26: Chapter 26 Nighttime Space Cultivation

After lights out, the Slytherin dormitory fell silent.

Crabbe slept the earliest, his snoring steady, like someone pulling a broken bellows inside the bed curtains.

Goyle was a bit later than him; before sleeping, he touched the Chocolate Frog under his pillow to confirm it wasn't lost, then turned over and closed his eyes.

Draco was not asleep.

He lifted a slit in the bed curtains and looked toward the bed in the corner.

Allen Potter was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes.

Draco lowered his voice: "Are you going out again?"

"To the bathroom."

"You said that yesterday too."

"People need to reuse the bathroom."

Draco stared at his cuffs: "Bringing a wand to the bathroom?"

Allen Potter glanced at him: "Your understanding of the bathroom is too safe."

Draco choked.

On the other side of the bed curtains, Crabbe poked his head out, dazed: "Is there food in the bathroom?"

Goyle replied with his eyes closed: "No."

"Then why is he going?"

Draco threw his pillow at him: "Go to sleep."

Allen Potter didn't speak again and pushed open the door to leave the dormitory.

The Common Room was empty.

The reflection of the Black Lake pressed against the ceiling, with green light swaying slowly.

The sofa normally occupied by Flint was empty; ever since Snape made him count flobberworm mucus, he had even less energy to sit here and boast.

Allen Potter walked through the Common Room to the corner leading to the dormitories.

After confirming there were no anomalies with the portraits, the passageways behind the walls, or nearby footsteps, he raised his hand and opened a narrow slit in the blind spot of the bed curtain's projection.

It wasn't a door.

It was just the entrance to his Portable Space.

He stepped in, and the entrance closed.

Outside, only an empty corridor remained.

The Portable Space was much wider than it had been initially.

It was 125 square meters, divided into several areas.

On the left were stacks of books and parchment; on the right were Galleons, medicinal herbs, spare robes, and sundries bought from Diagon Alley.

He had cleared an open space in the middle to practice Charms.

The blackthorn wand hovered in the air, and the cracked pocket watch lay beside the ebony box, its surface emitting a faint blue light.

Void curled on a flat stone slab, its silver vertical pupils following Allen Potter.

"Don't move around."

Void flicked its tongue.

Allen Potter took out ten knuts and lined them up in a row.

Tonight's goal was simple.

It wasn't to collect things into the space, nor was it to block attacks with Spatial Displacement.

He wanted to practice control.

Crude Spatial Displacement was easy.

Making a spell deviate by half a foot, making a fist miss, or making the back of Crabbe's hand turn red—none of these were difficult.

The hard part was precision.

A knut disappeared from the tabletop and landed on the wooden box three steps away.

It was off by two inches.

Allen Potter noted the error.

The second one landed on the edge of the designated position.

The third one pressed against the lid of the wooden box, making a very soft sound.

Allen Potter stopped and rubbed his brow.

Spatial Magic wasn't just about moving things.

Every time he opened the entrance, he had to judge the distance, angle, size of the entrance, and the object's inertia.

If it was off by a hair, the knut could enter the box; if it was off by another hair, it would get stuck at the edge of the space and be cut in half.

Cutting a knut didn't hurt.

Cutting a hand would be troublesome.

He extended his left hand, and a slit the size of a needle eye opened in front of his palm.

A feather was sucked in, spat out from the other end, and landed on the tabletop.

Intact.

Then he switched to parchment.

The edge of the paper was missing a corner.

Allen Potter looked at the gap and didn't rush to continue.

This was the problem.

The edge of the spatial rift was too sharp and lacked stability.

It was great for hurting people, but not for retrieving items.

In actual combat, he didn't need anything flashy; being able to move the opponent's wand out of their hand would be enough.

But if he moved the wand into two pieces, the Professor would ask.

Snape would ask in an especially nasty way.

Allen Potter threw the parchment into the waste paper area and practiced again.

Once.

Twice.

Ten times.

By the seventeenth time, the feather could finally pass through the rift intact, and the landing error was reduced to the width of a finger.

Allen Potter didn't get smug.

This level was enough to bully first-years.

Encountering the Professor, he would die very simply.

He changed his practice method.

Ten knuts floated up simultaneously, were swallowed one by one by the spatial entrance, and then landed in different positions in order.

The first round, four landed incorrectly.

The second round, three.

The third round, one hit next to Void.

Void raised its head and stared at that knut.

Allen Potter said: "It's not for you."

Void pushed the knut back with its tail.

Allen Potter put it away: "Sensible."

Practicing until the small hours, the temperature in the space hadn't changed, but Allen Potter's hands started to tremble.

Not from fatigue.

From sleepiness.

That kind of sleepiness wasn't the exhaustion from a normal all-nighter, but something dragging at him from within his bones.

His eyelids drooped, and his train of thought was snipped away bit by bit.

The more he used his spatial abilities, the more obvious this backlash became.

He took out the cracked pocket watch.

The blue light in the cracks was a bit brighter than a few days ago.

Every time he got close to the ancient wards of Hogwarts, the cracked pocket watch would react.

It wasn't a complete time-turner, just a remnant, but remnants were useful too.

Allen Potter could catch a very shallow rhythm from within it.

Spatial movement was point-to-point.

What about time?

He stared at the cracked pocket watch for half a minute, then closed it.

Don't touch it.

Now was not the time.

