Jon ultimately failed to persuade Astoria.
In truth, Astoria was right… once she lost consciousness, if her body were taken over by the blood-cursed soul without any form of control, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Faced with her insistence, he finally chose to compromise.
...
A light breeze passed through, sending withered yellow leaves drifting down one after another.
On the streets of London, there was no trace of summer left at all… with late autumn settling in, the temperature had dropped sharply, and pedestrians along the roadside had added several extra layers to their clothing.
Inside a busy apothecary, customers came and went without pause.
"Kava root… peyote cactus… these are all hallucinogenic substances. Why do you need them?"
A middle-aged man dressed like a Potioneer looked at the young man in front of him with open suspicion. From his gaze, it was clear he had already labeled the other party a "drug addict."
The Potioneer asked coldly, "Do you have a prescription from a licensed physician?"
"Of course I do."
The young man smiled and nodded, then lowered his head, rummaging through his briefcase.
The Potioneer snorted, just in time to see the young man pull a small, emerald-green wooden stick from inside the case…
His eyes went blank for a moment, and he subconsciously reached up to rub his head.
"All right, please wait a moment… I'll get your medicine right away!"
The young man placed both herbs into his briefcase, paid fifty pounds, and walked out of the pharmacy without any hurry.
After leaving the shop, he walked two blocks before entering a hotel.
At the front desk, he asked for a room.
"One guest?" the clerk asked casually.
"One…"
The young man hesitated briefly, glancing at the briefcase in his hand.
Then he nodded. "Yes. Just one."
"Would you like dinner as well?" the clerk continued.
"Yes… please have it delivered to my room. Would that be all right?"
...
Once again, he checked into a Muggle hotel and entered his room.
For Jon, using Muggle lifestyles to conceal his movements was something he was thoroughly accustomed to. And it had always worked rather well.
A Muggle chef soon arrived, pushing a trolley with a covered tray.
The dinner was fairly generous: borscht, steak, meat-stuffed mashed potato patties, and soft bread rolls.
Jon carried the tray into the room but didn't open it.
A sharp knocking sound came from the window, as if someone were tapping insistently on the glass.
Jon hurried over and opened it—
A dark gray owl flew in at once, dropping a not-too-large suitcase at Jon's feet.
A potions shop emblem was printed on the case—the very store Jon had sent an owl to several days earlier to make a purchase.
He bent down and opened the suitcase, carefully inspecting its contents. The Moonstone, yew bark, lionfish spine powder, and other materials were all in excellent condition.
Combined with the herbs he had bought earlier from the Muggle pharmacy, everything was now fully prepared.
He closed the window carefully, locked it, then double-locked the door, making absolutely sure the room was secure.
Jon then packed all the materials into his own briefcase, one by one.
Finally, he picked up the hotel dinner tray, laid the briefcase flat on the floor, and opened it—
He stepped one leg into the briefcase first. Logically speaking, given its size, it should have been impossible for it to hold even a full leg.
Yet as his leg went in, it sank slowly, as if plunging into a quagmire.
Then went the other leg.
Then his entire body.
And finally, the hand holding the tray.
In barely a dozen seconds, like a victim swallowed by a swamp, Jon Hart vanished completely into the briefcase.
...
Contrary to its cramped exterior, the space inside the briefcase was astonishingly vast.
It was almost like an entire house.
For over a year now, Jon had continuously cast the Space Augmentation Spell on it to increase its capacity, and the interior space had expanded bit by bit over time.
What had once been an ordinary suitcase had gradually "evolved" into a space of considerable size.
One room, for instance, was stacked full of herbs of all kinds—some purchased in Diagon Alley, others obtained in Albania, and still more acquired at Greengrass Manor.
Another room was filled with books, including Unveiling the Secrets of the Darkest Art, which he had received from Albus Dumbledore.
Jon continued forward until he reached the final small room.
Calling it a room was generous—it looked more like a prison cell.
Behind a tightly barred iron door, in a narrow space, a young girl lay sleeping soundly on a bed.
On the opposite wall hung the portrait of Headmaster Phineas Black.
The former Hogwarts headmaster was dozing off within the painting.
This arrangement was made at Astoria Greengrass's request. In the end, Jon had decided to "confine" her inside his briefcase—after all, parading through the streets with a bound teenage girl would have been far too conspicuous.
He knocked lightly on the iron door.
Astoria slowly opened her eyes, still groggy.
"Dinner's ready."
Jon gestured to the tray in his hands.
Just as he was about to open the iron door, Astoria—who had just climbed out of bed—hurriedly stopped him.
"No!"
She exclaimed softly, then jogged over and gestured for him to open the narrow window set into the iron door instead.
Jon shook his head helplessly and had no choice but to open the small barred window, pushing the entire tray through.
"Wow… meat-stuffed mashed potato patties? They smell pretty good."
Astoria sighed from the other side.
Watching her eat, Jon spoke quietly.
"I've bought all the remaining materials."
"Are we going to start making the Horcrux?"
Astoria set down her knife and fork and looked up at him.
"Yes."
Jon nodded.
"I'm just thinking about where we should begin."
"Then… what about going back to Greengrass Manor?"
Astoria asked softly.
Without the slightest hesitation, Jon shook his head.
After the recent Giant hunt, he had no doubt that the Death Eaters were watching Greengrass Manor around the clock. The moment they returned, both he and Astoria would be in immediate danger.
"Then where should we go…?"
Jon fell silent for a moment.
Then he spoke in a serious tone.
"I've realized something—the location for crafting the Horcrux shouldn't be decided by us alone."