An owl—brown-feathered, broad-headed, with a short beak—looked utterly ordinary.
It was the sort of tawny owl the school used every day to deliver mail.
Only its posture was a little strange.
Generally speaking, owls were creatures of considerable magical intelligence. They wouldn't behave so oddly without reason—unless…
…it was delivering a letter.
Jon narrowed his eyes and studied the owl closely. Sure enough, a roll of parchment was curled beneath its right talon.
That meant the intended recipient was nearby. The problem was, the owl couldn't find them, so it could only hover about, making these futile, peculiar movements.
So who was the letter for?
First, by process of elimination, it definitely wasn't meant for Fawkes.
That left only a single possibility.
At Jon's signal, the phoenix concealed her presence as much as she could and flew higher, keeping watch from afar.
Jon himself quietly dispelled the Disillusionment Charm.
The instant the spell lifted, the owl swooped down. Though it had no idea where this man had suddenly appeared from, it still flicked the parchment from its talon straight into his face.
Jon picked up the parchment from the ground.
The handwriting was neat and elegant, though unfamiliar.
It was too dark to read anything clearly under the night sky.
Jon gave Fawkes a small wave, and both man and phoenix were once again shrouded by the Disillusionment Charm.
...
Truth be told, walking openly around the school grounds wouldn't have been a problem.
In the middle of the night, Filch or Mrs. Norris was hardly going to patrol the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Still, out of "respect" for Fawkes, Jon decided it was better to be cautious. The sudden warning she'd given him earlier had left him uneasy.
Light spilled from the window of Hagrid's hut, accompanied by the sound of Rubeus Hagrid cheerfully humming to himself.
Jon sat down beneath the window. By the dim glow from inside, he could finally make out the contents of the letter.
"Jon,
I don't know where you are. I don't know how to contact you. I don't even know whether you'll receive this letter.
But there's something extremely important I must warn you about.
Professor Horace Slughorn (the new Potions professor at Hogwarts, formerly Head of Slytherin—he's actually a very decent person) has guessed that I am your… well, your friend.
He says he has certain channels that allow him access to rather confidential information. He asked me to pass on a message to you: some Death Eaters already know your identity.
They know Jon Hart is still alive, and they also know that Christopher Patrick is Jon Hart. Those Death Eaters believe you're the one who forced them into a corner. They want revenge—and they're even trying to kill you!
Jon—this part of the parchment is crumpled—you must be very careful out there on your own!
Please, don't let anything happen to you… Astoria… she's still waiting for you to come back.
Daphne Greengrass"
A sudden loud noise came from behind him, nearly making Jon jump. It came from the hut—Hagrid seemed to be frying something in oil, some strange, rock-hard concoction.
After that, he appeared to be adding flour or something similar. From the sound of it, Hagrid was humming contentedly while expertly preparing his "infamous" rock cakes.
Jon looked back down at the letter, his expression heavy.
There was no doubt Daphne Greengrass was trustworthy. She wouldn't deceive him deliberately.
The "fact" that Jon Hart was still alive wasn't something he'd deliberately tried to hide after the battle at the Department of Mysteries. After all, he couldn't live his entire life without a name or a face.
The real problem was this: how had the Death Eaters learned that Christopher Patrick and Jon Hart were the same person?
The number of wizards who knew this secret could be counted on one hand—Dumbledore, Mrs. Greengrass, Astoria, and Daphne. None of them seemed remotely likely to betray him.
Jon stared solemnly at the iron ring on his finger. After a moment's thought, he gently removed it.
...
There was movement again from the Forbidden Forest.
A bald old man, fat as a walrus and dressed in a nightgown, slowly emerged from the trees.
He was carrying a bag, his face alight with satisfaction. Judging by the look of it, Professor Horace Slughorn's trip into the forest had been extremely fruitful—perhaps even more than he'd expected.
Hidden in the shadows, Jon glanced at the name "Horace Slughorn" written in the letter, then at Slughorn himself, ambling back toward the castle.
For a brief moment, Jon was tempted to step out and stop him, to ask what was really going on.
But that would be far too rash.
He could only watch as Slughorn disappeared into the distance, swallowed by Hogwarts Castle.
After some thought, Jon carefully lifted the parchment toward Fawkes's beak.
The phoenix shot him an annoyed look. Then a tiny burst of flame reduced the entire parchment to ash in an instant.
"Let's go," Jon whispered. "Take me to the headmaster's office."
Fawkes nodded and turned around. Seizing the opportunity, Jon grabbed hold of her tail feathers.
A loud, echoing crack—like a gunshot—shattered the stillness of the night. In a flash of golden light, the man and the phoenix vanished.
"Who's there?" Hagrid nearly jumped out of his skin inside the hut.
He hurriedly raised his stone crossbow toward the window. Fang, beside him, barked furiously.
After several tense minutes with nothing appearing, Hagrid finally relaxed.
When he turned back to the iron pot, he let out a horrified scream.
The rock cakes inside…
…were completely burnt.
...
Once again, Jon found himself on the familiar eighth floor of the castle.
Fawkes had already flown into the headmaster's office. When Jon tried to follow, he was blocked by the ugly stone guardian.
The stone creature lay sprawled across the passage in an atrocious sleeping position, snoring loudly enough to shake the walls.
Jon used every ounce of strength he had to shove one of its legs aside, finally clearing a narrow path.
"Honestly," Jon panted, shaking his head, "and you're supposed to be guarding the door? Not a shred of responsibility."
With that, he squeezed past the stone guardian, grasped the griffin-headed door knocker, and stepped onto the spiral staircase.