"Our Divination professor's just… gone like that?"
Ron looked utterly dazed—he was still half-stunned by Johnny Silverhand's sheer wealth.
Harry nodded stiffly. He was still replaying the image of those six Firebolts in his head.
He remembered how back then, when he'd first received a Firebolt, he was overjoyed like a little kid—and even ended up in a cold war with Hermione because she had told Professor McGonagall about it.
"Since when did Firebolts become so cheap..." he muttered to himself, feeling like none of it was real.
Hermione, on the other hand, thought Trelawney leaving was actually a good thing. After all, she had been labeled untalented by Trelawney and had dropped the class because of it.
Even Professor McGonagall used to say Divination was a rather imprecise subject, so she didn't seem too upset about it either.
Lavender and Parvati, however, were worried. Sure, it was great that Professor Trelawney had found a new job—but that meant they no longer had Divination class where they could slack off and gossip while still earning decent points after blabbering some made-up divination!
Luckily, Dumbledore stepped in and resolved the issue.
He actually brought in a centaur.
Which instantly sent Umbridge into a fuming rage. So that's where Dumbledore had been during his "late arrival"—he'd gone to fetch a centaur!
Parvati, who had just been moping about not having Divination anymore, was immediately captivated.
Who could blame her—this centaur was gorgeous.
Light golden hair and eyes as blue as the sea.
Firenze.
When John saw Firenze make his entrance, he noticed a distinct hoof-shaped bruise on the centaur's chest—clearly, there had just been a centaur skirmish.
"Working for humans… with the pride centaurs carry, that must've been rough," John muttered to himself.
After giving the scene a final glance, John decided he'd had enough of the spectacle.
He turned and walked away.
…
Umbridge's overbearing tactics produced immediate results—soon, all the rebellious students had gone quiet.
They were thinking: If Umbridge can fire a professor just like that, what's stopping her from expelling students?
Malfoy had gone off for Quidditch practice. Montague, not wanting to go down as the most disgraceful Slytherin captain in history, had started going borderline insane.
Even Malfoy occasionally wondered if Montague was treating his team like human beings at all.
John opened the reply letter Basil had brought back.
It said that Trelawney had already gotten herself completely drunk in the Inverted Divination Pavilion.
At the same time, Tommy was utterly baffled—he couldn't understand why John had gone out of his way to open an entire Divination pavilion just to support Trelawney.
If she were someone with truly powerful divination abilities, then maybe that would make sense. But Tommy couldn't see what was so amazing about Trelawney.
Was it just because she was the great-granddaughter of a famous Seer?
John gave a small smile.
Of course, it wasn't that simple.
He poached Trelawney because he knew she genuinely had ability—the famous prophecy about the Chosen One had come from her, after all.
Trelawney did have talent. That much, John could confirm.
However, once her abilities were triggered, she herself wouldn't remember a thing—so to others, she looked like a fraud.
Besides, she had once taught him how to divine. The Inverted Divination Pavilion was simply a way for John to keep her around.
It looked like a pavilion for seers, but in reality, there wasn't even a second divination teacher inside.
There were just a lot of crystal balls. If Trelawney happened to go into a trance and make a prophecy, it would be recorded.
As for keeping one more person on the payroll?
With his current wealth, John could probably fund all of Hogwarts if he wanted—why would he care about a little extra expense?
He burned the letter and knew Dumbledore would likely try to read into his motives.
He didn't mind. After all, his intentions were clear.
Opening his calendar, John circled a date in red.
Looking at the time he still had to wait, he thought for a moment and then wrote a new letter to hand to Basil.
"Have Riddle deliver this to Barty Sr."
Basil nodded, took the letter, and flew off. Tom ran over to rub against John's leg. John grabbed the dog's mouth and pried it open to take a quick look.
Tom's teeth had started to look a little strange. If you looked closely, you could see they'd become somewhat elongated.
Like a row of sharp sawteeth.
Tom blinked innocently, letting John inspect her mouth.
"No signs of serious rejection."
John let the dog down and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe it's time to find you a test subject."
Tom stuck out her tongue in an attempt to flatter him, only for John to dodge away in distaste.
In a good mood, John played around with Tom for a bit before heading to the Slytherin common room.
