PS: In this extra chapter, I'd like to extend my special thanks to the readers Glebby_Boi and Zinion for their amazing support through reviews!
When Professor Dolores Umbridge returned to her office, her expression looked as though she had just swallowed something vile.
"Is there anything else, Patrick?" she asked coldly, her lips trembling slightly.
Jon, ever perceptive, quickly nodded and bowed. "No, Professor Umbridge… I'll be going, then?"
Umbridge didn't respond. Her gaze remained fixed on the wall lined with decorative cat plates.
Jon cautiously backed toward the doorway. "Then I'll take my leave, Professor Umbridge."
Fleeing from her office, Jon couldn't help but notice something off about the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. He had no intention of sticking around and being caught in the blast of her fury.
With one last glance before leaving, he saw Umbridge packing up—using her wand to stow away her files, luggage, and those cat plates into her suitcase.
"What a pathetic sight," Jon muttered to himself.
...
Professor Newt Scamander had officially moved into the fourth-floor Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
After being evicted, Umbridge had planned to find a vacant classroom or office in the castle to stay in temporarily. Unfortunately, Professor Minerva McGonagall regretfully informed her that every room in the castle already had a designated purpose; there wasn't a single spare space to be found.
At that moment, Umbridge looked ready to faint from sheer indignation.
In the end, the unfortunate Professor Umbridge had no choice but to follow Mad-Eye Moody's example and pitch a tent outside the castle.
Of course, students like Jon, who still possessed any sympathy for her, were now rare at Hogwarts. Most students were secretly mocking her behind her back.
The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan from Gryffindor even snuck a few large Dungbombs into her tent—the aftermath was best left unspoken...
...
The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Newt Scamander, quickly became one of the most popular instructors at Hogwarts.
Unfortunately for Jon, his next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson wasn't until Friday—two days later.
However, on Thursday morning, there was a Care of Magical Creatures class. Most students were genuinely excited for Professor Rubeus Hagrid's return. After all, they'd had more than enough of Umbridge's mind-numbingly repetitive lessons about how to deal with werewolves, centaurs, merfolk, and other "half-breeds."
That Thursday morning brought the first light snowfall of the term to Hogwarts, blanketing the entire castle in white.
Bundled tightly against the cold, Jon and the others made their way to Hagrid's hut for the first time in over two months. The Gryffindor students had arrived even earlier.
Students like Ginny Weasley, who was close to Hagrid, wore worried expressions. They feared that Umbridge—humiliated and enraged—might take out her anger on him. After all, the High Inquisitor had never hidden her prejudice or disgust toward half-giants like Hagrid.
To everyone's surprise, though, Dolores Umbridge never showed up for the Care of Magical Creatures class, even after the bell rang.
...
As the class began, Jon spotted the towering figure of Professor Hagrid approaching, carrying several large cardboard boxes. Behind him trotted his enormous boarhound, Fang, whining softly.
"Come on—come have a look!" Hagrid called enthusiastically.
Though his tone was cheerful, Hagrid looked worse for wear than he had the day before. His hair was matted and tangled with dried blood. His left eye was swollen nearly shut, dark purple and bruised, and his face and hands were covered in fresh cuts—some still bleeding. He moved carefully, as if favoring a broken rib.
"What happened to you, Hagrid?" Ginny Weasley asked, her face full of concern.
"Ah, nothin'… just… took a bit of a tumble last night…" Hagrid mumbled, quickly changing the subject. "Now, today's lesson's gonna be really, really interestin'—come have a look!"
Jon stepped closer and peeked into one of the boxes. Inside were a bunch of furry black creatures with long snouts and flat, shovel-like front paws—curious little things. The mole-like creatures blinked up at the crowd of students, looking somewhat confused by all the attention.
"These are…" Hagrid began, clearly pleased by their fascination.
"Nifflers!" Astoria exclaimed in delight. "Professor Hagrid, where did you get them?"
"Heh, not me," Hagrid said with a grin, scratching his head. "They belong to Professor Scamander. He asked me to look after 'em for a while, and I figured I'd bring 'em along so you lot could study 'em. Professor Scamander was kind enough to agree."
"You usually find 'em down in mines—they love anything shiny…" Hagrid continued, his voice warm and animated.
Jon overheard Astoria whispering to Selwyn, "Nifflers are incredibly rare magical creatures. I never imagined I'd actually see one in class."
Tiffany Selwyn, however, glanced disdainfully at the mole-like creatures in the box.
Just then, one of the Nifflers suddenly leapt out, trying to snatch the watch from Selwyn's wrist. She shrieked and stumbled back in fright.
"That's the thing," Hagrid said, chuckling. "If you keep 'em indoors without watchin' 'em, they can make quite a mess. But they don't mean no harm—they're gentle creatures, really."
"To get close to a Niffler, though, you'll need to take off anythin' shiny—bracelets, watches, necklaces, all of it."
Some of the braver students eagerly began removing their jewelry to approach the Nifflers.
Jon looked down at the iron ring on his hand, thought for a moment, and decided to step back a few paces. It'd be awfully embarrassing if one of those Nifflers decided to swallow his ring.
...
While the other students were crowded around the Nifflers, Hagrid strode over to Jon.
"Hey, lad! Didn't we meet at Beauxbatons?" Hagrid asked cheerfully. "What was your name again?"
"Yes, Professor Hagrid! I'm Patrick—Christopher Patrick!" Jon replied quickly.
"Ha! Didn't think you'd actually make it to Hogwarts, Patrick—that's brilliant!" Hagrid said with a hearty laugh, giving Jon a friendly pat on the shoulder that nearly sent him toppling into the snow.