"Chris, how did you end up hanging out with someone like Potter?" Draco Malfoy approached Jon, his tone tinged with reproach as he demanded.
"Potter… You mean the Harry Potter?" Jon seemed utterly oblivious to the peculiar expression on Malfoy's face, instead putting on an excited look. "The boy who defeated You-Know-Who and survived the worst..."
"...I heard his name back at Durmstrang. Last year's Triwizard Tournament, he even..." Jon suddenly blinked, looking puzzled at Malfoy. "What's wrong, Draco?"
Draco Malfoy glanced at Jon as if he were looking at a fool.
He waved his hand, motioning for Jon to follow, then led him all the way to a quiet corner of the sixth-floor corridor.
"That's all ancient history!" Malfoy glanced warily around before lowering his voice. "Things are different now!"
"Um... Draco... I don't quite understand..." Jon feigned confusion.
"Of course not. You've only been in Britain a few days," Malfoy countered. "I don't suppose you're in the habit of reading the Daily Prophet?"
"No, I do," Jon shook his head. "But I usually only glance at the headlines in the Daily Prophet."
"Exactly!" A mischievous grin spread across Malfoy's face. "If you were to read the Daily Prophet carefully each day, especially some of the smaller sections, you'd understand what's going on..."
"Could you explain..." Jon ventured cautiously.
"In short, Potter and Dumbledore have fallen from grace... For us, this is the best news possible!" Malfoy declared with grave seriousness.
"I still don't quite get it..." Jon shook his head, his face still clouded with confusion.
"Just remember this: keep your distance from Potter and his friends!" Malfoy whispered as a warning. "Sooner or later, I'll settle the score with them... and we'll rule the new world that's coming!"
Malfoy's voice grew hushed, until he was practically whispering into Jon's ear. "Some things can't be discussed at Hogwarts. When we first go to Hogsmeade in early October, there'll be a gathering at the Three Broomsticks. I'll invite you to join us then..."
"A gathering?" Jon asked curiously.
"A gathering just for us!" Malfoy patted Jon's shoulder. "Avery and the others don't quite trust you yet... but I think I can convince them. A foreign ally like you is clearly a valuable asset..."
With that, Malfoy gave Jon a cryptic nod before walking down the stairs alone.
Jon felt his mind going blank. Still, he guessed what Draco Malfoy meant—
Was he really going to infiltrate the enemy's inner circle this time?
...
Meanwhile, dragging his feet in utter exhaustion, Harry Potter climbed to the eighth floor and returned to the Gryffindor common room.
But at the entrance, he spotted Ron Weasley pacing nearby, broomstick in hand.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked curiously.
Ron's face flushed instantly. "I'm going to try... I'm going to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a keeper!"
"That's an awesome idea! If you make the team, that'd be fantastic!" Harry exclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement. "Hey Ron, how's your keeping?"
"It's okay..." Ron instinctively changed the subject. "How was detention with Umbridge? What did she make you do?"
Harry hesitated for a moment before answering, "Copying sentences."
"That's not too bad, right?" Ron said.
"Yeah," Harry replied.
The two of them walked into the common room together.
Hermione Granger had also returned to the Gryffindor common room, where she was waiting for them. At the same time, her keen eyes noticed something unusual on Harry's hand.
"Harry, what happened to your hand?"
"Just a scratch..." Harry instinctively pulled his hand back.
But Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, pulling his hand back to her eyes. She stared blankly at the blood-red words carved into the skin.
"I must not tell lies."
"That horrible woman!" Hermione cursed, trembling. "She's insane! Harry, go tell Professor McGonagall about this!"
"I don't know if Professor McGonagall has the authority to restrain her..." Harry shook his head.
"Dumbledore, then tell Dumbledore!"
"No," Harry said flatly.
"Why not?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
"He has too much on his plate," Harry offered a casual excuse.
Having been confined to Number Four Privet Drive for months, completely cut off from the outside world... this had bred a small resentment toward Dumbledore deep within Harry. That was why he didn't want to tell Dumbledore about this.
"Then..." Hermione hesitated for a moment before suggesting, "Write a letter to Sirius, Harry!"
"Huh?"
"Sirius has a right to know the truth... And we need to ask him where Hagrid went and when he'll return; and whether Umbridge is actually a Death Eater or was just under the Imperius Curse by the Dark Lord!" Hermione rattled off in rapid succession.
Harry thought it over carefully and finally nodded.
...
Using rather vague language, Harry wrote a letter to his godfather, Sirius Black.
After all, Moody had warned them to be extremely careful when writing letters, as they couldn't guarantee the owl wouldn't be intercepted along the way.
In the letter, he recounted his ordeal in Umbridge's office and asked when he might see Hagrid again.
Finishing the letter, he tied it to Hedwig's leg.
Watching the owl's retreating silhouette, Harry suddenly recalled a phrase he'd heard mere hours earlier—
"I saw you writing a letter... to an elder about your injuries."
An elder... Wait. His elders weren't limited to just Aunt Petunia. There was also... his godfather, Sirius Black!
This meant... Patrick's prophecy had actually been correct.
Harry's hand trembled slightly.
"What's wrong? Does it still hurt?" Hermione, standing beside him, had just taken out a bottle of Dittany and was carefully applying it to the wound on Harry's hand. Thinking her rough movements had caused him pain, she immediately stopped.
"...No, nothing!" Harry forced a calm smile.
His back was already soaked through with sweat.