190: Chapter 190 Paper Debt

"Eight? You call this the remaining homework?"

Draco spread the parchment all over the long table in the Common Room, his voice barely contained. It was the final night before the return trip, and while other years were packing their trunks, the Slytherin Dungeon felt like a temporary courtroom—not for a person, but for Allen's homework debt.

Nott corrected him, "Eight for Snape, two for McGonagall, and one observation report for Flitwick. Eleven in total."

Draco slammed his ink bottle onto the table. "Shut up."

Zabini sat by the fireplace with a box of sweets on his lap. "Even if he shuts up, the essays won't decrease."

Pansy flipped through a half-written Dementor report. "The handwriting is starting to drift on this one. Allen, did you fall asleep once by the third page?"

Allen slumped over the table, quill still clutched between his fingers. "Twice."

Draco grabbed the edge of the paper. "You dare keep writing after twice? If Snape sees the handwriting change, he'll make you write a ninth one."

"It's already the ninth one," Nott said.

"I told you to shut up."

A few younger students watched from afar in the Common Room, not daring to approach. The upper-year students led by Flint had reined themselves in quite a bit due to end-of-term detentions and warnings from the Dean, so they didn't dare cause trouble tonight either. The fireplace fire heated the long table, and the smell of ink and parchment mixed together, thicker than it was in Potion Class.

Pansy divided the essays into three piles. "The ones that can be finished tonight, the ones that can't, and the ones that will be sent back by Snape even if finished."

Draco looked at the third pile. "Why is this the largest?"

"Because he was too honest."

Allen looked up. "I've already deleted half of it."

Zabini picked up a page. "Reaction differences of Dementors to different soul defense structures. You handing this topic to Snape is like sticking your neck under his blade."

"He gave me the topic."

"He gave you the topic to see how you would dodge it. Writing the research conclusion directly is too much like a provocation."

Nott turned the ledger toward the others. "The Professors' strategy has taken shape. They are using an assignment chain to trap Allen, reduce his free time, and delay him from accessing the cracked pocket watch, the restricted area, and the Peter line. Snape is in charge of high-pressure essays, McGonagall handles physical and classroom records, Flitwick is responsible for spell observations, and Dumbledore finishes him off with conversations and sweets."

"What the hell is finishing him off with sweets?" Draco frowned.

"Effective interference," Nott said. "Look at Allen; he's still thinking about the cracked pocket watch."

Allen dipped his quill in ink. "I'm thinking about the essays."

Pansy snatched the quill from his hand. "You just wrote 'Dementor-watch' instead of Dementor."

Zabini glanced down and his shoulders shook. "The cracked pocket watch is contaminating the work site."

Draco held it in for a long time, but couldn't help letting out a laugh, though he quickly straightened his face. "We can't laugh. This is serious. Snape will kill someone."

"He won't," Allen said, reaching for the quill.

Pansy moved the quill away. "He will torture you with red ink."

Nott listed the eleven tasks on a paper and read them out one by one: "One, the revised second part of the Dementor report, due tomorrow morning. Two, explanation of the Divination Class exam anomaly, due the first week of the holidays. Three, sleep disturbance records, to be included the first week of the holidays. Four, analysis of the possibility of Portable Space magic loss of control, second week of the holidays. Five, explanation of the Boggart Black void, pending Snape's confirmation of the topic. Six, review of McGonagall's transformation errors, due before the return trip. Seven, McGonagall's sleep observation chart, ongoing during the holidays. Eight, Flitwick's Levitation Charm stability observation report, to be completed on the train."

"You said eleven just now," Draco immediately caught the loophole.

"The remaining three are unnamed by Snape." Nott flipped the paper over. "Based on past experience, unnamed ones are more dangerous than named ones."

Draco looked at Allen. "Did you hear that? Dangerous."

Allen nodded. "I heard."

"And?"

"Sleep for ten minutes first."

"No," Draco, Pansy, and Nott said in unison.

Zabini pushed the box of sweets toward Allen. "Eat some sugar."

Allen glanced at it. "Too sweet."

"The Principal sends sour ones, you complain about toothaches; I give you sweet ones, you complain they're too sweet. You actually just want to sleep."

"Yes."

Draco rolled up his sleeves. "I'll grind the ink."

The long table went quiet for a moment.

Pansy looked at him. "You?"

"What?" Draco lifted his chin. "The Malfoy Family ink formula is ten times better than the school's supply. I can grind it to the perfect consistency for long essays."

Zabini popped a sweet into his mouth. "You spilled ink all over your Potion Class notes last time and turned them into the Black Lake."

"That was because Crabbe bumped into me."

Nott flipped through his records. "Crabbe was three feet away from you at the time."

"His very existence is an obstruction."

Allen took the quill back. "No need."

Draco was dissatisfied. "You look down on my ink?"

"I look down on your patience."

Pansy nodded. "Reasonable."

Draco glared at them, but eventually sat down, pulled the ink bottle in front of himself, and carefully unscrewed the cap. "At least I can watch you so you don't write 'Dementor-watch' again."

"That would be useful," Zabini said.

Allen began to revise the first essay. He shortened the sentences, replaced sensitive words with standard classroom terminology, and wrote that the Dementor's lingering on him was due to "fatigue leading to delayed perception, making reaction time difficult to determine." Snape would be able to see the deletions, but he wouldn't be able to grasp the core. The one for McGonagall was even simpler; he attributed the half-inch shortage in the transformed mouse's tail to end-of-term sleep deprivation and unstable magic output.

Draco read half a page. "You call this admitting fault?"

"It's enough."

"Your 'I will pay attention next time' is written even more perfunctorily than a Weasley's apology."

Pansy took it to look. "Professor McGonagall will understand. He admits to poor sleep, but doesn't admit to intentionally controlling the grade."

