Leaving the Quidditch Pitch and passing by the greenhouse, Jon spotted Draco Malfoy in the distance, strutting back toward the castle with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle flanking him.
"My father is furious about my injury. He's already complained to the school governors and the Ministry of Magic… My father is very influential, you know," Malfoy announced smugly. "That stupid oaf had the nerve to side with Potter and let that beast of his attack me. I doubt he'll be a teacher for much longer!"
Malfoy's gait was exaggerated, his right arm swaddled in bandages and held up in a sling.
"Don't you think walking like that looks awkward, Draco?" Jon heard Goyle grumble ahead of him.
"No, no, no—it makes me look more like a hero!" Malfoy said with supreme confidence. "You just don't get it!"
Jon couldn't help chuckling. It reminded him of his own early-teen days, when he would deliberately talk back to teachers or pull flashy, over-the-top stunts just to grab attention. Adolescence, he thought, is a road everyone has to walk.
"It's you!" Malfoy snapped, his eyes narrowing at the sound of Jon's laugh. Clearly, the sight brought back unpleasant memories of their run-in on the carriage the day before term began.
"Good afternoon," Jon said with a polite smile.
"You filthy mud—… coward, liar, idiot…" Malfoy spat.
Jon glanced around, didn't bother replying, and kept walking toward the castle.
"Crabbe, Goyle… teach him a lesson!" Malfoy barked—
"What's going on here?" came a calm voice from behind them.
Professor Remus Lupin's gaze swept over Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom had tensed to strike.
They quickly stepped back—neither had the nerve to start a fight in front of a teacher.
"Nothing, Professor… Lupin," Malfoy drawled, pausing deliberately between the two words before swaggering off.
As they neared the castle doors, he made a point of saying loudly to Crabbe, "He's dressed worse than my house-elf…"
...
Jon, aware of Lupin's presence behind him, ignored the trio and headed straight inside.
He had "potions tutoring" with Snape at seven, but for now there were still over four hours to fill.
With his bag slung over his shoulder, Jon made his way to the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor. After making sure the corridor was empty, he opened the door and slipped inside.
Here, at last, he could read and study without fear of interruption.
After a year's practice, he was an old hand at using the Room. Apart from the hidden storage space, the rest of the configurations could be switched with a single thought.
He settled down with his new textbooks—Standard Book of Spells, Level II, Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, Part II, and Fundamentals of Defense Against the Dark Arts. The summer holidays had been too eventful for him to prepare in advance.
Hogwarts' workload wasn't heavy, and the teachers weren't strict—many students could spend most of their time on Quidditch and get by simply copying homework from others.
Jon, however, was the one people copied from. Zacharias, Steven, even Eloise—all his fellow second-year Hufflepuffs—regularly relied on his work to keep them afloat.
By around six, he packed away his books, grabbed a quick bite in the Great Hall, and then headed down to the dungeons toward the Potions master's office.
...
At 6:55 sharp, Jon knocked on Snape's door.
"Come in," came the oily voice from inside.
The office was as dim as ever, the shelves lined with hundreds of specimen jars that looked like they hadn't been moved in years.
Severus Snape stood over a simmering cauldron, brewing a potion. Several herbs bubbled in the mixture—Jon didn't recognize a single one.
"Professor, what's this?" Jon asked curiously.
"Wolfsbane Potion," Snape replied coldly. "One of the most complex potions to brew."
Jon frowned. No wonder… Wolfsbane was among the most advanced potions in existence; there were probably only a handful of wizards in the world who could make it. If it were common, werewolves wouldn't be nearly as dangerous.
He leaned in for a better look, but Snape brusquely dropped the lid over the cauldron.
"Taken during the week before the full moon, Wolfsbane allows a transformed werewolf to retain its mind, making it somewhat less dangerous. It was invented by Damocles Belby," Snape said as he peeled off his dragon-hide gloves.
Jon blinked—he hadn't asked for a lecture on its effects. And it was obvious the brewing was already finished. Snape had clearly opened the lid just to bait his curiosity.
Still, he let it pass.
"Professor, do you have a friend who's a werewolf? That's rather sad…" Jon said quietly.
"Shut up!" Snape snapped, glaring at him. "Hart, think before you speak."
...
Fortunately, Snape didn't dwell on the Wolfsbane. He soon led Jon out of the office, through several corridors, and into a familiar classroom—the Defense Against the Dark Arts practice room.
"I don't see why Professor Dumbledore wants me to teach you the Patronus Charm," Snape said with open disdain. "This should be the job of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Still, since you're here, try to be smart enough not to embarrass me."
"The Patronus Charm is a projection of your most positive emotions. Before casting it, you need to think of your happiest memory…" He paused slightly at the words "happiest memory." "The charm produces a semi-corporeal force of positive energy, capable of repelling creatures like the Dementors surrounding our school."
"Professor, you dislike Dementors too?" Jon asked with wide-eyed innocence.
"Shut up. Don't ask questions," Snape said sharply, which was as good as an admission.
Jon smirked inwardly.
"Now, Hart… show me." Snape's tone turned to command.
Jon drew his wand and aimed it at the open space ahead. With Snape here, he wasn't afraid of losing control. He could finally summon his Patronus and figure out what was wrong with it.
"Expecto Patronum!" he called.
Blinding silver light burst from his wand tip, flooding the room with warmth. A massive silver shadow erupted forth, slowly beginning to take shape—
Then the familiar weakness hit. His legs went soft, and his wand hand began to tremble.
"Idiot!" Snape barked. "You control the Patronus, not the other way around. Hold your wand—don't let it drain your magic dry!"
Jon stiffened, inhaling deeply to steady the flow of magic.
But after a few minutes, he failed.
With a sharp crack, the iron-eating beast Patronus blew apart into silver dust before fully forming.
Snape frowned, silent, as if weighing something.
"Professor?" Jon ventured.
"Don't pester me, Hart," Snape said coldly.
A bottle of deep-red potion floated to Jon's hand.
"Recovery Potion. Drink it, then wait here," Snape ordered, leaving the room.
Jon uncorked it at once. Recovery Potion was a high-level brew, taught only to sixth-years who had passed their OWLs. It could restore a wizard's strength in large amounts. If he'd had it over the summer in Charing Cross, he wouldn't have been so helpless.
The moment he drained it, he felt noticeably better.
Snape returned shortly after. "Again," he commanded.
"Expecto Patronum!" Jon began the incantation once more.
"Relax," came Snape's voice from behind him.
"Don't try to control your Patronus. Imagine your wand isn't even in your hand—let your body go completely loose."
Jon froze; the advice was the complete opposite of before.
Silver light flared again, and the iron-eating beast reappeared, a little larger than last time.
"Looks like an ugly bear," Snape muttered, clearly failing to recognize it. "Communicate with it, Hart—don't give it orders."
"Communicate?" Jon echoed, puzzled. The book he'd borrowed from the Restricted Section, Summon the Joy Within You, had never mentioned communicating with a Patronus.
Still, he obeyed—lowering his wand, meeting his Patronus's eyes, letting himself grow calm.
The Patronus seemed to respond, padding lightly over to him and brushing his face with a furry paw. Then it dropped to all fours and bounded in a circle around him.
Without trying to control it, Jon felt no exhausting pull—just a light, comforting warmth.
He had no idea how much time had passed before he finally let it fade.
He'd done it—summoned a complete Patronus, not another unstable magic bomb.
He turned to share the success—
But Severus Snape was already gone.