The moment Allen felt himself back under his covers, the first thing he noticed was the pillow he had stuffed inside to mimic the shape of a sleeping body. Seeing that the bed curtains remained untouched, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.
It seemed that Marshall, upon returning, hadn't thought to peek inside his bed, even though the chances of that happening were low, Allen couldn't help worrying about it.
But as things stood, everything had gone smoothly.
And that meant it was no longer his concern. After all, he had already taken care of that shard of Voldemort's soul. As someone who never planned to be the "Chosen One," what more could people expect from him?
As for the traces left behind in the Forbidden Forest, let them speculate all they wanted. Percy was from a prominent family (well, somewhat up for debate), and as for Allen, a half-victim at worst, there shouldn't be much trouble.
Not to mention the considerable influence the Weasley family held in the wizarding world, even if others wanted to interfere in Hogwarts affairs, they'd have to get past Dumbledore first. And though Dumbledore might try to suppress the news of Tom Riddle's return, Allen was sure he wouldn't go so far as to punish a victim to do so.
Besides, the thing Allen left behind in the forest would at least make one thing clear to Dumbledore: Tom, the menace haunting his school, was dead. Whether he died from injuries or laughed himself to death after failing to possess someone, that was for Dumbledore to ponder.
And what if Dumbledore discovered the Horcrux ahead of time?
So be it. Without Harry, he'd never get the final piece of the puzzle, the knowledge of how many Horcruxes there actually were.
Honestly, Allen didn't care if Dumbledore managed to kill Voldemort ahead of schedule, who said only Harry was allowed to defeat the final boss?
But for now, none of that mattered to Allen. Compared to those headaches, a warm, cozy bed was far more appealing.
Exhausted from the previous night's battle, Allen quickly drifted into sleep.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
The next morning, Allen was rudely awakened by Marshall, who was shaking his bed like a madman, as if something earth-shattering had happened.
In response, a wand emerged from the curtains, followed by a swift Petrificus Totalus.
What a joke, Allen had barely slept three hours after a major battle. Even if Dumbledore himself had come knocking, he wouldn't have hesitated to hex him. Did no one understand what morning grumpiness was?
Unfortunately for Marshall, fate had more in store. That morning, the school had lifted the curfew and granted the students a day off, leading to hordes of cooped-up young wizards rushing outside to play. Being locked indoors for so long had been utter torment.
And so, poor Marshall was left with no one to turn to. He remained frozen in place, posing like a sculpture, for two full hours until Allen reluctantly opened his eyes and noticed him standing there like a statue.
Seeing the pitiful anticipation on his roommate's face, Allen grumbled and lifted the curse, causing Marshall to immediately collapse onto the floor, unable to move his numb legs.
As he rubbed life back into his limbs, Marshall wailed:
"Allen! I came to wake you out of kindness, sniff, and you just hexed me! I only wanted to let you know everyone was finally allowed outside again. Sniff And you hit me with a full-body bind! I was stuck like that for two whole hours!"
Unfortunately, Marshall wasn't a cute girl, so instead of candy or comfort, he was met with Allen raising his wand again, preparing a Silencing Charm.
Marshall quickly stopped sobbing and, instead, proposed a form of "compensation" that left Allen both amused and annoyed; he wanted to read the book Allen had been hiding under his blanket the night before. He even claimed he'd exercised great self-restraint by not waking Allen to ask for it then.
Honestly, if you had, I probably would've hit you with an Obliviate.
With a groan, Allen rummaged through his trunk, pulled out a freebie from an old shop, and tossed it over.
"Here. Take it."
Marshall's face lit up like a blooming chrysanthemum in autumn, golden and beaming.
As Marshall eagerly flipped through the book, he also excitedly told Allen what he'd missed during breakfast.
Apparently, two teams of Aurors had arrived at Hogwarts last night, summoned by Dumbledore to help search the Forbidden Forest. Upon hearing that, Allen briefly worried for Hagrid, he did have quite the collection of questionably legal magical creatures in there.
But it seemed Dumbledore's influence was strong enough that the Aurors chose to conveniently ignore the more exotic residents of the forest.
According to reports, the fugitive had been killed in the forest, his body blown to ashes by powerful magic.
This didn't surprise Allen at all. They had to claim the attacker had been dealt with; otherwise, the panic would never settle.
The only odd detail? The one who delivered the final blow wasn't Dumbledore, but rather, an Auror.
Frankly, if they'd given Dumbledore the credit, Allen would've accepted it without complaint. After all, without Dumbledore severely weakening Voldemort first, Allen would've never dared to make a move. So really, most of the credit should have gone to him.
But the Ministry had claimed glory instead, and that was a big problem. Clearly, the Minister of Magic was beginning to turn against Dumbledore, trying to pull himself out from the old man's long shadow.
Allen, however, had no intention of getting involved in that political nonsense. When Voldemort returned, that idiot minister would realize just how badly he'd miscalculated.
For now, Allen had more important things to do.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
That night, at Hogwarts.
Inside one of the faculty rooms, a startled witch collapsed to the floor, she had been ambushed from behind by Allen.
His face darkened with irritation.
"Seriously? What are you doing up this late at night?"
Sure, he was technically the one trespassing… but he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty.
Taking a few quick steps, he approached the bed and looked down at the young wizard still lying there, face frozen in fear.
Sighing, Allen placed both hands under the nearby window, channeling a swirl of starlight between his palms.
Once the light had coalesced into a radiant orb, he carefully lifted it and pressed it to the child's chest. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as the light slowly sank into the boy's body.
It was exhausting. The spell was even harder than Allen had expected, effectively putting his dream of stealing business from St. Mungo's right in the bin.
Still, after yesterday's battle, the barrier holding back Soraka's most powerful spell had finally shattered, granting Allen the ability to completely cleanse the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.
So why did he feel so irritated doing this? It's not like he was even close with anyone in Slytherin!
Forget it. Frustration aside, as Allen looked at the unconscious mother and son who only had each other, he let out a deep sigh.
Then, quietly, he left the room.
It was already midnight.
Time to sleep.
==========
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