"It's bloody ridiculous," Edward hissed from his sleeping bag, his voice muffled by the velvet fabric. "He's practically breathing down the necks of every Ravenclaw here, but he hasn't said a word to the Hufflepuffs who are practically throwing a pillow fight over there."
Percy had just finished a particularly loud lecture directed at a group of fourth-year girls for whispering about the "Grim." As he turned his back to continue his self-important patrol, Allen flicked his wrist. His wand, hidden beneath the lip of his sleeping bag, traced a precise, glowing arc in the air.
A shimmering aura of pale light latched onto the back of Percy's pristine robes. It didn't glow brightly enough to alert him, but it stood out clearly to everyone behind him. In bold, elegant letters, it spelled out: "HB".
"Everyone knows he's the Head Boy, Allen," a younger Ravenclaw whispered from a few bags away, sounding genuinely confused. "Is that supposed to be a prank?"
Michael, who was lying flat on his back, let out a snort that sounded like a suppressed sneeze. "You're looking at it the wrong way, kid. It's not 'Head Boy.' It's short for 'Gousbighead'—The Great One with the Remarkably Swollen Skull. It's a classic Harris commentary on ego."
The realization rippled through the Ravenclaw section. As Percy marched past with his chin held high, a wave of muffled snickers followed him like a wake. He stopped, spinning around with a frown, but found only dozens of students apparently shaking with "fear" or "cold" inside their bags.
"Silence! I want absolute silence!" Percy barked, adjusting his glasses. "This is a castle under siege, not a common room party!"
Eventually, the candles flickered out one by one, extinguished by a wave of Dumbledore's hand from the shadows. The only light left came from the silver ghosts of the castle. They drifted through the air like wisps of smoke, their translucent forms casting a ghostly, pearlescent glow over the sleeping children. They whispered in low tones to the prefects, their faces grim as they discussed the breach of security.
Above them, the enchanted ceiling was a perfect mirror of the Scottish night. The stars were cold and distant, yet beautiful. Listening to the rhythmic breathing of hundreds of people and the faint, whistling wind against the high windows, Allen felt a strange sense of peace. It was like camping in a cathedral during the end of the world.
A few hours later, the heavy doors creaked open. Allen, who never truly slept when the stakes were this high, felt his eyes snap open instantly.
Professor Flitwick entered first. The tiny Charms professor looked exhausted, his hat slightly askew. He navigated the sea of sleeping bags until he found the Ravenclaw cluster. When his eyes landed on Allen and Penelope, who were both visibly accounted for, a massive weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He didn't ask where they had been; the fact that they were safe within the Great Hall was enough for him for now. He did one final sweep and hurried back out to continue the search.
Around three in the morning, the atmosphere changed. The temperature in the hall seemed to drop a few degrees as Albus Dumbledore swept in. He moved with a silent, predator-like grace that belied his age.
Allen stayed perfectly still, narrowing his eyes to slits as he watched the Headmaster approach Percy near the doors. Their conversation was a low murmur, but Allen's enhanced senses—honed by months of high-level magical training—picked up the fragments.
Then, the doors creaked again. Severus Snape entered, his black robes billowing behind him like the wings of a giant bat.
"Headmaster?" Snape's voice was a low rasp, dripping with barely suppressed frustration. "The fourth floor is clear. Filch has turned the dungeons upside down; there's no sign of him. He's not in the castle."
"And the Astronomy Tower? Trelawney's attic? The Owlery?" Dumbledore asked, his voice calm but layered with a hidden sharpness.
"All searched. Nothing but dust and owls," Snape replied.
"I didn't expect him to stay, Severus," Dumbledore sighed, looking up at the starlit ceiling. "Black was always impulsive, but he isn't a fool."
"Have you given any thought to how he entered, Albus?" Snape pressed, stepping closer. "The wards are intact. The Dementors claim no one passed them. It suggests an inside job. Or perhaps... someone who knows the secrets of this school a little too well."
Allen watched Snape's jaw tighten. He knew exactly who Snape was thinking of. Remus Lupin. The old grudge was festering like an open wound.
Snape leaned in, his voice dropping to a hiss that Allen could only partially catch. He was clearly bringing up Lupin's past, his "affliction," and his old friendship with the fugitive. Snape's face was contorted with a visceral, ancient hatred.
"I do not believe a single soul in this castle helped Black," Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly booming, vibrating through the quiet hall. It was a clear warning. The conversation was over.
Snape's expression flickered—a flash of pure, unadulterated resentment—before he bowed his head stiffly.
