"Do you know Colin Creevey?"
"Sort of... Isn't he that short first-year Gryffindor?"
"He was attacked by the monster from the Chamber of Secrets, right in front of the Hospital Wing... Now he's lying there like he's dead—turned to stone, just like Mrs. Norris!"
"Oh no! I think Creevey's from a Muggle family... Could it really be like the legend says—that the Heir of Slytherin wants to drive all Muggle-borns and Squibs out of Hogwarts?"
"That's terrifying!"
Ever since the attack on Mrs. Norris, discussions about the Chamber of Secrets hadn't stopped in the Hufflepuff common room. But with a second victim, panic started to spread.
"It's definitely Potter's doing!" Ernie Macmillan declared with confidence.
"You can't say that..." Hannah Abbott, her golden ponytail swaying, tried to argue.
"Potter had a fight with Filch, then Filch's cat got killed—and Potter was the one who 'found' it. Creevey used to pester Potter constantly, probably annoyed him... and then he turns up petrified right in front of Potter's ward." Macmillan spoke like a seasoned detective, deducing his theory.
"I still don't want to believe it. After all, Harry did stop You-Know-Who..." Hannah, kind as ever, didn't want to accept such an idea.
"Don't be naive! No one knows how he even survived You-Know-Who's attack. I mean, he was just a baby when it happened—should've been blasted to bits... Only a truly powerful Dark wizard could've survived that spell." Ernie said darkly, "So maybe..."
...
Jon didn't bother trying to stop or correct the rumors.
Among the Hufflepuffs, Muggle-born students were visibly shaken—especially Justin Finch-Fletchley, who looked pale and hadn't even dared to attend class for days. Rumor had it he once casually mentioned his blood status to Harry Potter.
Yet, despite being just a first-year, Jon Hart seemed to be the calmest person in the whole house.
His daily routine stayed the same; the only change was that he made sure to walk with others whenever entering or leaving the common room.
But when Professor Sprout came to gather names for students staying over Christmas, Jon was one of the first to sign up to leave.
Just like him, most students chose to leave Hogwarts, fleeing as if from a plague, afraid the monster in the Chamber would strike again at any moment.
...
Before the holiday break, Jon received a letter by owl post.
Inside were a bunch of shiny, delicate-looking trinkets—nothing valuable, but charming all the same. He'd asked Eric to buy and send them over.
He brought the trinkets to the kitchen and handed them all to the house-elves.
"These are early Christmas gifts for all of you. I know they're not worth much," he said sincerely in the kitchen. "But thank you for looking after me these past months and for all the amazing food..."
The house-elves were overwhelmed with emotion. They eagerly put on the decorations—though it made them look a bit mismatched.
Klein clung to Jon's leg, sobbing uncontrollably. It took Jon nearly ten attempts to calm him down.
"This is the first time a wizard's ever given Klein a Christmas gift... Thank you, Mr. Hart..."
Before letting him go, the house-elves stuffed his pockets with every kind of snack until he couldn't carry any more.
...
Of course, there was one last thing to do before leaving Hogwarts—
The Polyjuice Potion was finally complete.
Over the past week, Jon had steadily added each ingredient: two-thirds of an ounce of Fluxweed picked under a full moon, half an ounce of powdered ammonium chloride, two ounces of grass leaf powder, a teaspoon of Bicorn horn powder, and measured amounts of saltpeter, mercury, iron shavings, and dried Boomslang skin.
Despite how complex the recipe was, brewing the potion didn't involve anything too advanced. That's why even first- and second-years could manage it—it was dangerous, but not technically difficult.
Thick black smoke was billowing from the cauldron, filling the room with a sharp, acrid stench.
That was a good sign—it meant the potion was likely correct.
Jon carefully poured the potion into small crystal vials. It resembled a thick, tar-like black ooze.
"Well then... Time to test it," he muttered, taking out a few strands of yellow-and-black hair from a separate vial.
He gently dropped the hair into the Polyjuice Potion. The liquid hissed and foamed... Within seconds, it turned a deep, muddy brown.
Just one small gulp—enough for ten minutes of transformation.
Jon closed his eyes and gulped it down.
Even though he'd braced himself, the taste was just as awful as he'd feared—like drinking gasoline. Utterly revolting.
His stomach writhed violently, as if something alive slithered inside.
He doubled over and stripped off his clothes as fast as he could.
Then came the burn. The sensation started in his gut and spread across his entire body. His skin bubbled and warped, like wax melting under intense heat....
Lying on the floor, Jon watched his hands grow larger, his fingers thicken, his nails widen, and his shoulders broaden...
A minute later, he stood up again—now a full head taller, his limbs thicker, his messy black hair covering a freckled face...
He quickly pulled on the oversized Hogwarts robe he'd prepared in advance.
If anyone had seen him, they would've recognized him immediately:
He had transformed into Hufflepuff Prefect Gabriel Truman.
He'd plucked Gabriel's hair during the Quidditch victory celebration—just to test the potion.
He'd wanted to get a teacher's hair, but the only adult male wizards at Hogwarts were Dumbledore and Snape—both far too dangerous to mess with. So he settled for a senior student instead.
Now in Gabriel's form, Jon raised his wand. A moving dummy appeared in front of him.
"Reducto!" Gabriel's deeper, slightly gravelly voice rang out.
But only a faint blue spark shot from the wand—nothing else happened.
Gabriel was a sixth-year and an outstanding student. There was no way he couldn't cast the Reducto Curse—it was a basic spell in the OWLs' Defense Against the Dark Arts.
As expected, the Polyjuice Potion didn't replicate magical power. Becoming a powerful wizard didn't mean you could use their magic.
Which made sense—if the potion copied magical ability, the Order of the Phoenix could've just sent a hundred Dumbledores to fight a hundred Voldemorts.
In that case, they'd have won hands down.
With a flick of his wand, the dummy vanished, replaced by a massive slab of stone.
Jon set his wand aside and bent down...
Just as he hoped!
The slab—nearly 30 kilograms and impossible for him to lift before—was now raised effortlessly in his hands.