As the white light gradually faded, they found themselves seated once again around the round table.
"Was all of that the future?" Draco Malfoy asked, glancing at Jon.
"I don't know!" Jon shook his head.
"Huh?" Malfoy froze, momentarily taken aback.
Jon straightened his posture, his expression serious. "Prophecy isn't a simple thing—especially one that concerns the fate of the world. I wouldn't dare claim certainty!"
"But it does offer a possible glimpse of what's to come," Jon continued after a pause. "What you saw just now wasn't without reason."
"So you're saying..." Malfoy frowned, a trace of fear flickering across his face.
"That's impossible!" Pansy Parkinson suddenly shrieked. "How could Muggles ever pose a threat to us?"
"No, you're mistaken, Miss Parkinson!" Jon rose to his feet, his tone righteous and firm. "Since we've pledged ourselves to the Dark Lord, it's our duty to share his burdens. As the enemies he despises, Muggles deserve our full attention and understanding—not arrogant dismissal!"
Pansy's expression froze, as though someone had stuffed a smelly sock into her mouth.
"Chris..." Malfoy stood up slowly. "Pansy isn't entirely wrong. Muggles can't see through our magic. We can Apparate at will, or use the Imperius Curse to control their leaders... It'd be easy to manipulate them like puppets."
"You're overlooking something important, Draco!" Jon said with a small smile. "The Muggles only remain ignorant of us because of the International Statute of Secrecy."
Malfoy's expression faltered.
"If the Dark Lord truly ruled the wizarding world, that Statute would become meaningless," Jon said slowly. "And in that case—tell me, which side do you think the so-called pureblood traitors like Dumbledore and Potter, or the Muggle-born wizards, would choose?"
"Mudbloods..." Pansy muttered under her breath.
"They'd side with the Muggles," Malfoy said gravely, his voice low.
"Exactly!" Jon nodded. "And from that point, everything would change. We must prepare for the worst—because when that time comes, the Muggle world will learn everything about us from wizarding traitors."
"And those traitors will aid the Muggles," Jon went on. "They'll wield magic too—and beyond that, the Muggles possess weapons of mass destruction, and numbers we can't even imagine."
A heavy silence settled over the table.
Everyone, even Pansy Parkinson—who had moments ago been glaring at Christopher Patrick—fell into deep thought.
...
Jon watched the still, silent group before him.
Then suddenly, he laughed aloud. "Ha ha ha! It's just a theoretical scenario—no need to look so grim!"
"I'm sure the Dark Lord has already considered all of this," Jon said smoothly. "All we have to do is obey his command. There's no need for needless worry. With the Dark Lord leading us, such things are not our concern!"
At that, the faces of the would-be Death Eaters eased a little.
But Jon knew he was speaking nonsense. Given Voldemort's disdain for Muggles, there was no way he'd ever think that far ahead.
"Chris!" Malfoy suddenly strode forward, grabbing Jon by the arm. "You should take my seat."
"What?" Jon blinked, caught off guard.
"You think farther ahead than I do, and your talent surpasses mine," Malfoy said sincerely, a look of admiration on his face as he pulled Jon into the seat at the head of the table.
The other young Death Eaters looked surprised, but none objected.
Jon sat there blankly, now in Malfoy's former spot.
Blaise Zabini lifted his goblet and shouted, "One last toast—to the Dark Lord!"
"To the Dark Lord!" the others echoed enthusiastically.
One by one, they left the Three Broomsticks, with Jon trailing behind.
Only one thought echoed in his mind:
Should I tell Dumbledore?
"Professor Dumbledore... are you planning to close the trap soon? Because if not... I think I might've just become the boss myself."
...
As Jon stepped out of the Three Broomsticks, he noticed a group emerging from the Hog's Head across the way.
From Gryffindor came Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger... Fred and George Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas—nearly half of Gryffindor House seemed to be there.
A few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joined them too, filing out of the Hog's Head one after another.
Slytherins and Gryffindors had never gotten along. Seeing that the other side had more people, Malfoy let out a cold snort and led his group of would-be Death Eaters away.
That gave Jon the perfect chance. He didn't follow Malfoy and the others. Instead, he slipped down a narrow alley and waited until both groups were gone before stepping out again—hurrying straight toward Madam Puddifoot's Tea House.
He hadn't forgotten—he still had a date.
...
When Jon finally arrived at Madam Puddifoot's Tea House, it was already ten past ten.
In other words, he was five minutes late.
The place was small and steamy, decorated everywhere with ruffles and bows.
Jon quickly spotted Madam Puddifoot and asked, "Excuse me, is Miss Greengrass still here?"
"She is," Madam Puddifoot replied without hesitation. "Second floor, private room number five."
"Thank you!" Jon said, hurrying upstairs.
As he pushed open the door to Room 5, he slipped the iron ring from his finger.
Astoria Greengrass sat alone inside. When she saw him, she immediately rose to her feet.
"Why are you late?" she asked, her tone laced with concern.
"Sorry, I got... held up with something," Jon explained quickly.
Astoria's expression shifted—something troubled flickered in her eyes, but she hesitated to speak.
"What's wrong?" Jon asked immediately, stepping closer.
But Astoria backed away a few steps.
"Why..." she asked softly, her voice trembling, "do you smell like Selwyn's perfume?"