198: Chapter 198 Draco's Summer Vacation

"White Peacock learning to fly?" The door knocker read the letter from the Malfoy Family owl, nearly laughing itself to death. "Has he finally admitted he's a bird?"

Allen looked up from the other end of the study. The table was still spread with notes from the round-hatted Wizard, next to a three-day zero-trend curve.

The envelope from the Malfoy Family bore a faint wax seal from the manor. The family crest had already checked it—no tracking spells, only the scent Lucius habitually flaunted.

Draco's handwriting was messier than last time. The surface layer read like a complaint about summer etiquette lessons, but the code was dense.

"White Peacock learning to fly. Father has been visiting the Minister frequently lately; after returning, he makes me practice shaking hands with foreign guests. Mother ordered new dress robes, saying the box cannot lose face. The manor has an extra set of VIP passes—gold-edged, hideous."

The door knocker clicked its iron tongue. "Gold-edged is ugly? The Malfoy boy is growing up; his taste is salvageable."

Allen continued reading. Draco added a line at the end of the letter: Father says security will be very tight, the Minister needs to appear decent, and the international competition cannot let Britain lose face.

Also, Father asked if I was still corresponding with you. I said I had too much homework and no time.

"His lying has improved." Allen pressed the letter under the lamp. "Quidditch World Cup."

The family crest linked the four terms "international competition," "VIP box," "security," and "Minister" to the Ministry of Magic archives.

Zabini had mentioned tickets in his weather letter the other day, and Nott had tucked a note about the Department of Magical Games and Sports budget increase in his directory letter. The three lines converged on the table.

Hearing "Quidditch World Cup," Peter's shoulders immediately shrank. "Crowded places are best for old acquaintances to meet. No one will count who is clinking glasses with whom at the stadium."

"The old Death Eater circle will go." Allen wrote down his judgment. "Pureblood families must attend, the Ministry of Magic needs to appear decent, and foreign guests provide cover."

The door knocker tutted. "Translation: bad guys buy tickets, officials put on a show, nobles swap seats, and you kids suffer."

Allen took out reply parchment. The surface layer complained about tedious Potion homework; the hidden layer gave Draco only three instructions. Record the names of everyone who mentions the competition, the box, or foreign guests. Don't ask why. If Lucius checks the letter, complain about dress robe sleeves and etiquette lessons; do not mention security.

At the end, he added one more line: White Peacock, fly lower, don't bump into the Minister's hat.

The door knocker laughed until its iron ring rattled. "That's good. The Malfoy boy will be annoyed for a long time, then do it anyway."

After the owl flew away, Zabini's letter arrived.

The letter was still about weather—sunny in London, showers in the afternoon—but his mother said the Department of Magical Games and Sports' ledger had been exposed to the sun too often lately. Someone from the Department of International Magical Cooperation had reserved a third-tier box; the Bulgarian guests were very picky about seats, and the Irish were buying flags until they were out of stock.

Allen placed the letter into the Quidditch World Cup archive. "Department of Magical Games and Sports budget surge, Department of International Magical Cooperation box confirmed. The match time is set; only the public hype is missing."

The family crest added, "The Ministry of Magic Department of Magical Games and Sports procurement list for the past three weeks includes tents, Portkey registers, temporary warning ropes, and large quantities of backup memory modification Potions. The publicly auditable portion of the accounts has increased by over thirty percent."

"Backup memory modification Potions?" The door knocker's voice deepened. "They know themselves that something will go wrong."

Peter squeezed out a dry laugh in the cage. "When the Ministry of Magic does big things, preparing to wipe Muggles' brains first is called tradition."

"Or maybe wiping Wizards' testimonies." Allen circled "backup Potions." "Keep an eye on Crouch."

The dry laugh on Peter's face vanished. He reacted strongly to the name Crouch, pressing his back against the cage bars, his fingers reaching to touch a tail that wasn't there.

Allen looked at him. "Will Barty Crouch Jr. appear at the Quidditch World Cup?"

"He has been in charge of many international affairs. Old acquaintances fear him, hate him, and also want to see him fall." Peter swallowed. "That business with his son... many people only dare to talk about it after drinking."

"Write." Allen pushed a small piece of paper toward him. "Old news related to the Crouch family; write down as much as you can remember."

Peter complained, "I'll be written into a book by you sooner or later," but still lowered his head to start writing. The phantom tray was next to the ebony box, the tip of its tail pressing on the three characters for "Crouch," its silver pupils never leaving Peter.

In the afternoon, Nott's reply arrived via a regular owl.

The surface was questions after reading "A History of International Magical Tournaments," but the hidden layer was more direct.

The number of temporary employees in the Department of Magical Games and Sports has increased, and someone in the Nott family received a box invitation but hasn't replied yet. Lucius appeared outside the Minister's office twice; conversation keywords included security, spectacle, and pureblood family attendance rates.

When the door knocker read "pureblood family attendance rates," it spat. "Even watching a game requires roll call; nobles are truly idle."

Allen cross-referenced Nott's letter with Draco's.

Lucius didn't want to be near noisy places, but Narcissa believed attendance was mandatory. After the defeat in the Chamber of Secrets, the Malfoy Family needed to return to the pureblood social scene, and the Quidditch World Cup was a public opportunity to appear; Fudge also needed their money and face.

"Lucius will go." Allen wrote the conclusion. "He doesn't want to go, but he has to."

The family crest asked, "Should we advise Draco to avoid the competition?"

"Not advised right now." Allen put away the draft of the reply. "If he suddenly doesn't go, Lucius will investigate the reason. Let him go, sit in the box, record the seats, and remember who leaves first."

The door knocker was dissatisfied. "You're sending a child to a dangerous place to record seats?"

"He is a Malfoy." Allen flipped the Draco archive to the first page. "Danger will bypass him for a while, at least before the first scream."

Peter looked up, his face pale. "The first scream?"

Allen didn't explain. He moved the Quidditch World Cup archive next to the old Black case. Pureblood circles, Ministry of Magic, old Death Eaters, foreign guests, Crouch, Lucius—these names were tied to the same ticket by one match.

At dusk, the round-hatted Wizard did not appear at the street corner. The Order of the Phoenix observer was replaced by a hunchbacked old Wizard who tapped his cane on the road three times. The family crest recorded residual flame affinity, and the door knocker locked the door an extra time.

"The round hat didn't come today." The door knocker said. "Your three days of pretending to be a Muggle worked."

"He is writing a report." Allen returned to his desk. "Zero ripples, zero abnormalities, observation object suspected to be dormant for summer vacation. The Department of Mysteries won't be satisfied."

"How come you are writing reports back and forth with everyone?" The door knocker scolded. "Snape writes about you, the round hat writes about you, the Order of the Phoenix watches you, and you write about them. Hogwarts should open a mutual snitching class for you all."

Allen picked up his pen and added some nonsense to Snape's summer essay.

On the surface, he was still a third-year student crushed by the Professor's essays. Under the table, the Quidditch World Cup archive had already suppressed half of the pureblood social scene.

At night, Draco's second short letter arrived. Only one sentence: Father told me to memorize the box list; next to the Minister's seat are Malfoy, Bones, Crouch, Bulgarian guests, and one empty seat, said to be a temporary arrangement.

Allen circled "empty seat."

The door knocker asked, "Reserved for whom?"

"Reserved for trouble." Allen sealed the letter into the archive. "The competition hasn't even started, and the seats are already beginning to deceive."