When Umbridge's footsteps had completely faded away at the end of the corridor, Harry finally emerged cautiously from around the corner and approached John with concern across his face.
"Are you alright, John?" he asked earnestly, his eyes searching the boy's pale face carefully for signs of distress or fear.
John paused for a moment upon seeing Harry suddenly appear from his hiding spot.
Then he shook his head calmly and said with remarkable composure, "I'm fine. It's just that Umbridge caught me reading other books during class instead of her approved textbook."
'This was far from fine,' Harry thought with concern.
Everyone who had any awareness at all of the current situation understood Umbridge's increasingly volatile state of mind lately—she was like a hurt snake, ready to strike at the slightest provocation or apparent disrespect.
If John provoked Umbridge during this particularly dangerous period when she was already on edge, he would be targeted relentlessly afterward, singled out for punishment and harassment that could make his already difficult life as a Muggle-born in Slytherin unbearable.
Harry had seen what she'd done to students who crossed her.
"Be careful, John," Harry lowered his voice to a whisper, glancing down the corridor to make absolutely sure they were truly alone and Umbridge hadn't doubled back.
"If you can help it, don't go looking for trouble with Umbridge recently. Wait until next term—she'll naturally leave her position, and her ending probably won't be pleasant."
Upon hearing this warning and reassurance, John revealed a knowing smile. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts position curse, is it?"
Harry smiled faintly in return.
Everything was understood without words between them.
At that moment, Harry's curious gaze shifted to what John held in his hands.
"Speaking of which," he said with curiosity, "I just overheard your conversation with Umbridge—ah, I wasn't deliberately trying to eavesdrop on you," he added quickly, feeling slightly guilty about his spying. "You said you got written permission from Professor Westeros to access the Restricted Section of the library?"
That was quite an achievement for a first-year.
John nodded simply, as if it were nothing remarkable. "Professor Westeros is very easy to talk to about academic matters. He approved my request without much questioning once I explained my interest."
"Indeed," Harry agreed readily.
In a certain very real sense, Professor Westeros was arguably the most accommodating and genuinely approachable professor in the entire school, at least among those who actually taught useful, practical material rather than pure theory.
Generally speaking, he wouldn't refuse most of the students' reasonable requests, especially when it came to pursuing knowledge and independent study.
Especially for excellent, motivated students like John who showed genuine intellectual curiosity and interest in learning beyond the standard curriculum.
Harry himself often went to the Restricted Section through Adrian's generous approvals and written permissions, and furthermore, he never questioned what books he actually borrowed or why he wanted them.
Harry inquired curiously, unable to suppress his interest in what could have caught John's attention, "What book did you borrow? If you don't mind sharing, that is."
John turned the book in his hands around to display the cover toward Harry.
On the dark gray leather cover were written several small words in faded gold lettering: "How to Make Your Soul More Powerful—Antoinette."
"An interesting subject," John said softly.
"Though I think that's probably not suitable reading material for a first-year wizard to study," Harry said with an odd expression on his face.
'Antoinette Zabini was probably some obscure wizard's name from centuries past, and not a very famous one at that,' Harry thought. He'd certainly never heard of them in any of his classes or general reading, and he'd read quite a bit about magical theory.
However, the soul itself was an extremely profound and complex matter, one of the deepest mysteries of magic that even the greatest wizards barely understood.
So profound and difficult that even if he wanted to study it seriously, he would have no point of entry at all.
John nodded in agreement, showing no defensiveness. "Indeed not suitable for someone my age and experience level. I was just curious and grabbed it somewhat randomly from the shelf without really thinking it through. In fact, I can barely understand what this book is actually about at all."
He opened the pages carefully to show Harry, tilting the book so the flickering torchlight caught the dense text and diagrams.
Inside were full pages of obscure ancient runes in various magical scripts Harry couldn't identify, complex magical ritual diagrams with geometric patterns and symbols, and dense annotations in what looked like Latin and several other languages Harry couldn't even begin to decipher.
Even Harry, who had far more magical education and experience than John, felt somewhat dizzy and overwhelmed looking at the bewildering array of symbols and diagrams.
It seemed John wasn't lying about not understanding the content and he had no reason to lie anyway.
"Since there's no problem then, I'll be going now," Harry said, preparing to head to the library to finish his Transfiguration essay before dinner. "See you at the Defense study group gathering the day after tomorrow, John."
"Goodbye, Potter," John replied formally.
Just as Harry turned to leave, taking perhaps three or four steps down the corridor and already thinking about his essay, a sudden muffled thud came from behind him.
He whipped around sharply to find John already collapsed on the ground. His face was as pale as a sheet of white paper. The book had fallen from his hands and lay open on the floor.
This had happened in an instant, without any warning or noticeable cause.
"John!" Harry hurried to crouch down beside him looking alarmed. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did something curse you?"
"No, it's nothing serious," John said weakly, though his voice was strained and thin.
Just as Harry was about to grasp John's hand to help him up, concerned about some kind of magical attack or delayed curse from the book, John pushed himself up by himself with effort, bracing against the wall.
"Just a bit of low blood sugar," he explained, his voice was thin and weak. "Nothing to worry about."
'Low blood sugar?
Do wizards even get low blood sugar?' Harry had never heard of such a mundane ailment affecting magical people.
Perhaps sensing Harry's skeptical question before he could voice it aloud, John steadied himself against the cold stone wall with one trembling hand and explained somewhat embarrassedly, "I missed breakfast this morning and lunch yesterday. Got a bit hungry. Sometimes that happens when I get absorbed in reading."
