The attack on Mr. Arthur Weasley never made it into the Daily Prophet.
It seemed that neither the Order of the Phoenix nor the Death Eaters wished to reveal anything about what had happened in the Department of Mysteries.
Still, plenty of people at school had figured something out. After all, every one of the Weasley siblings at Hogwarts—plus Harry Potter—had suddenly left early. Anyone with half a brain could tell something was wrong.
"Christopher, is that pure-blood traitor, old Weasley, dying?" Draco Malfoy asked Jon eagerly the next day, clearly remembering what Jon had said to Ron Weasley the night before.
"Honestly, I don't know," Jon replied evenly. "Life and death are often divided by a thread — like shadows in mist, impossible to tell where one fades and the other begins."
"You've already gone further than anyone I've ever met!" Malfoy said with open admiration. "You're the greatest Seer I've ever seen—and you're not even fifteen yet! There's no telling how far you'll go!"
"Some things are simply a matter of talent," Jon said quietly, shaking his head at Malfoy's worshipful look.
"Are you free over Christmas?" Malfoy asked suddenly. "I think my parents would be delighted to meet you. It's a pure-blood family gathering…"
"Sorry, but I've already promised my great-aunt I'll be spending Christmas with her," Jon declined without hesitation.
Malfoy wasn't ready to give up. He lowered his voice. "If you're lucky, you might even meet the Dark Lord at my family manor…"
That made Jon's heart skip a beat.
Oh, hell no. He wasn't actually here to be a real spy! Tagging along with these students or Umbridge was one thing—but meeting Voldemort himself? If his Occlumency wasn't perfect and the Dark Lord saw straight through his mind…
That would be a nightmare. He was still young. He didn't want to die yet.
"Of course, that's only a possibility," Malfoy quickly added. "The Dark Lord's movements have been unpredictable lately. He's not easy to find."
Jon laughed awkwardly and hurried to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Fortunately, Malfoy didn't push the issue.
In the final days before the Christmas holidays, Jon received several invitations—all from members of the Knights of Walpurgis.
It seemed he'd become quite the figure at Hogwarts. His identity as a Seer made him very popular among the pure-blood families; everyone wanted to know their future.
Naturally, Jon declined them all, using his "great-aunt" as an excuse.
...
Harry Potter spent a night at Number 12, Grimmauld Place—his first time there.
He also learned, for the first time, that his godfather, Sirius Black, actually owned a house. This was the headquarters of the "Order of the Phoenix," an organization Dumbledore had founded. Every day, wizards loyal to Dumbledore gathered here to plan how to fight Voldemort.
The discovery infuriated Harry.
Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George—every one of them already knew about this place.
It seemed as though the only person kept in the dark was Harry Potter himself.
Who was the Boy Who Lived? Who had escaped the Dark Lord's grasp time and again? Who had just months ago won the Triwizard Tournament? Why was he always the last to know anything?
In his anger, Harry argued with Sirius, then snapped at Ron and Hermione before storming off.
But by the next day, he seemed much calmer, like a completely different person from the day before.
Mrs. Weasley was deeply grateful to him. She believed that if it hadn't been for Harry, Arthur Weasley might have died right outside the Department of Mysteries. Though the Dark wizard hadn't used the Killing Curse, Arthur had been gravely injured—and in that bitter cold, he might easily have frozen to death had he not been found in time.
Harry, however, felt uneasy.
Because the night before, in his nightmare, he had seen himself as Voldemort—casting the very spell that struck Mr. Weasley.
That same night, his mind had felt… not his own. At moments, he'd wanted to lash out at Dumbledore, Sirius, even Hermione.
It left him wondering—was Voldemort controlling him?
The thought filled Harry with dread.
...
The next day, their trunks were returned from Hogwarts so they could visit Mr. Weasley at St. Mungo's.
Two Aurors—Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks—were assigned to escort them.
Tonks, with her short, bright red hair, attracted plenty of attention on the Underground. Fortunately, the composed and worldly Kingsley was there to smooth things over more than once.
Tonks was also quite intrigued by Harry's dream about Mr. Weasley being bitten by a snake, though Harry had no wish to discuss it.
"You don't have any Seer blood in your family, do you?" she asked curiously as they sat side by side on the rattling train heading toward the city center.
"No," Harry said, feeling mildly offended at the thought of Professor Trelawney.
"Didn't think so," Tonks mused. "You're not really making prophecies, are you? You don't see the future—you see the present? Strange, isn't it? But rather handy!"
Harry didn't reply. Thankfully, Tonks soon turned to chatting with Ginny about which hair color suited her better, sparing him further questions.
Still, something Tonks said brought a memory to mind… from the very start of the term.
That mysterious transfer student—Christopher Patrick—had once given him a prophecy.
Even though Harry had dismissed Patrick as just another Trelawney-style fraud, for some reason, he'd never forgotten that prophecy—and had never told anyone about it.
"What you see in illusion may be real, but it may also be false… When you lose yourself in it, you'll surely be harmed."
Could the "illusion" refer to the nightmare he'd had last night? Harry shivered.
...
Mr. Weasley was recovering well. He even managed to tell a few jokes, though he was wrapped in bandages from head to toe.
The healers at St. Mungo's wouldn't allow too many family members in the room, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione wandered through the hospital corridors.
Ron's mood was somber—he showed none of the relief one might expect after seeing his father alive.
"Actually… I could've stopped all this," Ron said quietly when they reached a secluded corner.
"What?" Hermione gasped. "Don't joke about that!"
"That Patrick—the Slytherin transfer student—he warned me last night, before my dad was attacked!" Ron said earnestly. "He asked how my dad was doing, told me he'd be in danger, even told me to send my dad a letter to confirm it. I thought he was mocking me, so I ignored him…"
"That's just a coincidence!" Hermione said quickly.
"It's not a coincidence!" Harry said, summoning his courage. "He made a prophecy to me, too!"
"What?" Ron and Hermione both turned to him, stunned.
"After my first detention with Umbridge, I ran into him in the Gryffindor common room," Harry said gravely. "He told me that after I got back, I'd write to a relative. I thought he was joking—thought he meant Aunt Petunia—but when I returned, I wrote to Sirius right away."
"That was just a suggestion!" Hermione argued.
"But he predicted I'd see Mr. Weasley attacked!" Harry shouted, growing frustrated.
Ron and Hermione froze.
"You're kidding… right, mate?" Ron asked, his voice trembling.
"He said I'd see reality through illusion. I didn't understand it then, but now I do," Harry said bitterly. "This—this is what he meant all along."
"What are you doing, Hermione?" Ron asked quickly as Hermione stood up.
"To the library," Hermione Granger said firmly.
"But… we're not at Hogwarts right now," Harry reminded her.
"Uh…" Hermione looked flustered. "Then after the Christmas break, I'll do some proper research—find out everything I can about that Christopher Patrick."