Hagrid's hut.
"So that's it, Hagrid. Is that three-headed dog yours?" Just like Hermione, who knew Jamie well, the task of communicating with Hagrid fell to Harry.
"How do you know about Jamie?" Hagrid set down the teapot he was holding and began pouring tea for the three of them.
"Jamie?" The three exchanged puzzled glances.
"Well, I won him from a Greek, and I lent him to Dumbledore for guarding…" Hagrid trailed off, realizing abruptly that this was not something three first-years should know.
"What?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Enough! Don't ask! This is not your business." Hagrid's voice grew rough. "This is Secret Number One! Got it?"
"But it bit Snape. I saw him limping that day. I don't know what else in the school could have hurt Snape besides that dog." Harry stared into Hagrid's dark eyes, unwilling to let the matter go.
"That's impossible! Jamie is a good boy."
Hagrid took a deep breath and softened his tone. "Listen, you three. You're meddling in things that don't concern you—it's dangerous. Forget about the big dog and what he's guarding. It's none of your business. This is a matter between Dumbledore and Nicolas…"
"Aha! So there's a man named Nicolas involved, isn't there?" Harry asked sharply.
Unsurprisingly, the three were promptly driven out of the hut by Hagrid.
On the way back to the castle, Harry and Ron argued about what Fluffy was guarding—until they realized Hermione had been silent the entire walk.
"Hermione, what's the matter?"
"Nicole May… the name seems familiar, but I can't remember where I saw it," she said, tugging at her hair in distress.
"Maybe it's in a book you've read," Ron suggested kindly.
"Are you talking nonsense!" Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring him.
"Maybe we should check the library. There might be information about Nicolas," Harry suggested.
Ron immediately supported the idea, and Hermione agreed that since she couldn't remember, it was a good plan.
But deep down, Hermione knew a better way—ask Jamie directly. She was confident that he would know Nicolas May—but her pride quickly snuffed out the thought.
"Okay," she said. "We'll search separately and hope to find something before dinner."
At Hogwarts, most students and staff had only a superficial understanding of the castle's underground. Everyone knew of Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms, the Potions classroom, Snape's office, the kitchen, and some empty classrooms. But the underground went far deeper than that.
Pipes extended in all directions, connecting various rooms and even linking to above-ground areas and other college common rooms.
Every time Jamie walked the underground corridors, he wondered about the secrets that remained hidden and longed to explore them. But the second basement was as far as he could go for now—he hadn't yet discovered the way beyond it.
Today, he wasn't exploring for the thrill; he had come to find Snape.
Snape's office was even more bleak than the hallways, with darkness as its constant companion. Unlike the well-lit offices above, the only light came from a few candles and dim ceiling fixtures. The cold, oppressive atmosphere was enough to make a first-time visitor uneasy.
Closing the door behind him, Jamie followed Snape, who limped toward his desk, the best-lit part of the room.
"Professor," Jamie said, watching him sit. "If the injury on your leg is difficult to treat, you could ask Dumbledore for some phoenix tears. They're more effective than anything else."
Snape's blank gaze lingered on him. He knew as a student, Jamie's advice couldn't be treated lightly. During the Halloween troll incident, Jamie had used a spell still fresh in Snape's memory.
Don't be misled by Jamie's words—the scale and duration were minor, almost ghost-like. But Snape saw the truth: the Fiendfyre Blink Jamie had used was a dangerous, advanced variation of Fiendfyre—less power-intensive, more unpredictable, and deadly precise.
"That night's Fiendflash… it's a mature, mutant spell," Snape thought.
"Professor, the potion is quite stable after four improvements," Jamie continued, producing a draft he had prepared. "I want to ask—will full activation of its magic power have any adverse effects on the human body? For example…"
"Don't you have a ready test subject?" Snape interrupted, uninterested in Jamie's preamble.
"Well… sort of…" Jamie scratched his head. "But just in case…"
"All current experimental data come from a single person. If you know anything about potions, you should know the risks," Snape said.
Even a Muggle doctor would understand: a medicine that works on one patient does not guarantee safety for all. Rare were the Squibs, let alone those like Filch or Silna, who hadn't experienced magic incidents.
It seemed Jamie would have to contact his grandfather—going home for a break might be safer. Though he dreaded it, the thought of that woman's scorn and Dax's violence sent shivers down his spine. He knew he couldn't beat Dax. Staying under his grandfather's watchful eye was best.
Snape observed Jamie, shivering and gnashing his teeth, and ignored his inner turmoil.
"I've done as you asked. What about your end of the promise?" Snape said. He hadn't asked for any of Jamie's personal troubles; he agreed to the errand solely for the promised reward.
"Professor, thank you. I'll fulfill my promise after the festival, and by the start of second-year, you'll have the key item," Jamie said, pushing aside his worries.
"But Professor, some preparation is necessary," Jamie said, taking a serious breath. "You'll need at least five living people with strong souls."
Snape twitched his expressionless face.
Jamie anticipated this reaction and remained unfazed. "It's the price. The living and dead shouldn't interfere. To break this taboo, a price must be paid."
From beneath his robe, Jamie produced the spellbook he had prepared—the real one. Its cover was of a sallow, greasy material, flickering in the candlelight.
He placed it before him, drew his wand with his left hand, and lightly cut his right wrist. Pressing it onto the cover, his blood slowly filled the central pattern.
Snape watched, expressionless, though inside he was astonished. Jamie's silent cutting spell was precise, controlled, and perfectly executed—deep enough to draw sufficient blood, shallow enough to prevent excessive bleeding.
The book seemed to swallow the blood with an eerie "goog…goog…" sound. Veins under the cover emerged, forming a heart.
"What is this?" Snape asked involuntarily.
Jamie treated his wrist with a simple healing spell, then spoke quickly. "This is the magic book—only Selwyn can open it. It consumes my blood. If I run out before finishing, I'll have to cut again. Watch closely."