191: Chapter 191 Train Division of Labor

"You still dare to say you only slept during the summer holidays?" Draco closed the carriage door, his voice tight. "Allen, you fell asleep last night writing until your quill stuck into the ink bottle. If you touch the cracked pocket watch again when you return to the old family house, I'm writing to Snape."

Allen leaned against the window, a thin notebook with a blank cover on his lap, his eyelids half-drooped. The mountain shadows outside the window receded; the Hogwarts Express had just pulled out of Hogsmeade. The corridor was filled with the sound of students dragging trunks, as if the entire Castle had dumped all its unfinished troubles under the wheels.

Pansy sat opposite, pushing the candy box aside. "If you write to Snape, he'll first ask why you know about the cracked pocket watch. Then your father will ask why you wrote the letter. In the end, we're all finished."

Draco's expression darkened further. "So you all intend to just watch him sleep himself to death?"

Zabini pulled the curtain down by a finger's width, confirming no one was lingering in the corridor. "Don't speak too soon. Before Allen sleeps himself to death, Snape's essays will pin him to his desk first."

Nott sat by the door, holding an old ledger, his fingertips tapping the cover. He hadn't brought his usual quill, but it was as if every sentence had already been recorded into the paper. "The return trip is four hours and twenty minutes. Now is the time to divide the holiday tasks. Save the arguing until after the food trolley passes."

"Did you hear that?" Draco stared at Allen. "He put your sleeping yourself to death after the food trolley."

Allen flipped the thin notebook to the first page. "Business first."

Draco wanted to retort, but Pansy nudged his shin with the tip of her shoe. He bit back his words and shoved his hands into his robes, as if trying to tighten the air in the entire carriage.

Nott opened the ledger. "First item: the aftermath of Azkaban. After Black escaped, the Ministry of Magic will definitely have personnel changes. The Dementors are withdrawing, and the responsibility will fall on a few desks. Bones, Prout, Crouch's old subordinates, the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's office—all must be recorded."

Allen nodded. "You track the personnel."

"I can keep track of public orders," Nott pushed a thin sheet of paper to the center of the table. "The covert lines need old family directories. My father has several old letters from twelve years ago with the Black family crest wax seal on the envelopes. I will find the directory, not touch the originals."

Draco immediately cut in, "Your father will let you flip through them?"

Nott glanced at him. "That's why I'm only looking for the directory. Mr. Malfoy, please don't mix up stealing letters with checking directories."

Zabini chuckled and shut the candy box. "That line could be written into an etiquette lesson."

Draco glared at him. "Stop laughing. Your mother's side is the most troublesome."

Zabini spread his hands. "My trouble is very practical. Summer tea parties, marriage proposal dinners, auctions—the pure-blood circle will keep Black hanging around their wine glasses. I'm responsible for listening to how they discuss cutting ties with Malfoy, how they evaluate Lucius, who mentions Crouch, and who fears the retrial of old cases."

Allen wrote "Zabini" on the left side of the thin notebook. "The code will continue to use weather."

"Rain is for Ministry of Magic moves, sunny is for when the coast is clear, foggy is for news about the Order of the Phoenix and Black," Zabini held a candy between two fingers, then put it back in the box. "What about thunderstorms?"

"Lucius acting personally," Allen said.

Draco's hand froze.

The wheels rolled over a junction, and the carriage swayed. Pansy steadied the edge of the table, Nott's ledger remained perfectly still, and Zabini finally popped the candy into his mouth.

Draco shifted his gaze to the window. "My father wouldn't be stupid enough to act during the summer. He needs to repair the Board of Governors, pay money, and pretend to be a victim."

Allen wrote "Quidditch World Cup" in the thin notebook.

Draco frowned. "What is this?"

"Quidditch World Cup," Pansy realized first. "Pure-blood families will go, the Ministry of Magic will go, foreign Wizards will go. The adults think the children only watch the game, so they'll accidentally let things slip."

Allen looked at Draco. "You go back to Malfoy Manor and observe Lucius's attitude changes. Focus on listening for three words: World Cup, safety, old friend."