"There's still one class period until lunch," Harry said, frowning with genuine concern. "Perhaps you should go eat something first in the kitchens."
John nodded slowly, gathering the fallen book. Then he began walking alone in the direction of the dining hall.
Harry watched his slightly swaying figure with concern, but ultimately decided to let him go rather than hovering awkwardly.
Surely, he wouldn't fall down the stairs. And if he needed help, he seemed the type to ask.
Afterward, once Harry's footsteps had completely faded away into the distance, John turned two corners through empty, shadowy corridors and sat down heavily on a secluded staircase landing.
He was breathing heavy breaths in the silence. He murmured to himself in a voice utterly unlike his usual tone, "As expected, this body can't hold on much longer."
At some point, his eyes had become extremely cold and calculating.
In this tense atmosphere of growing student revolt against Umbridge's tyranny, another two weeks quickly passed with surprising speed.
Time had arrived in February, bringing with it subtle but noticeable changes to the castle environment.
Although the weather remained cold with frost covering the grounds each morning and ice on the windows, it was considerably warmer than the brutal depths of January's freeze, and occasionally there would even be a few precious days of bright, cheerful sunshine that lifted everyone's spirits.
The snow was beginning to melt in patches, revealing brown grass underneath.
However, even though the weather had improved noticeably and spring seemed to be approaching, the students' deep resentment toward Umbridge continued to increase rather than decrease with each passing day.
In stark contrast, Umbridge herself wore an expression of triumphant satisfaction plastered across her toad-like face whenever she walked the corridors.
She seemed to greatly enjoy this feeling of controlling everything and everyone, of wielding absolute power over the students without question or challenge, and recently walked through the castle as if carried by the wind, practically floating with self-importance and satisfaction.
When Adrian was enjoying his breakfast in the Great Hall, leisurely working through eggs and toast, he could still clearly hear Umbridge's name being mentioned frequently and with considerable venom from some students' mouths at nearby tables.
Of course, the content was not very harmonious, flattering, or appropriate.
Some of it, if spoken aloud in more explicit terms without the careful euphemisms students were using, might even require censoring for inappropriate language and creative profanity.
Clearly the students' resentment had reached a critical boiling point that was ready to overflow.
'It looked like there would be a good show to watch before long,' Adrian thought with anticipation and mild amusement.
Just as Adrian was contemplating this brewing conflict with interest, the daily owl post arrived with a rush of wings and hooting.
It was the regular morning mail delivery time.
A barn owl circled above Adrian's head twice in swooping patterns before dropping a letter directly onto his plate with precision, narrowly missing his eggs and landing in his jam.
Adrian opened the envelope carefully, wiping jam from the parchment. Inside was a small piece of parchment with only one brief line of hastily scrawled writing: "Five o'clock this evening, meet in Hogsmeade village, location set at the Hog's Head pub. Urgent matter. —S"
There was a minimal signature at the bottom, but the familiar messy, scrawled handwriting with its distinctive slant undoubtedly belonged to Sirius Black.
Adrian calmly folded the note and tucked it into his inner pocket, continuing to enjoy his breakfast without concern or hurry.
He wasn't certain what Sirius wanted from him specifically or why it required such secrecy.
But seeking him out on a non-rest day when he had classes to teach, obviously meant there was something very important or genuinely urgent that couldn't wait for the weekend.
At five o'clock in the evening, the winter sky had not yet completely darkened, though dusk was approaching rapidly painting the clouds pink and orange.
Adrian arrived at the Hog's Head pub right on time.
Pushing open the creaking wooden door with its peeling paint and tarnished brass handle, he found several tables of shady-looking customers already seated in the dingy bar, nursing drinks and speaking in low, suspicious voices.
Aberforth still wore his typical stern, unwelcoming expression behind the bar counter, merely lifting his grizzled head to glance briefly at Adrian as he entered, recognizing him, then immediately lowering it again to continue wiping a glass with a dirty rag.
Adrian didn't offer a greeting, knowing from experience it wouldn't be welcomed or returned.
His gaze swept the room and fell upon a table of customers tucked in the darkest, most shadowy corner, and he immediately recognized those two hooded figures sitting with their heads together in soft conversation—although they were both disguised under heavy cloaks, the familiar posture and build were undoubtedly Sirius and Remus.
"Over here," Remus lifted his head slightly, using his eyes to signal Adrian to come over while keeping his face carefully hidden in shadow.
Adrian crossed the room and sat down in the empty seat opposite them.
He hadn't bothered to conceal his own identity at all.
"So then? What did you call me here for?" Adrian got straight to the point.
Remus didn't beat around the bush either. "We found the address where that orphanage moved to after they relocated."
Adrian was somewhat puzzled by the urgency—this news, while good, shouldn't really necessitate specifically calling him out to a secretive meeting in Hogsmeade.
He raised an eyebrow skeptically and said, "That's good news, I suppose. Did you find useful information about Amy's background or family?"
Remus sighed heavily and extracted a battered document folder from inside his robes.
"Unfortunately, the person in charge of that orphanage seems to have been subjected to a powerful Memory Charm. The memories from that entire period are all very fuzzy and inconsistent."
"That's entirely within expectations," Adrian said calmly, unsurprised by this revelation.
To be completely honest, not losing their life was already fortunate enough given Bellatrix's reputation.
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