218: Chapter 218 Evacuation and Inventory

"You're alive? You're actually alive!"

Draco grabbed Allen's sleeve at the Portkey gathering point, letting go the next second as if afraid Narcissa would see that he had panicked.

Two buttons of his robes were fastened incorrectly, his hair was messy, and that lucky knut was missing from his wrist.

Allen glanced at him. "Your boots are on the wrong feet."

Draco looked down, his face turning from pale to red. "Are we supposed to care about etiquette when escaping a fire? Why weren't you hauled off by the Ministry of Magic for questioning?"

"He went for a walk at the edge of the woods." Nott handed the knut back to Draco, dark circles under his eyes. "And casually listened to the Ministry passing the buck for half the night."

Zabini was holding a transfigured and shrunk teacup with mud on the rim. "I took Madam Malfoy and Draco through the second exit, the north side is safe. Along the way, three drunkards tried to ask where Lucius was, and all of them were scared off by a single sentence from Madam Narcissa."

Draco's face stiffened again.

He wanted to ask about Lucius, but didn't open his mouth. Narcissa sat not far away, grass clippings stuck to her gloves, her gaze fixed steadily on Draco.

"Father didn't return to the tent all night." Draco clenched the knut into his palm. "Mother said there's no need to wait."

Nott opened his notebook. "Lucius left at one forty-seven, and after the fire started, he didn't appear in the main tent, the north road, or the aristocratic evacuation point. At two twenty-eight, the Malfoy Family servant collected the spare cane holster. At three-o-six, Madam Narcissa had people seal the trunks."

Zabini added, "She took you away faster than she waited for her husband."

Draco gritted his teeth. "You don't need to remind me."

Allen pressed a folded camp map onto a wooden crate. "Right now, we only take inventory."

The surroundings were as messy as if a Troll had trampled through. Portkey landing spots formed long lines, with cries, arguments, and Ministry registration noises all mixed together. A few Obliviators ran past carrying boxes, potion bottles clinking noisily.

Harry and the Weasley family were also at the other end of the line. Arthur's face was covered in soot as he checked the headcount with Percy. Hermione stood nearby with her arms crossed, her eyes still searching for Winky.

Seeing Allen, Ron immediately tugged at Harry. "He's here too."

Harry was gripping his wand, looking like he hadn't let go of it all night. He wanted to come over, but Arthur pressed down on his shoulder.

Hermione looked across the crowd at Allen, her eyes full of questioning.

Draco turned around irritably. "She's looking at you again."

"Let her look." Allen circled the southern common area. "She saw the key point last night."

"The key point is that the House-elf was dismissed?" Zabini asked.

"The key point is that the House-elf hadn't finished speaking."

Nott wrote down: "Winky said 'young master'. Crouch stopped her."

Draco frowned. "The Crouch family has a son?"

Zabini glanced at him. "There is one in the old case files. Sentenced to Azkaban, he died long ago."

Realizing he had asked the wrong thing, Draco lowered his voice. "Can someone who's dead sit in the Quidditch World Cup VIP box?"

"He's dead on the guest list," Allen said. "There's an extra living person in the seat."

The air froze briefly.

Zabini put down his teacup, the casual look on his face completely vanishing. "That sentence is enough to drag the Crouch family into the mud."

"Can't drag them down," Nott turned the page. "The evidence is on the House-elf, the wand belongs to Harry, and the mark has already been cast. The Ministry will write the answer as: old Death Eaters getting drunk and causing trouble, and a House-elf picking up the wand due to dereliction of duty."

Draco sneered. "Fudge will love that. Simple, respectable, and fit for the newspapers."

"The newspapers will also write Harry into it," Zabini said. "The Chosen One's wand casting the Dark Mark makes for a very fragrant headline."

Draco subconsciously looked toward Harry's direction, lowering his voice even further. "Potter will be torn to shreds by them."

"Won't be torn to shreds." Allen crossed out Harry's position. "Dumbledore will pull him out of it. The real danger lies with Crouch."