"Old friend?" Draco's voice sank. "If he says old friend, he's mostly referring to a group of people I don't want to see."

"Record, don't evaluate," Allen put down the quill. "If he checks your letters, write White Peacock. White Peacock shedding feathers means he's irritable. White Peacock not eating means he's avoiding the topic. White Peacock watching fireworks means the World Cup."

Zabini almost bit the candy in half. "White Peacock watching fireworks. Draco, if your father reads that, will he send you to St. Mungo's?"

"Shut up," Draco suppressed his anger. "I'd rather write a report on the Malfoy Manor garden."

Pansy lowered her head to straighten her gloves. "I'm responsible for the girls' circle. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff—gossip travels faster than classes before the holidays. Hermione will chase the silver light, Ginny will be watched, and Penelope Clearwater will talk about the Chamber of Secrets after she wakes up. I'll help you see who they are writing to."

Allen wrote down "Pansy." "Don't take the initiative to approach Granger."

"I have no interest in making friends with her," Pansy looked up. "But she will look for you. If she can't find you, she'll find Harry. If Harry is pressed by her questions, he'll come ask you."

Draco buttoned his cuffs tightly. "Then keep Potter away. Every time he gets close, he brings a bunch of Professors."

Nott tapped the ledger. "Harry will be protected by the Order of the Phoenix. The more protection, the clearer the loopholes. The focus of the holiday is on the rotation of external surveillance. If there are still people at the station, it means they have already listed Allen for long-term observation."

Allen flipped to the second page and wrote down three sets of communication codes.

"The first set: weather, book lists, White Peacock."

"The second set: refreshments, page numbers, garden."

"The third set: only use when the letter has been clearly inspected. All sentences start with homework; only the second noun counts as the actual content."

Hearing the last sentence, Draco's face fell. "You want me to write homework codes all summer?"

"Snape will be happy," Zabini said.

"I don't need him to be happy," Draco slammed the table, then lowered his voice. "I need my father not to understand."

Allen closed the thin notebook. "Then write it like you've been driven crazy by homework."

Pansy handed a spare quill to Nott. "He doesn't have to pretend."

The carriage was quiet for two breaths, then Zabini laughed first. Draco didn't curse back, just turned his face to the window, but the tips of his ears turned a little red.

The trolley Witch's bell rang in the corridor, and a few lower-year students squeezed past to buy Chocolate Frogs. Footsteps stopped outside the carriage door, then left. Nott memorized the shadow below the door crack, his fingers tapping three times on the ledger cover.

Allen didn't turn back. "Who?"

"Gryffindor," Nott said. "Light steps, short pause. Might be Granger."

Pansy pressed all the thin papers on the table under her book. "How much did she hear?"

"She couldn't hear," Allen said. "I placed a thin layer at the door."

Draco's face darkened again. "When did you place it?"

"Before boarding."

"You just said you were only sleeping!"

"That's for the summer holidays."

Zabini looked at Pansy. "He's started playing with words, which means he's getting sleepy."

Allen didn't deny it. He took out a knut from his cuff and placed it on the table; the copper face rang softly. The thin layer was retracted from the door crack, and the sounds inside the carriage stuck back to the walls.

Deep in the Portable Space, the ebony box was quiet. The cracked pocket watch was pressed by the tip of the Void, gold threads covered most of the surface, and blue light was hidden in the cracks. Peter was locked in a cage, a piece of parchment filled with names beside his hand, his fingertips worn with tiny red marks by the quill.

Allen closed his eyes. "Peter."

The silence spell in the cage loosened by a sliver.

Peter immediately lunged to the bars. "Don't hand me over to Sirius Black! Mr. Allen, I can write, I can remember more. Knockturn Alley, old furniture shop, I told you, the second loose brick on the back wall—inside there are letters, seals, and code pages. You go get them, it can prove I'm useful."

The Void silver pupil raised, and the edge of the cage pressed inward by half an inch.

