24: Chapter 24 Draco's Loyalty

After Flint fell into misfortune, the atmosphere in the Slytherin Dungeon changed quickly.

The day before, people were still walking around Flint, but today in the Common Room, several lower-year students walked past his sofa with much steadier steps.

No one openly mentioned "protection fees."

And no one dared to ask who had delivered the evidence to the door of Snape's office.

Slytherin did not like to make things explicit. Many matters, once laid bare, left no room for maneuver.

But everyone knew that Flint had fallen too conveniently.

So conveniently that just three days after he blocked the first-year dormitory, he was publicly held accountable by Snape.

In the afternoon, Allen Potter sat in a corner of the Common Room with a History of Magic book spread out before him, the pages open to the chapter on the Goblin rebellions.

He wasn't reading.

He was sleepy.

But he couldn't fall too deeply asleep.

Draco sat opposite him, holding a piece of parchment in his hand, which he had already read back and forth three times.

Crabbe and Goyle were squeezed nearby, dividing a bag of Licorice Wands.

Goyle was eating very earnestly, while Crabbe was responsible for counting the remaining ones, forgetting where he started halfway through.

Draco pushed the parchment in front of Allen.

"This is what I heard this morning."

Allen raised his eyes slightly.

A few lines were written on the parchment.

Flint was sentenced to one month of detention.

Two third-year students began to distance themselves from him.

The Quidditch team did not intend to speak up for him.

The matter of a half-blood second-year student being forced to write essays for upperclassmen had also been dug up.

The handwriting was quite neat, much more diligent than Draco's usual homework.

After reading it, Allen folded the parchment.

"Who told you to write this?"

Draco sat up a bit straighter: "No one. I thought you would find it useful."

"You thought?"

"Don't use that tone." Draco frowned, "I am not Crabbe."

Crabbe looked up: "What about me?"

Goyle said, holding a Licorice Wand in his mouth: "You wouldn't be able to write that many words."

Crabbe thought about it and nodded in agreement: "That's true."

Draco refrained from scolding them.

Allen tucked the parchment into his book, neither praising nor refusing it.

For Draco, this was already enough.

The young master of the Malfoy Family rarely offered things to others on his own initiative, let alone intelligence.

Previously, he would only wait for others to bring him news, and then decide whether to grant them a favorable look.

Now it was different.

He was beginning to learn to speak first.

This was not loyalty.

At least not yet.

Allen saw it very clearly.

Draco was drawing close to him because the Flint incident had allowed him to taste the benefits.

No need to write home, no need to put up a tough front on the spot, no need to find people to fight.

Just use a clean knife to deliver trouble into Snape's hands.

This method was more effective than Draco's past routine of saying "My father will hear about this."

And it saved more face.

Draco had already tasted the sweetness.

Once a person discovers a shorter path, it is very difficult to go back to taking the long way around.

Before dinner, the Slytherin first-years went to the Great Hall.

In the corridor, several students saw Allen and Draco walking side by side and voluntarily stepped aside.

The movement wasn't large, but it was obvious enough.

Pansy stood at the door of the Common Room.

Originally, she wanted to call out to Draco, but after seeing Allen, she swallowed her words and only asked: "Where are you two going?"

Draco said: "The Great Hall."

"I know it's the Great Hall, of course."

Pansy glanced at Allen, "I'm asking, why are you leaving now?"

Draco didn't answer, turning his head to look at Allen.

Allen was so sleepy he wanted to go back to the dormitory, and only raised his eyes upon hearing this.

"Because dinner won't wait for you."

Pansy was choked for words.

Goyle nodded from behind: "He's right. If we're late, the roast chicken legs will be gone."

Crabbe added: "They were gone last time."

Pansy looked at these two followers, her expression difficult to describe.

Draco, however, did not laugh.

He discovered that he had subconsciously waited for Allen to speak just now.

That wasn't very Malfoy-like.

Yet, he felt no aversion to it.

When they walked to the entrance of the Great Hall, Flint was coming from the other side.

He saw Allen and paused for a moment.

The two upperclassmen following behind Flint also stopped.

Draco's back stiffened instantly.

Crabbe reached into his robe pocket and touched half a Chocolate Frog.

Goyle asked: "Should we fight?"

Draco whispered: "Can you not ask such stupid questions at a time like this?"

Goyle replied earnestly: "Then when should I ask?"

Allen walked past Flint without even stopping.

Flint did not move.

No one spoke.

People were coming and going at the entrance of the Great Hall, making this bit of silence all the more conspicuous.

Once they entered the Great Hall, Draco lowered his voice: "He didn't stop you just now."

"He wouldn't dare."

"Are you that certain?"

Allen sat down and picked up the fork by his dinner plate.

"He goes to Snape's office every night at seven to count flobberworm mucus. If he causes trouble again, it won't just be detention."

After hearing this, the tension in Draco's chest eased.

