21: Chapter 21 A Visit from Upperclassmen

At ten o'clock at night, the door to the Slytherin dormitory was knocked upon.

It wasn't a polite kind of knocking.

Two knocks, a half-beat pause, then two more.

Draco was sitting on his bed reading "The Rise and Fall of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," turning the pages very slowly. Allen had said he would quiz him on the third chapter the next day. He hadn't wanted to memorize it, but the thought of being stumped by Allen in front of Crabbe and Goyle felt even worse than being stared at by Snape in Potion Class.

Goyle was lying by his bed, organizing his snacks.

Crabbe looked at him: "Didn't you already finish dinner?"

Goyle said: "This is a midnight snack."

"What is a midnight snack?"

"The meal after dinner."

Draco closed his book: "Can you two be quiet for ten minutes?"

The door knocked again.

This time, heavier.

Draco frowned: "Who is it?"

No one answered.

Allen leaned against the head of his bed in the corner, holding a thin booklet, his eyelids half-lowered. That book had been open for ten minutes, but the page hadn't turned. It wasn't that he couldn't concentrate; he was waiting.

Flint was a man with no patience.

He had endured for a week; that was long enough.

The door was pushed open.

Marcus Flint walked in, followed by two upperclassmen. The three of them blocked the doorway, cutting off a portion of the light in the dormitory.

Flint wasn't wearing his school robe; his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his broad shoulders took up a lot of space. After entering, he looked at Draco first, then at Allen, and finally glanced at Crabbe and Goyle.

"The first-years are living well," he said.

Draco set his book aside: "Flint, before entering someone else's dormitory, don't you wait for permission?"

Flint chuckled: "The young master of the Malfoy Family, teaching me the rules in the first week?"

Crabbe stood up.

Goyle also stood up, clutching half a pie in his hand.

Allen lifted his eyes: "Sit down."

Goyle looked down at the pie: "Me?"

"Both you and the pie, sit down."

Goyle thought about it, sat back down, and placed the pie by his pillow. Draco felt his brow twitch, but he had no time to deal with him.

Flint looked at Allen.

"The other Potter," he said, "you certainly know how to order people around."

Allen closed his book: "Say what you have to say. I'm going to sleep."

Draco felt a tightness in his chest as he heard this.

He knew very well that Allen wasn't afraid of trouble, but this wasn't a train compartment. This was the Slytherin Dungeon. Upperclassmen could do far more than first-years.

Flint took two steps forward.

"We're here to remind you of some house traditions." He pointed his chin at the people in the room, "When new students arrive, you have to show some appreciation. The Quidditch team needs training, the Common Room needs maintenance, and the upperclassmen will look after you."

Draco sneered: "Look after?"

"Yes," Flint looked at him, "Five Galleons each. That's for this month."

Crabbe was stunned: "What do five Galleons buy?"

Goyle answered quickly: "A midnight snack?"

Draco was almost amused by them: "Shut up, you two."

Five Galleons wasn't an exorbitant price.

Not for a Malfoy, and not for a Potter.

But this money could not be given.

If you give it the first time, there will be a second. Today it's the Quidditch team, tomorrow it will be house activities, and the day after that it will become "the senior is short on pocket money." This whole scheme is just robbery with a different shell.

Draco stood up: "My father is Lucius Malfoy."

Flint looked at him.

The dormitory went quiet for a moment.

Draco continued: "Are you sure you want to collect this kind of money from a Malfoy?"

The upperclassmen behind Flint looked at each other, not speaking.

The surname Malfoy was useful.

But not omnipotent.

Especially in a closed dormitory.

Flint walked up to Draco and looked down at him: "I know who your father is. You can also write him a letter and tell him that a third-year named Flint asked you for five Galleons."

Draco didn't speak.

Flint moved half a step closer: "And then what? Will your father come to Hogwarts and tell Professor Snape that his son can't even handle small matters within the house?"

That was a dirty remark.

And very accurate.

Draco's face tightened.

Crabbe looked at Draco, then at Flint, wanting to speak, but was suppressed by one word from Allen.

"Sit."

Crabbe sat down faster than Goyle.

Flint smiled with satisfaction.

