It was another easy, pleasant Saturday.
Harry Potter sat by the window in the Gryffindor common room, chewing on Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans as he worked on his Herbology homework. The golden glow of the setting sun outside reflected in his bright green eyes.
Beside him, Neville and Seamus were discussing last night's news.
"I heard Azkaban was attacked again!"
"Blimey, hasn't Azkaban been hit loads of times these past few years? Was it You-Know-Who again?"
"No idea. The report didn't go into detail… They say the Minister of Magic and Professor Dumbledore rushed over first thing this morning."
"Oi, mate." Ron nudged Harry's shoulder. "Did you see the new notice?"
"The one banning us from leaving the common room at night?" Harry paused. "Yeah, I saw it at lunch."
"Right…" Ron sighed. "Dunno why they suddenly got so strict. Out after eight in the evening and you're expelled on the spot?"
"No idea." Harry shook his head. "Maybe it's connected to the attack on Azkaban?"
"Could be!" Ron agreed. "This afternoon I saw Tonks and Lupin, plus a few Aurors I didn't recognize. They looked like they were here to guard the castle. Professor Dumbledore must be worried something might happen while he's away."
Harry was about to reply when Hermione squeezed in between him and Ron. Her expression was unusually firm, almost tense.
"I need to talk to you, Harry," Hermione said seriously.
"About what?" Harry asked, confused.
"It's about—"
Before Hermione could finish, a flash of crimson and gold burst into the room. A bird the size of a swan appeared beside them.
"Fawkes?" Harry gasped, recognizing her instantly.
The Phoenix gave a small shake of her body, and a single feather drifted down into Harry Potter's hand.
The moment he touched it, Albus Dumbledore's voice echoed in his mind.
"Harry!" Hermione's face tightened. "What's going on? Why would a Phoenix come to you?"
"It's Professor Dumbledore," Harry said quickly. "He wants me in his office. Right now—as soon as possible!"
Harry and Ron exchanged a look.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Ron whispered. "Isn't he supposed to be in Azkaban?"
"You can't fake a Phoenix," Harry said, already jumping to his feet. "Better go and see. Sorry, Hermione—got to run."
He hurried toward the exit, then suddenly spun around and dashed toward the dormitory stairs.
"He also told me to bring the Marauder's Map!" he shouted over his shoulder.
Moments later, Harry was racing out of the common room and along the eighth-floor corridor.
He didn't pass a single student. Only Peeves came swooping toward him, cackling as he flung bits of chalk and dodged Harry's defensive spells.
After Peeves disappeared, the corridor fell silent. There were only fifteen minutes until eight o'clock—curfew time—and most students had already returned to their common rooms.
Harry sprinted toward Dumbledore's office, the stone gargoyle standing guard as always. He shouted the password, then bounded up the moving spiral staircase three steps at a time.
The door to the Headmaster's Office stood open—
...
"Professor Dumbledore!"
Harry pushed the door and hurried inside.
Then he froze.
Albus Dumbledore was not in the office.
More importantly, someone else was there—someone whose face Harry knew all too well, someone who had appeared in his dreams more than once.
Harry rubbed his eyes.
"Jon… Jon Hart?" he murmured. "H-How is this possible?"
"Good evening, Harry," Jon Hart said calmly. "I know you're shocked, but there's no time to explain everything."
"You were at Little Hangleton… I saw it… Wormtail…" Harry stammered, barely hearing him. "He killed you…"
"Listen to me, Harry." Jon stepped closer and gently patted his shoulder. "I didn't die. That was part of Professor Dumbledore's plan. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the truth at the time—it was to keep it from You-Know-Who."
"Then… what have you been doing these past two years, Jon?"
"I've been working for Professor Dumbledore—in another capacity. It's complicated."
"And a few months ago… in Gryffindor Tower…" Harry swallowed. "What I saw…"
"Yes. I'm sorry I frightened you." Jon's expression turned serious. "Harry, when we have the time, I'll explain everything properly—even if it takes all night. But right now, we don't have that luxury."
Harry nodded stiffly. "What do we do?"
"Professor Dumbledore needs our help," Jon said gravely. "Harry, did you bring the Marauder's Map?"
Harry quickly pulled a worn, blank piece of parchment from his pocket.
He spread it across Dumbledore's desk, drew his wand, cleared his throat, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink lines began to creep across the parchment, spreading and twisting until a detailed map of Hogwarts appeared.
Jon leaned over it, his face tense, his eyes fixed on the eighth floor.
"What are we looking for?" Harry asked.
"Just wait…" Jon murmured. "There—they're here."
On the Marauder's Map, in the place marked as the Room of Requirement, a name appeared—
"Draco Malfoy."
"Malfoy?" Harry frowned.
Then another name emerged, clear and unmistakable—
"Tom Riddle."