"I'm going down to speak with the Dementors," Dumbledore continued, his tone turning icy. "I promised them an update once the search concluded."
"Aren't they supposed to be our protection, sir?" Percy chimed in, trying to sound helpful.
Dumbledore turned his gaze on the Head Boy, and for a second, the twinkle in his eyes was replaced by a flash of cold fire. "They are here by order of the Ministry, Percy. But as long as I am Headmaster, not one of those creatures will ever cross the threshold of my school. They are not our friends, and they are certainly not our guests."
Percy looked like he wanted to shrink into his own boots. Dumbledore turned and swept out of the hall without another word. Snape lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning the sea of sleeping bags—lingering for a fraction of a second on Allen—before he too vanished into the corridors.
The following days were a chaotic mess of rumors. The school was a pressure cooker of paranoia. Every time a door slammed, a first-year jumped. The theories about Sirius Black became more unhinged by the hour. Hannah Abbott was currently leading a small group of Hufflepuffs in the belief that Black was a rogue "Metamorphmagus" who had disguised himself as a flowering hydrangea in the courtyard.
Nobody suspected the truth. Nobody knew about the Animagus transformation. Allen kept his mouth shut, watching the players move on the board. He wondered if Lupin had put the pieces together yet.
When the time came for Defense Against the Dark Arts, the Ravenclaws filed into the classroom, expecting the gentle, weary smile of Professor Lupin. Instead, they found the air chilled to sub-zero temperatures.
Severus Snape stood at the front of the room, looking like a vengeful shadow.
"Professor Lupin has seen fit to leave no records of your progress," Snape said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I suppose he was too busy with his... personal matters. So, who can tell me what this class has actually achieved?"
The room went silent. Every Ravenclaw instinctively looked at Allen.
Allen sighed internally and raised his hand. He knew Snape was looking for an excuse to tear Lupin's curriculum to shreds.
"Well, Mr. Harris?" Snape sneered. "Do enlighten us. What has been rattling around in those supposedly superior minds?"
"Sir, we've covered the basics of defensive theory regarding minor dark entities," Allen said clearly, refusing to be intimidated. "Specifically Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows. We were just beginning to prepare for creatures with higher Ministry threat ratings."
Snape's lip curled. "It seems Lupin has been coddling you. First-years are expected to handle Grindylows. You're wasting time on nursery rhymes while a murderer stalks the grounds. Today, we will discuss something far more... relevant."
He moved to the chalkboard, his wand flicking out like a duelist's blade. He bypassed the entire middle section of the textbook, flipping all the way to the very end.
"Werewolves," Snape announced.
A confused murmur broke out. "But sir," a girl near the front started, "that's not scheduled until the end of the term. We're supposed to start Hinkypunks—"
"Page 394," Snape interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper that silenced the room. "Now. If I have to ask again, Ravenclaw will find itself in a very deep point deficit."
The students scrambled to obey. The sound of rustling parchment and turning pages filled the room. Allen looked at the chapter heading—How to Identify a Lycanthrope—and realized exactly what Snape was doing. He was trying to out Lupin. He wanted the students to do the detective work for him.
Snape didn't teach. He simply paced the rows like a caged tiger, his eyes darting from desk to desk. "Copy the notes on the board. Compare the physical characteristics of the wolf to the human form. Pay particular attention to the snout and the tail."
Allen's quill scratched across the parchment, but his mind was elsewhere. He debated for a moment—should he go to Lupin? Should he tell him that Sirius was in the Shack and that Snape was hunting him?
No. If Sirius was as reckless as he seemed, Lupin wouldn't be able to control him. If anything, Lupin's involvement would only make the Ministry more likely to execute them both on sight. Allen needed to maintain his position as the only one with all the cards. If he gave up his information now, he lost his leverage.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of the hour, the students began to pack up, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere.
"Not so fast," Snape's voice rang out. "You will each provide me with a two-roll essay by Monday morning. The topic: How to identify and, more importantly, how to effectively execute a werewolf."
A collective groan was silenced by a single look from Snape.
"And since I hear Ravenclaw's new bulletin board is such a marvel of student organization," Snape said, his eyes locking onto Allen's, "Mr. Harris will be responsible for collecting the best essays and pinning them up for the whole school to see. I want everyone to be... well-informed."
Allen nodded slowly. "Understood, Professor."
He watched Snape leave the room, knowing the man had just fired a massive opening shot in a war that most people didn't even know was happening. And Allen was right in the middle of the crossfire.