Nott added, "Keep it suspicious, lower the motivation to investigate."

Zabini looked at the third essay. "What about this one for Flitwick? Levitation Charm stability observation—it can't be written too poorly. He will test it himself."

Allen pulled over a blank piece of parchment. "Write about external interference."

"What interference?"

"Draco."

Draco looked up sharply. "Why me?"

"You're making noise nearby."

"That's supervision."

"Interfering supervision."

Pansy laughed until her shoulders shook, Zabini closed the sweet box, and Nott very seriously wrote: Available excuse: Malfoy interfered with the experiment.

Draco slapped the table. "Nott, if you dare write that into the official report, I'll throw your notebook into the Black Lake."

"I have a copy."

"When did you get one?"

"After the first time you threatened to throw the notebook."

The oppressive atmosphere in the Common Room was dispelled quite a bit by these few exchanges. In the distance, the younger students finally dared to continue packing their luggage. The fire in the fireplace shifted direction, and the edges of the parchment on the table curled up; Pansy used a cup to hold them down.

When Allen wrote to the third page, his eyelids began to droop. The cracked pocket watch didn't chime in his Portable Space, but the presence of the golden cracks still clung to the edge of his consciousness like a thorn that hadn't been pulled out.

The tip of the void tail pressed against the ebony box, and Peter was writing an old list inside the cage. Every time he finished a line, the thin wall would light up, confirming there were no fake names. Peter didn't dare stop writing; he looked more like he was paying off a homework debt than the students outside.

"Is Peter still writing?" Nott asked suddenly.

Allen didn't look up. "Mm."

Draco's face darkened. "He's even more diligent than you."

"If he doesn't write, he'll get pinched by the cage."

"I kind of understand the cage now."

Pansy handed a clean piece of paper to Allen. "We also need to set the communication rules for the holidays tonight. Draco's family will check the mail, Nott's family will ask questions indirectly, and Zabini has a lot of social news, making it easy for people to fish for information."

Zabini nodded. "I'll use weather codes. Rain means the Ministry of Magic is moving; sunny means the Board of Governors is quiet; foggy means news about the Order of the Phoenix or Black."

Nott followed up. "I'll use book lists. For things related to the old case, I'll write history books; for Peter-related things, zoology; for time-related things, Astronomy. The specific page numbers will follow our table."

Draco spun the ink bottle irritably. "What about me?"

Allen finished a sentence before saying, "You continue with the White Peacock."

"My father will scold me if he sees it."

"That's why it's useful."

Pansy looked at him. "The more you seem like you're being brushed off by Allen, the more at ease Lucius will be."

Draco's hand stopped. After a few seconds, he pushed the ink bottle back. "Fine. The White Peacock is sleeping, the White Peacock is shedding feathers, the White Peacock won't eat. Sooner or later, you'll write me into a joke too."

Zabini nodded gently. "You already are."

"Shut up."

Allen finished writing the last paragraph of the Dementor report, blew the ink dry, and handed it to Pansy for inspection. After Pansy checked it, she passed it to Nott; Nott checked for sensitive words and passed it to Zabini; Zabini was responsible for judging whether it read like a normal student. Draco was responsible for watching Allen to make sure he didn't sleep, although he himself had already yawned twice.

"This one can be submitted," Zabini said.

Draco immediately rolled up the report and tied it with a ribbon, as if handling a trophy. "One."

"Ten more," Nott reminded him.

Draco threw the rolled paper at him; Nott tilted his head to avoid it, and the paper landed in Pansy's hands.

Pansy put the paper away. "Stop messing around, it really needs to be submitted tomorrow morning."

Allen leaned back into his chair, closed his eyes for three seconds, then opened them again. "Next one, Divination."

Draco perked up immediately. "The one about the soup at dinner?"

"Mm."

Zabini pushed the sweet box away. "I suggest writing a lot of nonsense for this topic. Divination Class likes nonsense."

Nott shook his head. "Trelawney will like it, but Snape will tear it up."

Pansy thought about it. "Write about observation errors. Aromatherapy, lighting, crystal ball refraction, candidate fatigue, the influence of events from the night before. Mention the blue light only as a brief visual residue, don't give a conclusion."

"That works," Allen said, picking up his quill.

Draco stared at the paper. "Add a sentence: The candidate has no talent for Divination."

"Trelawney won't agree."

"What does it matter if she agrees or not? As long as Snape agrees, that's all that matters."

Allen wrote down: In the candidate's personal judgment, Divination performance lacks stability.

Draco nodded with satisfaction. "That sounds like human language."

Nott added, "It also sounds like running for one's life."

Outside the Common Room, the lake water lapped against the stone walls. On the last night of the term, the Castle was as quiet as if all the troubles had been stuffed into trunks, just waiting to leave the school with the students tomorrow.

Allen stopped writing halfway through. Inside his Portable Space, the cracked pocket watch didn't light up, and the blue light door to the restricted area didn't fluctuate. But he could feel that Dumbledore's words were still stuck at the very top of his files.

"If the cracked pocket watch rings during the summer holidays, don't be in a hurry to answer it."

Draco was immediately alert. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Every time you say 'nothing,' there's something."

"There are ten essays left."

Draco was choked up, and it took him a while to curse, "That is indeed something."

Pansy laid out a new piece of parchment, Nott continued to keep the accounts, Zabini distributed sweets to everyone, and Draco insisted on not eating, saying he was afraid his hand would shake and spill the ink.

Allen lowered his head to write. The blackthorn wand pressed against his cuff, and the knut sat quietly and coldly under the table. The old case from the third year, the time creases, the cracked pocket watch, Peter, and Black—all were temporarily pressed under the essays.

At least for tonight, the most deadly enemy was Snape's red ink.