"Move aside, I need to see Dumbledore!" Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, barked impatiently in front of an ugly, hulking stone gargoyle on the eighth floor of Hogwarts Castle.
Unfortunately, the gargoyle didn't move just because the short, stocky man before it was the Minister of Magic. It drawled lazily, "Password?"
Fudge, now red with frustration, could do nothing.
"Red wine chocolate!" A familiar, authoritative voice came from behind him.
The gargoyle instantly leapt aside. The wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral staircase.
"Cornelius?" Albus Dumbledore stepped forward, his light blue eyes calm yet piercing behind his half-moon glasses.
"Dumbledore…" Fudge's tone lost some of its bluster.
"I believe you owe me an explanation," Dumbledore said, a faint anger flickering in his gaze. "Why did the Dementors trespass onto the school grounds without permission? I'm quite certain that was not part of our agreement… They nearly killed a student."
"It was… an accident," Fudge stammered. "It won't happen again!"
"I trust you'll keep your word this time." Without another glance, Dumbledore turned and walked into his office.
"Wait, Dumbledore!" Fudge suddenly remembered the purpose of his visit. "Hogwarts must take responsibility for the casualties among the Dementors!"
"Casualties?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Two Dementors were killed in an extremely brutal manner, and three more were seriously injured!" Fudge tried to sound indignant. "They are the guardians of Azkaban, the Ministry's law enforcement officers… Even if they entered Hogwarts without authorization, you cannot simply mistreat them in such a way!"
"Is that so?" Dumbledore's blink was so slight that even the nearby Fudge didn't notice. "I'm sorry, Cornelius… but that, too, was an accident. It won't happen again."
With that, Dumbledore disappeared into his office.
Fudge tried to follow, only to be blocked again by the stone gargoyle. "Password?"
The Minister of Magic clenched his teeth.
Lowering his head, he said evenly but firmly, "Goodbye, Professor Dumbledore."
...
Jon had barely climbed through the two wooden barrels into the Hufflepuff common room when a deafening cheer hit his ears.
Nearly every Hufflepuff was celebrating—their victory all the sweeter for being earned in such dreadful weather.
Only Cedric Diggory, the Quidditch captain, sat gloomily to the side.
"What's wrong with Cedric?" Jon asked Susan Bones, who was standing nearby.
"Near the end of the match, the Dementors suddenly invaded the Quidditch Pitch," Susan explained. "Gryffindor's Seeker, Potter, was attacked and fell off his broom. Cedric didn't notice and caught the Golden Snitch at that exact moment…"
"I've never seen Professor Dumbledore so angry! He ran straight onto the field, waved his wand to save Potter, then sent a burst of silver light to drive the Dementors away!"
"Cedric wanted to stop the match and replay it another day, but Madam Hooch refused. She ruled we won, 180 to 80… Anyway, we won fair and square. Even the Gryffindor players admitted it," Susan added.
"I see…" Jon nodded.
Back in his dormitory, he flipped open his calendar and noticed that the coming Monday had been circled in red.
That meant a full moon that night.
And conveniently, Monday afternoon's schedule included a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.
...
The Dementor incident during the Hufflepuff–Gryffindor match caused little real uproar.
On Monday afternoon, Jon arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom right on time.
"What do you think Professor Lupin will teach us today?" Astoria whispered as she sat beside him. "I still remember how he showed us how to break a Grindylow's claws last week—it was so much fun!"
"I'm not sure." Jon flipped to the textbook's contents page. "If we're going by the syllabus, it should be Hinkypunks—but you never know."
"If it's Nogtails or Yetis, that would be great too," Astoria said, paging through her book.
Around them, almost every Hufflepuff and Slytherin was buzzing with speculation—Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of their favorite classes.
Then came the sound of heavy footsteps, and the chatter died instantly.
"Professor Snape?" Astoria whispered in surprise.
"Why isn't it Professor Lupin?" Zacharias Smith blurted out.
"Lupin is ill and unable to teach today," Severus Snape said with a cold smile, striding to the podium. "I will be covering this lesson."
"What's wrong with Professor Lupin?" Zacharias pressed.
"Nothing life-threatening," Snape replied, black eyes glittering with irritation. "Hufflepuff, five points from you."
Zacharias thought better of it and kept his mouth shut.
Snape began leafing through a copy of Defensive Magical Theory, starting from the back.
Jon opened his own textbook to the last chapter. Sure enough, it was titled Werewolves.
"Werewolves," Snape said with open disdain.
"But, sir… we just studied Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows…" Slytherin's Selwyn gathered her courage to stand. "So we haven't reached werewolves yet. By the order, it should be Hinkypunks—"
"Silence, Miss Selwyn," Snape said in a dead, toneless voice. "I won't comment on Professor Lupin's lack of structure in his teaching. Now, turn to page three hundred and ninety-four."
Reluctantly, everyone obeyed, though disappointment was written across most faces.
"Hart!"
Jon snapped to his feet. "Professor!"
"Tell me," Snape ordered, "how do you distinguish a werewolf from an ordinary wolf?"
"Well…" Jon gathered his thoughts. "There are many differences, for example, the shape of the snout—"