After November arrived, the weather turned sharply colder.
The mountains surrounding Hogwarts were gradually blanketed in snow and ice. The surface of the lake near Hogsmeade froze into hard, frigid sheets, and frost could be seen everywhere on the grounds around the castle.
Inside the Headmaster's Office, the warm flames in the fireplace illuminated the room, casting a gentle warmth that felt especially comforting in the depths of winter.
Jon Hart sat in the Headmaster's chair. Standing on the desk in front of him was a large, elegant bird with vivid crimson feathers.
The bird lowered her proud head, tears slipping from her eyes from time to time…
Jon caught each falling tear with his left hand, spreading them evenly over his injured right arm. Only then did he rewrap the bandage and lower the sleeve of his pale violet robe.
From the wall of portraits nearby, faint whispers from former headmasters and headmistresses drifted over—
"…Poor Fawkes. She's shed more tears in these two weeks than in the past ten years combined."
"…What on earth bit him? It looks absolutely dreadful."
"…Ha… hahahaha… please don't bring that up again. Just thinking about it makes me laugh!"
"…He brought it on himself. Who told him to break a promise to a young girl?"
But the moment Jon Hart lifted his head, the murmuring on the portrait wall came to an abrupt halt.
One by one, the former headmasters and headmistresses clamped their mouths shut, then closed their eyes as though resting, as if none of them had said anything at all.
Jon let out a helpless sigh and turned to look out the window.
In the distance, he could make out Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts' Care of Magical Creatures professor.
Wrapped head to toe in a thick moleskin coat, wearing rabbit-fur gloves and beaver-fur boots, Professor Hagrid was busy clearing frost from the Quidditch pitch.
"Is there anything going on today?"
Jon asked softly, touching his injured right arm.
"A Quidditch match," came the lazy reply of Headmaster Dexter Fortescue from the portrait wall. "The first match of the term, I believe. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Don't worry—when the caretaker comes to notify us, I'll just tell him as usual that Dumbledore has left the school on business."
"No, Dexter." Jon shook his head, then spoke again. "Please inform Mr. Filch that I will personally attend the match."
"Oh? I see… understood." Headmaster Dexter Fortescue looked at Jon in surprise, then nodded quickly.
For Jon, the incident involving Hermione Granger had indeed sounded an alarm.
Staying out of the public eye for too long did reduce the chance of being exposed, but that very absence could also arouse suspicion. Hermione was observant and exceptionally intelligent; if she could notice the cracks, others among the staff and students might do so as well.
He needed to change his approach and appear before the school community at regular intervals. After all, after more than half a month of "study," he was already thoroughly familiar with Albus Dumbledore's daily habits.
Lost in thought, Jon poured himself a cup of pale violet "tea" from the teapot.
Without changing expression, he drank it down.
…
Hogwarts Castle was bustling with excitement. Even the looming threat of the Dark Lord did nothing to dampen the students' passion for Quidditch.
Amid the constant flow of people, a stern voice echoed from the end of the corridor.
"Sir Nicholas, and Mr. Barrow—please come here for a moment!"
The two ghosts floated toward the voice as younger students hurriedly stepped aside to clear a path.
"What are your orders, Headmaster?"
Nearly Headless Nick asked eagerly. In his haste, he moved too fast and failed to stop himself, causing his head to slip off to one side. After hastily putting it back in place, he apologized profusely.
"Sorry… sorry… Professor Dumbledore!"
The Bloody Baron remained as cold and distant as ever, drifting forward with empty eyes until he stopped before Albus Dumbledore.
"Sir Nicholas," Dumbledore said gently, "I'd like you to deliver a message for me. Please tell Miss Hermione Granger of Gryffindor this—'Certain important secrets must be guarded with the utmost care. They must not be shared with anyone, nor recorded in any form, or the consequences could be extremely grave.'"
"Granger? No problem at all, Headmaster—I know her well!" Nearly Headless Nick said cheerfully. "Mission accomplished!"
As he spoke, he bowed deeply to Dumbledore—only for his head to slip loose again.
"Mr. Barrow…" After Nearly Headless Nick departed, clutching his head, Dumbledore turned his attention to the Slytherin ghost.
The ghost, his form mottled with silvery bloodstains, nodded slightly. His gaunt face and hollow gaze showed no trace of emotion.
"I'll need you to make a trip to the Hospital Wing," Dumbledore continued calmly. "…"
…
"Professor Dumbledore is coming to watch the Quidditch match?"
It wasn't until ten minutes before the Gryffindor–Slytherin match began that Harry Potter finally heard the news in the changing room.
He froze for a moment, then broke into a pleased smile.
It seemed Professor Dumbledore still cared about him after all. After all, this was Harry's first match as captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. At such an important moment, the usually busy Headmaster had actually taken the time to attend in person.
Harry felt a surge of energy rush through him.
He was so keyed up that he stumbled over his words when trying to give his teammates a short pep talk…
In the end, Ginny Weasley had to step in and smooth things over.
When they emerged onto the roaring pitch, one side of the stands was a blazing sea of red and gold, while the other was an ocean of green and gold.
Amid the cheers and applause, Harry caught sight of Ron sitting with Lavender, while Hermione appeared to be speaking with Nearly Headless Nick…
Pushing every distraction aside, Harry stepped forward and shook hands with Slytherin's captain, Urquhart.
Only then did he notice that Draco Malfoy, Slytherin's Seeker, wasn't playing.
Perhaps the Headmaster's presence had brought him a touch of luck.
…
"Albus—good heavens, you actually came!" Minerva McGonagall said in surprise from the staff stand.
Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, also looked mildly taken aback.
"Even in the darkest of times, our love for Quidditch cannot be extinguished, can it?" Albus Dumbledore said with a smile. "And besides, we're nowhere near that point yet."
"Wait… Albus, your hand?" Professor McGonagall lowered her voice, her expression turning grave.
She had clearly noticed the injury to the Headmaster's right hand, given that he was holding his wand with his left.
Snape stepped closer as well, his face serious, and whispered near Dumbledore's ear, "Dumbledore… could it be…"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied with a meaningful nod, gently stroking his right arm. "A small inconvenience… nothing more."
"Do you need my help?" Snape asked at once.
"No, not for now. It's manageable," Dumbledore said after a moment's thought, shaking his head slowly. "But you, Severus—about that matter between you and Harry… have you found anything…"
"Ah…" Snape sighed and shook his head.
The professors were about to continue their discussion—
When Madam Hooch's shrill whistle pierced the air.
Fifteen broomsticks shot skyward.
The Gryffindor versus Slytherin match had begun.