He picked up a cup from the table out of habit and took a sip of water, his gaze casually drifting toward a third-year boy reading a book in the lounge.
That boy was Pansy's little boyfriend—quite popular among the third-years.
Astoria had gone off to watch Malfoy's Quidditch training, and Daphne had followed along to keep an eye on her little sister.
If Astoria did anything reckless, Malfoy would be the one to suffer for it.
After all, what kind of older sister would beat up her younger sibling? Malfoy was the only one anyone could reasonably beat up!
A moment of silence for him.
John finished the water and casually set the cup down before standing up.
His body swayed a little, as if he were experiencing a bout of low blood sugar.
"I don't even know when I'll get to eat tasty food."
Muttering to himself, John walked out of the common room.
...
By lunchtime, John saw Pansy and Daphne approaching.
"Don't let that guy touch my stuff again," Daphne snapped, while Pansy repeatedly apologized.
John noticed the plate of food Daphne brought and quietly averted his gaze. "What happened?"
"It's that rude, uncivilized boyfriend of Pansy's," Daphne huffed as she sat down. "He touched my kitchenware."
John raised an eyebrow. "What was he doing in the kitchen?"
Pansy spoke sheepishly, "He's into photography… wanted to take pictures of house-elves at work."
"So you brought him to my designated space?" Daphne glared at her.
Bound by numerous unequal treaties, Pansy didn't dare argue and could only apologize on her boyfriend's behalf.
Daphne was fuming—the kind of mad that couldn't be pacified.
"No one is allowed to touch my kitchenware! That's specifically for making meals for John!" Daphne raised her voice.
Pansy poked Goyle, gesturing for him to help plead their case.
Goyle poked Crabbe, and Crabbe poked Malfoy.
Even though he and Pansy had been childhood friends, Malfoy still gave it a shot—he flipped his hair and said to Daphne, "For my sake, yeah?"
"Scram!"
"Righty-o."
He forgot… he didn't have any "sake" to begin with.
Astoria, still annoyed over that boyfriend's two-timing drama, had no intention of stepping in either.
"Alright, Daphne," John said, "just sit down and eat."
Daphne obediently sat down, and Pansy quietly gave a thumbs up.
So much for being "impossible to appease"—turns out it just depended on who was doing the appeasing!
This only made Astoria more determined. If her sister remained unattached, then wouldn't the Greengrass family never know peace?
After finishing the meal Daphne had prepared, John gracefully dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
"Draco, come by the Constellation Society after lunch."
He tossed that out to Malfoy before standing to leave.
But as he got up, he accidentally knocked over his cup.
Normally, John's reflexes would've caught it before it hit the table.
But this time, the cup hit the floor—and John stared at his own hand.
"John?" Malfoy looked up at him.
"It's nothing." John waved it off, picked up the cup, set it back on the table, and walked out of the Great Hall.
Dumbledore's gaze followed John, eventually settling on that cup.
Snape had also noticed something. With a probing look in his eyes, he too stared at the cup.
...
Constellation Society.
John held a test tube, giving it a gentle shake.
The blood inside mixed with a clear liquid, swirling until it finally settled at the bottom.
He set it down just as Malfoy walked in.
"I need you to do something for me, Draco." John turned toward him.
Malfoy was fiddling with his hair. Hearing this, he started working in some hair gel and asked, "What is it?"
"Write a letter to your mother."
"…Huh?" Malfoy's expression turned oddly bewildered.
John gave him a sideways glance. "Just tell her—when exactly is Mr. K scheduled to meet again?"
"Mr. K?" Malfoy looked completely confused. "When did my mum start knowing someone like that?"
"You're not your mother—it's not strange that you don't know him."
John said to Malfoy, "Make sure you write it yourself. Once she replies, let me know."
"...Alright," Malfoy agreed reluctantly, then asked with a frown, "Voldemort's at my house—he'll probably check my letters."
"Your mother will handle it," John reassured him.
Malfoy wrote the letter and sent it out via owl.
After Malfoy left, John turned to glance at the test tube again. The liquid inside had turned black.
He looked at the test tube with a meaningful expression and said softly, "Sometimes, the simplest plans are the most effective."
Then he hid the test tube—making sure no one could ever see it.
_________
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