Unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore still had no good news for Jon.
"I'm afraid not, Jon." He waved a hand gently as he spoke. "As for the giants' current situation, I don't know much more than Hagrid does. However, there is one thing I can confirm—over half a month ago, one of my spies sent back intelligence saying that the giants had been in contact with Tom at the time…"
"What?"
Voldemort had reached out to the giants not long ago. Was he planning something big?
Jon frowned. Having lost both the advantage of foresight and the benefit of knowing how events were supposed to unfold, he could no longer anticipate the Dark Lord's moves in advance. Worse still, Voldemort seemed far more difficult to deal with than Jon had expected.
That said, if Voldemort really intended to use the giants to carry out some major action… then it might also present an opportunity.
"All right. Thank you, Professor," Jon said, rising to his feet.
"It's nothing," Dumbledore replied gently. "If you need any help, you can always come to me."
At that moment, Fawkes flew back into the office.
Clutched in the phoenix's talons was an oil portrait in an ornate frame, which it casually dropped in front of Jon.
"Ow!" Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black let out a pained shriek from within the portrait. "You stupid bird! Couldn't you be gentler? That hurts!"
Jon quickly bent down, picked up the portrait, and brushed the dust from its surface.
As he did so, Phineas Black stepped out of the portrait in Jon's hands and reappeared in his frame on the wall of the Headmaster's Office.
While straightening his rumpled robes, he launched into a loud tirade—complaining about his great-great-grandson Sirius Black filling the ancestral home with all sorts of unsavory people; about Molly Weasley cleaning his portrait only once every two months; and about Grimmauld Place being so noisy that he couldn't get any rest at all…
"Hart, you little brat!" After finishing his lengthy monologue, he turned his attention to Jon and continued ranting. "You'd better treat me well. Going adventuring with you carries considerable risk, you know…"
It wasn't until Headmistress Dilys Derwent finally lost her patience and used her wand to stuff Phineas Black's mouth shut that peace returned to the office.
Jon carefully wrapped up the portrait and placed it into his suitcase.
Then he turned back and bade farewell to the headmasters one by one.
"Where are you heading now, Jon?" Dilys Derwent asked from the wall, her tone tinged with concern.
"You know, you almost made me forget," Jon said with a smile, then turned to Dumbledore. "Professor Dumbledore, may I borrow your fireplace?"
"Of course," Albus Dumbledore replied, nodding without hesitation.
With his permission, Jon picked up his suitcase and walked over to the fireplace in the Headmaster's Office.
The hearth was spotless, with barely a trace of ash—clearly, Dumbledore didn't use it often. On the mantel beside it sat a flowerpot filled with shimmering powder.
Floo powder. Cheap—only two Sickles a scoop—and the most widely used means of magical travel in the wizarding world.
Jon was just about to draw his wand when, suddenly, a surge of blazing fire erupted behind him. The fireplace was instantly engulfed in flames, which danced vividly before his eyes.
He turned around to see Fawkes lifting its head proudly, clearly waiting for praise.
"Thank you, Fawkes," Jon said sincerely.
He pinched a small handful of the glittering powder from the pot, stepped up to the hearth, and tossed it into the flames.
With a whoosh, the fire turned emerald green, rising higher than Jon himself.
He stepped straight into the flames and called out loudly:
"Greengrass Manor!"
The fire roared higher still, as though it were about to swallow him whole.
In the blink of an eye, Jon Hart vanished into the green flames.
...
He left the Headmaster's Office—and Hogwarts Castle itself—behind.
Traveling by Floo Network felt even worse than Apparition or Portkeys.
Jon felt as though he'd been sucked into an enormous socket, his body spinning violently while a deafening roar echoed in his ears.
With great effort, he forced his eyes open. Green flames flickered endlessly before him, but they weren't hot—if anything, they felt like icy hands slapping against his face. Blurred fireplace doors flashed past in rapid succession, offering fleeting glimpses of rooms beyond them…
Until, at last, he reached his destination.
He appeared out of thin air in a spacious kitchen.
Bracing himself against the wall, Jon struggled to stand upright and adjusted his collar.
The kitchen was immaculately clean. Ovens, frying pans, knives, and scissors—all manner of cookware and utensils were neatly arranged. In the cupboards sat bowls of fresh lettuce, bacon, and large sacks of wheat and flour.
And, of course, there was also a house-elf.
She stared at Jon, completely dumbstruck.
She was small and frail, an elderly house-elf with paper-white skin stretched taut over her bones. An apron was tied around her waist, and she held a silver knife in one hand and an iron pot in the other.
Jon recognized her at once—Emily, the Greengrass family's house-elf. Several months earlier at Greengrass Manor, she had addressed him in a manner that could only be described as rather insulting.
The house-elf looked utterly terrified. With a clatter, she dropped both the knife and the pot to the floor. Then, with a loud, echoing crack, she vanished on the spot.
It seemed she'd been frightened into Disapparating.
Jon shook his head helplessly, walked over, picked up the silver knife and iron pot, and set them neatly on the table.
Almost at the same time, two more loud cracks echoed through the air. Two small figures appeared in the kitchen doorway.
One was Emily, who had just fled. The other was Hod, the Greengrass family's house-elf butler—the one who had always left a strong impression on Jon with his impeccable manners.
