quickly crossed them out.

That night, in the Slytherin Common Room, Nott spread all the day's clues on the table. Draco sat to one side, still brooding over the "better broom."

"If Black really sends a Firebolt, will Harry accept it?"

Zabini replied, "He will accept it if he doesn't know who sent it. Professor McGonagall might confiscate it for inspection."

Draco immediately felt a bit better. "That's good."

Nott looked at Allen. "Why didn't you stop Draco's mockery this morning? Based on your habits, that kind of conflict would increase Harry's vigilance."

Allen closed his eyes, looking half-asleep. "It was necessary."

Draco looked up. "What was necessary?"

"Harry needs to feel some pain."

The Common Room went quiet.

Allen leaned back against the chair, his voice very soft. "The broom is broken; he will remember the Dementors, remember the Black dog, and remember that no one is born able to catch him every time. Draco's mockery will turn that pain into fire. Next time, he will be faster."

Draco's expression changed several times. "So I'm a tool again?"

"You are very skilled at it."

Zabini couldn't help laughing. Draco grabbed a cushion and threw it, but Zabini dodged by tilting his head.

Nott didn't laugh. He wrote on the paper: Harry's growth node, Draco's provocation retained. Allen did not intervene.

In the Portable Space, the void tail tip held down Harry's file, and the other end held down the Black dog's file. Peter in the cage heard the words "Black" and "Firebolt" and shrank into the corner.

Allen opened his eyes, took out a new piece of parchment, and wrote the last line.

The Nimbus is broken. Harry will get a better broom. Black is eager to get close, but he will first push everyone's attention toward himself.

He tucked the parchment into his sleeve.

"Next step, wait for the gift."