He hadn't even stabilized his spatial rifts; touching time ahead of schedule would only result in playing himself into the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey would dose him with medicine, Snape would come to question him, and Dumbledore would stand by his bed and say a few things that sounded kind but were actually full of hooks.

A losing deal.

Allen Potter put the cracked pocket watch back into the ebony box and continued practicing the most basic point-to-point transfer.

2:40 AM.

All the knuts landed accurately.

Allen Potter raised his hand, and the ten knuts flew back to his palm from different positions, without collision, without damage.

Done.

He looked down at his palm and finally let out a breath.

This was something he could actually use.

No need for big movements, no need for flashy effects.

When others waved their wands and chanted spells, he only needed to shift their wands by half an inch, and the spell would miss.

The time it took for an opponent to lift their hand was enough for him to send a small pebble to their feet, or a length of rope behind their neck.

The wizarding world was obsessed with bloodline, spells, and etiquette.

But when a real fight broke out, victory or defeat often came down to half an inch.

3:00 AM sharp.

Allen Potter prepared to leave the space.

As soon as his foot took a step, the sleepiness pressed down.

This time there was no room for negotiation.

The positions of the objects before his eyes began to blur; the knuts, the stacks of books, the cracked pocket watch, Void, all were pulled into blurry blocks.

Allen Potter reached out to grab his wand; just as his fingertips touched the wand, his body tilted forward.

The space opened an exit on its own.

He fell out of the entrance and landed on the bed in the corner of the dormitory.

The bed frame creaked slightly.

Draco's bed curtains moved immediately.

"Allen?"

No one answered.

Draco threw on his robe, walked to the corner, and saw Allen Potter already dead to the world, his shoes not fully off, his wand pressed beside his hand.

He stood there for a long time.

"What exactly did you go to do?"

Crabbe was woken up, rubbing his eyes as he sat up: "Is it dawn?"

Goyle also woke up: "Is there breakfast?"

Draco turned back: "No. Keep sleeping."

Crabbe looked at Allen Potter: "He fell asleep really fast."

Goyle nodded: "Very envious."

Draco kicked Allen Potter's shoes, which had fallen onto the floor, under the bed and pulled the bed curtains shut.

"Whoever asks him in the morning, I'll make them recite Chapter Three of 'Pure-Blood Family Marital Relations'."

Crabbe shrank back.

Goyle also shrank back.

The dormitory became quiet again.

The next morning, when Allen Potter was woken by Draco, the first class was almost about to start.

Draco stood by the bed, holding a school bag: "If you don't get up, Professor McGonagall will make you listen to the lecture standing up."

Allen Potter opened his eyes, his brain still in the space.

"What time is it?"

"Eight twenty."

"What time is class?"

"Eight thirty."

Allen Potter sat up, his movements pausing for a moment.

His body felt very heavy.

The training last night was successful, but the cost was greater than expected.

His fingers were numb, his temples were throbbing, and while his magic had recovered quite a bit, his whole body felt like it had been stuffed into a quilt and beaten.

Draco looked at him like this and frowned: "Did you really go to the bathroom last night?"

Allen Potter put on his shoes: "Yeah."

"Did you duel a Troll in the bathroom?"

"Trolls don't talk as much as you."

Crabbe passed by with his school bag on his back: "Do Trolls eat breakfast?"

Goyle said: "They should eat a lot."

Draco endured it, but couldn't help himself: "Can you two use your brains in class?"

Crabbe replied honestly: "Used them, doesn't work well."

Allen Potter picked up his school bag and walked out.

Draco followed: "Don't sleep in Professor McGonagall's class today."

"I'll try."

"What does 'try' mean?"

"It means she lectures fast, and I fall asleep fast."

Draco was silent for two seconds: "Don't let her hear that."

Allen Potter didn't answer.

The bell for class rang at the end of the corridor.

He quickened his pace, but his eyelids were still drooping.

His power was rising.

His body couldn't keep up.

This wasn't a good thing.

Even more troublesome was that the daytime disguise would become difficult.

Sleeping could pass as a persona, but oversleeping was a loophole.

Snape was already watching him, and Professor McGonagall wasn't blind either.

If he collapsed in class one day, the Hospital Wing would check him, and things would become difficult to manage.

Allen Potter walked into the Transfiguration Class classroom, and as soon as he sat down, Professor McGonagall's gaze fell on him.

"Mr. Potter, you don't look like you've woken up."

Allen Potter opened his book: "Sorry, Professor."

Professor McGonagall looked at him for two seconds: "I hope you completed your homework while awake."

Draco next to him almost laughed out loud.

Allen Potter lowered his head and opened the parchment.

Of course the homework was completed.

It was just that the handwriting was shorter than usual.

After Professor McGonagall collected the homework, she started the lecture.

Allen Potter held on for seven minutes.

At the eighth minute, the quill slipped from his fingers and rolled to the edge of the desk.

Draco nudged him with his arm.

Allen Potter raised his eyes.

The writing on the blackboard was still there, Professor McGonagall's explanation was still there, and the students in the classroom were all there.

But he was already starting to be unable to hear clearly.

Sleepiness was like a door that opened behind his head.

Behind the door were the ten knuts he had just learned to control last night, landing neatly in place.

Allen Potter pinched his quill and wrote a line of small text at the very bottom of the parchment.

"Training reduced by half."

After writing it, he pressed down on the paper.

Then, in the three seconds while Professor McGonagall turned to write on the blackboard, he closed his eyes and caught a very short nap.