Hod initially scanned the kitchen nervously, long fingers outstretched. But when he saw Jon, he visibly relaxed.
He gently patted his mother Emily on the shoulder, signaling her to leave first…
Hod immediately turned around and apologized with a humble expression.
"Mr. Hart… so it's you. Please forgive us. It's very rare for anyone to visit Greengrass Manor via the fireplace, so my mother's reaction was rather extreme."
"It's nothing," Jon said with a smile, then quickly asked, "Is Lady Diana and Astoria at the manor?"
"The Lady is working overtime at the Ministry of Magic and likely won't be back for several hours," Hod replied, maintaining his impeccable courtesy. "However, Miss Astoria is here. She's been staying in her room…"
"Staying?" Jon frowned at the wording and pressed, "You've confined her to her room?"
"That wouldn't be an inaccurate description… I hope you can understand," Hod said, first shaking his head, then nodding. "Miss Astoria's condition is somewhat special. Truthfully, I don't wish to do this either—but both she and the Lady insisted."
Jon snorted softly, though there was little he could say to reprimand a house-elf.
"Can you take me to see her?" he asked.
"Of course." Hod nodded with a smile and bowed deeply. "The Lady has instructed me to treat you as a member of the Greengrass family."
"Then I'm truly honored," Jon replied casually.
"Please follow me, Mr. Hart." Hod made a polite inviting gesture.
...
Greengrass Manor was vast, with winding corridors and a complicated layout.
Although Jon had stayed here for several days before, he still hadn't fully memorized the routes. Without Hod leading the way, he strongly suspected he'd end up hopelessly lost.
After several turns, multiple corridors, and one luxurious marble staircase after another, they finally stopped about ten minutes later in front of a pink wooden door.
Hod tiptoed forward and gently knocked on the door three times.
A moment later, Astoria's voice came from inside. "Is that Hod…? I've already gone to bed. If there's something, we can talk tomorrow…"
Jon was just about to say that, since she was already asleep, it could wait.
But Hod beat him to it, speaking in his slightly sharp yet oddly magnetic voice. "Miss Astoria… Mr. Hart has just arrived. It seems he needs to see you."
There was no reply—only a series of muffled thumps from inside the room.
Several dozen seconds later, the door swung open.
A pink blur rushed forward and threw itself straight into Jon's arms.
Jon gently held Astoria, catching sight of the house-elf beside them out of the corner of his eye and feeling faintly awkward.
Hod, however, turned away with impeccable tact. "Miss Astoria, Mr. Hart, I shall take my leave."
"…Oh, Mr. Hart," he added after a brief pause. "I do hope you won't take the young lady away from the manor. Otherwise, it would put us in a very difficult position."
"I won't leave," Astoria said firmly from within Jon's embrace.
...
Once again, Jon found himself in Astoria's warm little sanctuary.
The pink curtains were just as cozy as ever, and the photographs on the walls were as familiar as they'd always been.
Blushing slightly, Astoria retreated behind the inner curtain to get dressed—she'd rushed to open the door wearing only her nightgown.
The snow-white owl on the desk let out a few weak hoots when Jon entered. Jorglin was still locked inside its cage, clearly having gone without free flight for quite some time.
Astoria soon changed into a more presentable dress. When she emerged from behind the curtain, she saw Jon carefully taking a vase out of his suitcase.
There were no flowers inside—only a strange-looking branch.
"What's that?" she asked curiously.
"Keep it safe," Jon said solemnly. He opened Astoria's cabinet and placed the branch of the Karaba—the Soul Tree—inside along with the vase. "It might be the key to lifting the curse on you."
With Voldemort's return and the fact that Jon himself seemed to have drawn the attention of the Death Eaters, there were bound to be many unexpected dangers ahead. Keeping such a crucial material for making a Horcrux on his person was no longer safe—it was better left somewhere more secure.
Greengrass Manor had centuries of history and was a true pure-blood estate. Storing it here was far safer than carrying it with him.
Astoria didn't look at the branch at all. Instead, she stared straight at Jon's face.
"Jon… you've lost weight. And you're darker," she murmured. "You must have suffered a lot to get it, didn't you?"
"It wasn't that bad," Jon replied vaguely. "What about you, Astoria? How have you been lately? Has your condition worsened?"
"Not yet," she said with a faint, bitter smile. "Everything else is fine. I've just been feeling sleepy all the time… day or night, I'm always drowsy."
"That's nothing to worry about," Jon said quickly, trying to reassure her. "Relax—we still have plenty of time."
"Mhm." Astoria nodded earnestly.
Jon's expression remained calm, but inwardly he let out a quiet sigh. In theory, Astoria had at most four months left—but that was only in theory. During those four months, the blood curse could flare up at any time, and she could lose herself without warning.
And he still had no leads at all on the giants' whereabouts.
If he couldn't obtain an exact method of soul separation, then he would be forced to create a Horcrux by brute means. In that case, Astoria's chances would be slim at best.
...
Suppressing the anxiety and dread churning inside him, Jon stood up and picked up his suitcase.
"Could you find me a quieter, well-ventilated room?" he asked Astoria. "I need to take care of something."
"Can't you stay here?" Astoria asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Absolutely not. It would be too dangerous," Jon said firmly, shaking his head. "I need a room to brew several potions."