"Isn't it better to be smart? It's not much money, but it buys peace. If there's trouble in the Common Room later, we can put in a good word for you."

Allen placed his book by the bed.

"For example?"

Flint looked at him: "What example?"

"What can you help with?" Allen asked, "Help Goyle find the kitchen? Help Crabbe copy the porcupine quills correctly? Or help Draco pick his face up off the ground during Flying Class?"

Goyle looked up: "The kitchen would be fine."

Draco tried to hold it in, but couldn't: "Shut up."

Flint's smile vanished.

These words weren't a harsh scolding, but they were very uncomfortable. Especially in front of his two lackeys.

"Potter," Flint said, "I'm not joking with you."

"Neither am I." Allen leaned back against the headboard, "Five Galleons can't buy what you're talking about."

"Then what do you want to buy?"

"Time."

Flint didn't understand.

Draco didn't understand either.

Allen picked up his wand from beside his pillow and put it back down; the movement was natural, as if he just found it uncomfortable.

Flint's gaze lingered on the wand for a moment.

That pause was enough.

Allen remembered it.

He wasn't lacking in courage, but he wasn't truly stupid. At least he knew that breaking into a first-year dormitory at night to collect money was fine, but drawing a wand would escalate things. Flint wanted to establish authority, not detention.

That made things easier.

Allen looked up at him: "Come back and collect in three days."

No one in the dormitory replied.

Draco turned to look at Allen.

Crabbe opened his mouth but made no sound.

Goyle was still thinking about "how many midnight snacks five Galleons could buy."

Flint stared at Allen: "What did you say?"

"Three days from now," Allen said, "at the same time. Whatever amount you want to collect, say it then."

Flint laughed.

This time it was loud; it could be heard in the corridor outside.

"Are you stalling for time?"

"You can interpret it that way."

"Do you think three days can change anything?"

Allen looked at him without answering immediately.

Flint hated this kind of pause the most. It wasn't fear, nor was it backing down, and it certainly wasn't like a young first-year rushing to explain after being cornered.

This made him unhappy.

Allen spoke: "At least it will let me get enough sleep."

Goyle nodded: "Not getting enough sleep is very uncomfortable."

Draco closed his eyes.

With those words coming out of Goyle's mouth, the situation almost fell apart.

The upperclassmen behind Flint laughed a few times. Flint laughed too, but the way he looked at Allen had changed.

"Three days," Flint held up three fingers, "I'll remember that. Don't say you don't have the money then, and don't hide behind Malfoy."

Draco's face went cold: "No one is hiding behind me."

Allen added: "Indeed, there isn't enough room."

Crabbe couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Draco turned and glared at him: "What are you laughing at?"

Crabbe answered honestly: "He said there isn't enough room."

Flint didn't waste any more words. He turned to leave, pausing at the doorway.

"First-years need to learn the rules. Three days from now, I will teach you personally."

The door was closed.

The dormitory fell silent.

Draco stood where he was, the anger on his face not dissipating. He had never been cornered like this in his life. The Malfoy surname wasn't working for the first time, and it felt terrible.

Crabbe asked in a low voice: "Are we really going to give it?"

Goyle asked: "Is five Galleons a lot?"

Draco looked at Allen: "What exactly are you trying to do?"

Allen picked up his book again and flipped to the page with the bookmark.

"Let him come back one more time."

Draco frowned: "And then?"

"Then make him take a detour in the future."

These words weren't shouted, nor were they said with malice.

But after hearing it, the frustration that had been stuck in Draco's chest suddenly shifted direction.

He looked at Allen, and for the first time, he felt that the deal he had made on the train was well worth it.

Goyle picked up the pie by his pillow: "So, should we prepare a midnight snack for three days from now?"

Allen glanced at him.

"Prepare it."

Goyle was very happy: "For whom?"

"For you," Allen closed his book, "Don't say anything when the time comes."

Crabbe asked: "And me?"

"Don't you say anything either."

Draco sat back on the edge of his bed, held it in for a long time, and blurted out: "That might actually be the hardest part."

Allen didn't respond.

He closed his eyes, sleepiness washing over him. But in his mind, he had already recorded Flint's words, positioning, lackeys, and reactions from tonight.

Three days.

Enough.