Peter immediately lowered his voice. "Three letters. Not complete letters, remaining pages. Lily wrote one, James wrote one, and there's another one I don't know who it belongs to. Waterproof cloth bag, back wall of the old furniture shop, the second loose brick. There's Black wax in the brick gap—don't use fire, it will ruin the writing."

Allen opened his eyes; his pale face was reflected on the train window. "Code pages?"

"Matching the old Death Eater contact seals. Only two, old ones, can't be used directly anymore." Peter swallowed. "But they can prove who I was in contact with back then. There are also remaining words about changing the Secret-Keeper, Sirius Black voluntarily quitting, Dumbledore suggesting the change—all of this is there."

Draco couldn't see the Portable Space, but he saw Allen's gaze shift. "Is he talking?"

Allen didn't answer, only asked Peter, "Why didn't you say so before?"

"I was scared!" Peter's voice cracked. "I was afraid that once you got it, you'd kill me, afraid that Sirius Black would know I still had things, afraid Remus Lupin would use it to force me. This is the only thing I have to save my life."

"Repeat the location."

Peter repeated it rapidly, even mentioning which corner of the shop sign was missing and the distance from the damp marks on the back wall to the ground. The Void tip pressed a silver line onto the parchment, tracing the details word for word.

Allen resealed the silence spell.

In the carriage, Draco's hand had already reached his wand. "Knockturn Alley?"

Nott spoke first. "Peter revealed an old hiding spot."

Zabini sat up straight. "Summer operation?"

"Not now," Allen put the knut back into his cuff. "Three days from now, at night. First, confirm the surveillance rotation outside the old family house, then move."

Pansy looked at him. "You're going alone?"

"Yeah."

Draco couldn't suppress his anger. "You're dreaming. Knockturn Alley, evidence of old cases, Order of the Phoenix surveillance, Sirius Black is out, Dementors just withdrew. And you want to go alone?"

"You're at Malfoy Manor for the summer."

"I can get out."

"Lucius will know."

Draco was choked off. He grabbed the candy box on the table, then put it down, as if the thing were scalding.

Nott closed the old ledger. "The risk of Allen acting alone is high, but the more people involved, the dirtier the chain of evidence. The Knockturn Alley operation can only involve one person. We are responsible for external information."

Pansy pushed the thin notebook back to Allen. "Then at least write down the retreat code."

Allen wrote down three lines.

First, if "old chair" appears in the letter, it means the Knockturn Alley operation is complete.

Second, if "too much dust" appears, it means the evidence is damaged.

Third, if "the shopkeeper is not there" appears, it means it was moved by someone else beforehand.

Zabini finished reading, the smile gone from his face. "Moved by someone else beforehand—who do you suspect?"

"Peter's old accomplices, the Order of the Phoenix, Sirius Black, the Ministry of Magic, Lucius." Nott listed five directions. "All make sense."

Draco stiffened when he heard Lucius. Pansy glanced at him but didn't twist the knife.

Ron's voice came from the end of the corridor, complaining about having to go back to Privet Drive to send Harry off. Hermione's voice was much lower, indistinguishable, as if suppressing some question. Harry didn't speak, but his footsteps slowed down by half a beat outside the Slytherin carriage.

Allen didn't move.

Draco cursed through the door panel, "He still dares to eavesdrop?"

"He's chasing the silver light," Pansy put her gloves back on. "If he can't catch it, he won't stop."

Allen leaned back against the window. "Let him chase."

The train passed through a long slope, and sunlight cut into the carriage, illuminating the thin notebook on the table. On it were written the summer division of labor, three sets of codes, the old hiding spot in Knockturn Alley, and a name pressed under an ink blot.

Peter Pettigrew.

Nott looked at that name, his fingers tapping for the last time. "Third year isn't over, just leaving school."

Allen closed his eyes. "So sleep first."

Draco was about to scold him, but Pansy threw her cloak over first, covering Allen's shoulders. Zabini locked the carriage door, and Nott tucked the ledger into his inner pocket.

Draco stood by the door, his face ugly, but he didn't speak again. The train headed for London; everyone was going home, only they knew that the summer holiday was not a rest, but changing to another table to continue placing bets.