Jon didn't leave the Forbidden Forest together with Astoria.
After all, his new identity—Christopher Patrick—and Astoria Greengrass were, in theory, complete strangers.
It wasn't until ten minutes after Astoria had gone that he finally stepped out of the forest.
Several bandages were wrapped around his fingers and arms, and after the exhausting Defense Against the Dark Arts class earlier, he was already breathing heavily...
So now, he looked rather bedraggled.
...
Dragging his tired feet, Jon entered the castle.
He planned to stop by the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor first, then head to the Slytherin common room later.
However, as he passed the third floor, he suddenly saw someone walking out of Professor Dolores Umbridge's office.
The person looked even more disheveled than Jon—his left hand clutching his right, which was wrapped in a blood-stained tissue.
Jon frowned, and an idea flashed in his mind.
He deliberately put on a look of exaggerated surprise and called out, "Ha... Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived?"
Harry Potter frowned, taking a moment to recognize Jon's "identity"—
Apparently, he was an exchange student from Durmstrang, a new Slytherin, a fourth-year... Luna had mentioned that he was an outstanding student like Hermione, especially gifted in Divination.
"Hello," Harry greeted coolly.
He'd never had much fondness for Slytherins.
But the boy seemed unaware of the old rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor—or perhaps he hadn't been reading the latest issues of The Daily Prophet, and didn't know that Harry's reputation had shifted from "the Boy Who Lived" to "a narcissist, a lunatic, and a murderer."
The other boy extended his hand enthusiastically.
"Christopher Patrick. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter!"
You don't turn down a friendly handshake, so Harry reluctantly reached out his left hand and shook Patrick's.
For the first time in a while, he felt a faint sense of comfort... Ever since those awful reports in The Daily Prophet, few people had spoken to him in such a tone.
Even if the boy was a Slytherin.
...
The two happened to be heading in the same direction, walking together toward the eighth floor.
"What happened to your right hand?" Christopher Patrick asked with apparent concern.
"Nothing..." Harry quickly covered the wound beneath the tissue.
He used to think there was no teacher in the world he could possibly hate more than Snape—but now, he had to admit Snape had met his match: Dolores Umbridge. That woman was evil, twisted, deranged... a monster beyond words.
Of course, Harry wasn't about to show that kind of emotion in front of a stranger.
"Nothing... just cut myself on a piece of glass," he said casually.
"I'd suggest using some Dittany. It heals well and won't leave a scar," Patrick advised.
"Alright, thanks," Harry nodded. "What about your arm?"
"Got bitten by a snake," Patrick said with a shrug. "In the Forbidden Forest just now."
"Right... well, there are plenty of dangerous creatures in there. Be careful when you go in."
"Thanks, I will," Patrick replied.
They chatted idly as they walked.
Then Harry suddenly remembered what Luna had said about this new student yesterday and asked, "I heard you're good at Divination?"
"Yes!" Patrick nodded. "But your Divination teacher—what's her name... something starting with a T?—she's a total fraud!"
Harry couldn't help agreeing.
"Trelawney?" he prompted.
"That's the one. Hard to imagine a witch with absolutely no gift for prophecy could be teaching Divination at Hogwarts," Patrick said bluntly.
"You're right about that," Harry said with a nod. Every time he thought about Professor Trelawney spending half a class predicting his untimely death, it made his blood boil.
"So, can you make a prediction for me?" he asked jokingly. "Professor Trelawney's always saying I'll die young."
"Sure," Patrick said with a smile. "Hold out your hand."
...
After studying Harry's hand for a moment, Christopher Patrick frowned thoughtfully before speaking.
"First of all, you won't die young. You'll live a long life—well past a hundred—and have three children."
"You're joking, right?" Harry said with a laugh.
"Of course not," Patrick said solemnly. "Your lifeline and fertility line say so."
Seeing how serious he was, Harry nodded, amused.
"Interesting..." Patrick murmured, suddenly frowning again.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crystal ball, and stopped walking to peer into it.
Harry, completely puzzled, stopped as well.
"I see something quite interesting," Patrick said with a smile. "I see you writing a letter... telling an older relative about your injury?"
"An older relative?" Harry repeated, surprised.
"Your parents must have siblings or something like that," Patrick hinted.
"I only have one aunt," Harry admitted.
"Then it must be her," Patrick said lightly.
"That's impossible!" Harry shook his head. He could hardly imagine writing to Aunt Petunia about being punished by Umbridge—or about the words carved into his hand.
Patrick only gave him a look that said, believe it or not.
"A word of advice, Potter," he said in a low, mysterious tone. "What you see in illusions may be true—or false. But if you lose yourself in them, they'll destroy you."
...
Harry wanted to ask more, but—
"Chris?" Draco Malfoy's voice suddenly echoed from down the hall.
He had just come out of the Ancient Runes classroom, while Harry and Patrick were standing at the sixth-floor staircase right across from it.
Harry didn't want Malfoy to see his hand, so he quickly hurried away.
From the staircase, he could hear Patrick talking with Malfoy.
Malfoy's indignant voice carried over. "Why are you hanging out with someone like Potter?"