206: Chapter 206 The Black Dog's Letter

Allen stopped his quill; on the table lay the essay on Soul Protection that Snape was pressing him to submit.

Outside the window, a grey-brown owl stood against the second-floor sill, claws gripping the wood, its eyes bright, feathers matted into wisps by the rain.

The family crest's silver thread extended out through the window gap, circling the parchment on the bird's leg. "No tracking charms detected. No Portkey tether detected. The ink contains salt, and the sealing wax is mixed with palm resin."

The door knocker sneered. "The writer is quite good at hiding; they didn't even dare to use a British bird."

Allen raised his hand, and the window latch slid open by an inch. The parchment was sliced off by a thin sheet of space; the owl shook its feathers, made no sound, didn't stop, and turned to dive into the rain, flying southward.

"It's afraid of you." The door knocker stared at the curtain of rain. "Or perhaps the sender gave instructions not to wait for a reply."

Allen placed the letter in the center of the desk, pressing his wand tip against the seal. The parchment was unsigned, the surface rough, with curled edges from the sea breeze, the handwriting scrawled but heavy with pressure.

It contained only one sentence: "Scabbers is not with Ron. I know. Who are you?"

The study went quiet for a beat. The door knocker spoke up first, "Even a dog's paw would write neater than this."

The entrance to the Portable Space opened an inch wide. The Void peered out from the mist with silver eyes, its tail tip pressing against an ebony box, the other end lashing toward the bars of the cage. Peter had just seen that line of text when his whole body slammed into the cage wall, a cracked sound squeezing out of his throat.

"Sirius Black!"

The four walls of the cage tightened simultaneously. Peter's fingers gripped the bars, his nails scratching white marks, his eyes fixed on the parchment, his teeth chattering. "He figured it out! He found the fake rat! He'll come, he'll definitely come!"

Allen turned the parchment toward the cage. "The handwriting."

Peter shrank back, but the Void's tail tip tapped the top of the cage, and he lunged back instantly. "It's him. He wrote his homework like this back in his student days—slanted as if he'd been chased by a dog. Twelve years in Azkaban, and his hand can still write like this? Madman, mad dog!"

The door knocker interjected, "Your assessment is quite accurate; after all, you squeaked like a rat when you were being chased."

Peter didn't dare curse at the door knocker. He buried his head in his knees, shoulders trembling. "He shouldn't be looking for students. He should be watching Harry, watching Ron, watching Lupin. Why would he ask who you are?"

"Because he has already ruled out Ron." Allen tucked the letter under a glass pane. "The illusion that Scabbers was with Ron has been broken. In the Shrieking Shack, an ordinary rat took a round of fire for you."

"I didn't tell you to put a fake rat there!" Peter roared, looking up, only to be pressed back into the corner by the cage the next second. "I just said Black would look for Ron! You insisted on leaving a trail for him to follow!"

Allen ignored his shouting, his quill writing the date, time, parchment material, and owl species on the file page. Tropical owl, sea-salt ink, route heading south, departed immediately after delivery.

The family crest took the remnants of the letter and projected a small set of geographical symbols. "The suspicious source area is not on the British mainland. The bird's long-distance migration traces are chaotic; it is suspected to have passed through an island post station before turning into the outskirts of London."

The door knocker finished listening and immediately added, "Buckbeak."

Allen wrote "Buckbeak" into the Black file. "After Harry and Hermione rescued the Hippogriff, Black wouldn't keep it in Britain. A tropical location is suitable, and it wouldn't be easy for the Order of the Phoenix to pursue openly."

Peter looked up, his voice dry. "He's contacting you, which means he doesn't believe Dumbledore can handle the Peter case."

"It also means he doesn't believe in the Ministry of Magic." Allen shunted the parchment into the third thin layer of his Portable Space. "Among the remaining people, those capable of replacing the rat, evading Lupin, avoiding Snape, and not using you for credit—the list won't be long."

The door knocker cursed, "You actually quite admire him."

"He's starting to use his brain." Allen closed the thin layer. "More valuable than hacking at doors in front of portraits."

Peter shook his head violently. "Don't reply! If you do, he'll pounce, following the owl, the ink, anything! He'll chew through walls, he'll dig up the floor!"

"That's why I won't reply." Allen locked the letter's tag. "He's asking for an identity; a reply would be giving him coordinates."

The door knocker paused for a rare moment. "If you don't reply, he'll still suspect you."

"Suspicion is enough." Allen dipped his quill in ink. "Evidence is not."

The family crest suddenly dimmed its silver light. "A shift change has occurred on the perimeter of the old house. The Witch with the old scarf at the street corner has left, and a wizard in a grey cloak has moved into the empty house opposite. The time was fifteen minutes after the letter was delivered."

The door knocker banged against the door panel with its iron ring. "Well, well, the bird just left, and the guard changes. That lot outside has caught the scent of the dog too."

Allen lowered the curtain halfway, allowing only the shadow of someone hunched over writing to be seen from outside. The fake shadow continued to flip through papers, while the real parchment, envelope, and ink were all compressed into the thin layer of the Portable Space.

"Who discovered the delivery?" the door knocker asked.

The family crest projected the shift-change route. "At least one observer captured the owl's trajectory. No interception of the letter, no stopping the bird. Detection frequency has increased since the shift change, targeting the study window, the entrance hall door, and the underground storage area."

Peter pressed his face against the bars. "Dumbledore will ask you. He'll ask who the letter is from. He'll bring Sirius Black, he'll drag me out."

"If he could bring Black directly into the old house, he would have knocked on the door already." Allen recorded the external observers into the Order of the Phoenix file. "For now, they only dare to watch."

The door knocker snorted coldly. "The longer they watch, the more they deserve a beating."

Allen wrote a new entry: Black initiated contact. Time window opened. Peter's fear level adjusted upward. Order of the Phoenix observers reacting in sync. Whether the Department of Mysteries has intervened, to be investigated.

The Void's tail tip pushed the file labeled "Black" forward and pressed Peter's cage half a foot deeper into the mist. Peter let out a string of silent curses, and the silencing rune lit up, swallowing the tail end of his words.

"You won't reply, and you won't lure him here." The door knocker stared at the tabletop. "Then what are you planning to do?"

"Wait for the second one." Allen pushed the ebony box back into the shadows. "The first letter asks for identity; the second one will bring conditions."

The door knocker's iron ring tapped lightly. "What if he loses patience?"

Allen pressed the Black file next to the Quidditch World Cup file. "Then let him lose patience. Impatient people reveal routes, fearful people reveal old grudges, and those seeking revenge will always take the shortest path."

Peter looked up from inside the cage, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

Allen closed the file. "The rat he's looking for is in my hands. The one in a hurry has never been me."