Nott circled the security coordination area. "On my side, a nighttime gap: two patrolmen from the south side were transferred away under the pretext of Portkey landing point congestion. The transfer order's signature is blurry, and the stamp comes from a subordinate group of Crouch's office."

Zabini took over, "The Bones family evacuated ten minutes before the masked parade started. My mother said Amelia Bones received a short note, and after reading it, she immediately left with her people without saying goodbye to Fudge."

"Bones didn't participate in the fire zone," Draco said.

"She avoided it in advance," Allen said. "Which means someone smelled it beforehand."

Nott wrote: Bones family evacuated in advance, time: ten minutes before the masked parade. Source: Zabini family's social circle.

Zabini shook his empty teacup. "My mother also said that Brodie didn't show up after the accident. His men only checked the Portkey discrepancies and didn't ask about the Dark Mark."

"The Department of Mysteries is avoiding the Dark Mark." Allen looked at the map. "They only care about time discrepancies."

Draco listened until his head hurt. "Fire, mark, Crouch, House-elf, Department of Mysteries—can you give me something that makes sense?"

Allen folded up the map. "The masked parade served as a smokescreen, and the Dark Mark as a signal."

Nott's pen tip stopped. "A signal to whom?"

"To those alive who serve Lord Voldemort."

The knut in Draco's hand almost dropped to the ground. Zabini's teacup stopped shaking entirely, and Nott lowered his head to write, though his pen tip was a beat slower than before.

Nearby, a lower-grade pure-blood student heard the three words "Lord Voldemort" and was so frightened they hid behind their mother. The child's mother glared over immediately, yet didn't dare approach.

Narcissa walked up behind Draco. "Draco, it's time to go."

Draco immediately blocked the map. "Mother, right away."

Narcissa looked at Allen. "Mr. Potter, thank you for last night."

Allen nodded. "Take him away first."

Draco wanted to retort, but Narcissa's hand pressed down on his shoulder. She didn't ask about Lucius, nor did she ask about the knut, only saying to Allen, "The Malfoy Family will not write letters today."

"Alright."

Narcissa led Draco away. Taking a few steps, Draco looked back once, pressing the knut into his cuff as if holding down a thorn.

Zabini watched over there. "Breakfast at the Malfoy Family will be unpleasant."

"His father will pretend nothing happened," Nott said.

Allen put away the map. "Draco needs to learn to play stupid at the dining table."

"He excels at that," Zabini said.

The Portkey queue began to move. Ministry officials called names holding registration clipboards, their voices hoarse. A few camp Muggle managers were surrounded by Obliviators, their expressions bewildered, their clothes still bearing crease marks from being suspended by spells.

Seeing that family, Hermione gripped her backpack straps tightly.

Harry murmured something to her, but Hermione shook her head, while Ron waved anxiously. Arthur pushed the three children toward the Portkey direction, turning back himself to help an injured Wizard.

Nott glanced over there. "Granger won't let go of Winky's lead."

"Let her chase," Allen said. "The deeper she chases, the harder it will be for Crouch to suppress it."

Zabini asked in a low voice, "What about us?"

"Go home, sleep, organize."

"You're going to sleep?" Zabini looked at him. "I thought you'd dig Barty Crouch Jr. out from the cracks in the Crouch family's walls."

Allen tucked the three sealed residual knuts into his sleeve pocket. "It's not time yet."

Nott understood immediately. "Let him enter Hogwarts on his own first?"

Allen did not answer.

A Portkey was placed on the ground—an old, scorched iron cauldron. A Ministry official shouted, "Next group! Nott, Zabini, Potter, temporary student reporting group!"

Zabini sighed softly. "Every time I'm in a group with you, reporting feels like a crime."

"Less talk," Nott reached out to press the edge of the iron cauldron. "We still have to copy three reports when we get back."

Allen took one last look at the camp. The green skull had dissipated, the fire was extinguished, leaving only footprints on the muddy ground and a group of adults rushing to write conclusions.

The iron cauldron gave a fierce tug, and the ground was pulled away from beneath their feet.

Dawn had broken.