But nopony besides Fleur ever watched him when he was burning the midnight oil. He was hunched over the tiny writing-desk in the hotel room, papers spread all around him, some balanced on the very edge of the desk and a few more on the floor, scattered around the chair. He was poking holes in his own defense of Lyra. Better that he spot the flaws in his argument and have a counterargument prepared, than be taken by surprise in court.