"So he won't dare in the future?"

"People forget pain," Allen said, "but a month is enough for him to remember for a while."

Draco looked toward the upper-year table.

Flint was sitting in his usual spot, but two people were missing from his side.

The few students who used to love hovering around him didn't call for him when discussing Quidditch today.

The reality of Slytherin was laid out on the dining table, easier to understand than textbooks.

Draco noted this scene.

After dinner, Allen prepared to return to the dormitory to catch up on sleep, and Draco followed.

"Wait."

Allen stopped at the corner of the corridor.

In a portrait, an old Wizard wearing a feathered hat was dozing off.

The walls of the Dungeon were damp, and the candlelight flickered as it was pressed by the air current.

Draco glanced at Crabbe and Goyle.

The two were standing very close.

Goyle whispered: "Should we walk further away?"

Crabbe said: "If we walk too far, we won't be able to hear."

Draco could bear it no longer: "Then don't listen!"

The two moved three steps to the side.

Still within earshot.

Draco gave up.

He looked at Allen and lowered his voice: "About the Flint matter, I owe you one."

Allen said: "You don't."

Draco frowned: "I don't like owing people."

"Then put it on my tab."

"What do you want?"

Allen looked at him.

Draco felt a bit uncomfortable being watched, but he didn't retreat.

He hadn't said that lightly.

In the education of the Malfoy Family, transactions were more reliable than emotions.

Debts must be repaid, and favors must also be returned.

Only after settling them could both sides continue to sit at the same table and talk.

Allen didn't like empty talk either.

"Information."

Draco was stunned: "Just this?"

"The family movements you hear, rumors about the Board of Governors, whispers between Professors, the relationships among the upper-year Slytherins. Don't process it, don't make judgments for me, just record it."

Draco thought for a moment: "You want me to be your ears?"

"It's better than being a mouth."

Crabbe whispered to Goyle on the side: "Can you be ears?"

Goyle thought about it and said: "A mouth can eat, ears can't."

Draco closed his eyes.

Allen ignored them and continued: "One more thing. In the future, if you want to cause trouble for Harry, tell me first."

Draco was dissatisfied: "Why?"

"Because every time you go after him, he ends up being the one in the spotlight."

This was hurtful.

But very accurate.

Draco's face turned pale, but he held it back.

"The Flying Class time doesn't count."

"It counts."

"He just had good luck."

"Then you lost to luck."

Draco was rendered speechless.

Crabbe whispered: "Losing to luck sounds better than losing to Potter."

Goyle nodded: "Luck won't mock people."

Draco turned his head: "You two are talking a lot today."

Crabbe shut his mouth.

Goyle did too, and casually stuffed the last Licorice Wand into his mouth.

Draco was silent for a while, then looked at Allen again.

"Fine. I'll tell you."

Allen nodded and turned to walk toward the dormitory.

Draco followed behind him, his steps slower than usual.

He was no fool.

The Flint incident made him understand that Allen wasn't just someone who could talk.

This Potter, who was always sleeping, could find the faults of upperclassmen in three days, bypass everyone, deliver the knife to Snape, and not get a speck of mud on himself.

What was even more deadly was that Allen didn't brag after doing it.

Not bragging was what made people the most uncomfortable.

Because it meant he didn't consider this matter much of a victory.

Back in the dormitory, Allen sat on the edge of the bed, took out the intelligence parchment, and casually put it into a book.

In reality, the moment the pages closed, the parchment had already been stored in his Portable Space.

Draco didn't see it.

Neither did Crabbe and Goyle.

Only the black snake in the space raised its head in the void, its silver vertical pupils staring at the paper, before coiling back beside the cracked pocket watch.

Allen pulled the bed curtains shut.

The first batch of chess pieces was in place.

Draco had a family, channels, arrogance, and also gaps.

Crabbe and Goyle were useful, provided you didn't let them use their brains.

Nott was watching from the side, and Zabini had yet to declare his stance.

This web had just been spread, and it was still a long way from being tightened.

What Draco was offering now was not loyalty, but an alignment based on interests.

But that was enough.

Loyalty is not something that starts out clean.

First, make people accustomed to standing by your side, then make them accustomed to listening to your judgment.

By the time they look back, the path is no longer one they chose themselves.

Outside the bed curtains, Draco was still flipping through a book.

After turning two pages, he suddenly asked: "Allen."

"Hmm."

"Will you still ask about the third chapter tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Draco was silent for a moment and flipped the book back to the beginning.

Crabbe poked his head in: "What is the third chapter about?"

Goyle answered first: "Marriage."

Crabbe was shocked: "You understood it?"

Goyle was very honest: "It's written under the cover."

Draco covered his face with the book.

Inside the bed curtains, Allen closed his eyes.

The sound of water in the Dungeon came from behind the walls, and people in the distance were whispering and laughing.

This time, no one came to knock on the door again.