Anthony didn't even know how he got Hagrid back to his hut. After saying goodbye, he looked through the window. Saw Fang worriedly approach, lick Hagrid's nose, ears, and eyes.
The sun had set. Except for a purple streak atop distant mountains, the sky held only deep blue and deeper blue. The castle behind was silent. Just a few scattered small lights.
He sat down by the Black Lake, watched the surface. Dinnertime already. But he didn't want to trouble Coco at the castle. Didn't want to go home either.
The Giant Squid's tentacle emerged, broke the lake's calm. It had found a shoe somewhere, was happily playing with the waterlogged thing, curling around it to scoop water, pour it back into the lake.
Anthony watched quietly a while. Suddenly inexplicably wanted to feed seagulls.
"I hope that's not your shoe, Henry," a voice came from behind.
Anthony turned in surprise. Saw Dumbledore standing behind him. He tried to stand. But Dumbledore raised his hand, stopped him, sat beside him himself.
"No, it's not," Anthony said.
They sat quietly a moment.
"Is it yours?"
"No." Dumbledore smiled, looked at his left foot. "Once I lost a green shoe. Never found it again. Since then I've been very careful managing my shoes. Cunning things. Must have both to wear them. Otherwise it's rather impolite."
"What happened to the right green shoe?" Anthony asked.
"Confiscated. Then I don't know," Dumbledore said lightly.
"What—what did you do?"
"Nothing major," Dumbledore said. "I transformed it into the Sorting Hat's shape, took the real Sorting Hat from the Headmaster's office. But very unfortunately, that very day, the then-Headmaster Professor Dippet suddenly decided to put on the Sorting Hat—I still don't know why he did that."
Anthony couldn't imagine Dumbledore doing this. So he could only squeeze out: "You must be joking."
"Yes, sometimes I also think I just put the other shoe in some corner, then never remembered it. After a while, couldn't find it anymore. Good heavens, it must be crawling with spiders and Nogards by now," Dumbledore said. "You can choose to believe whichever story you want."
"What's a Nogard?" Anthony asked.
"Um... A very alert magical creature. Breeds in forgotten places. Spits when happy. About this big." Dumbledore gestured with his palm. "Covered in black fur. Very soft. Rarely makes sounds."
"I think you're describing a Puffskein," Anthony said thoughtfully.
"I'm describing the opposite of a dragon," Dumbledore said. Anthony looked at him. He winked slyly at Anthony.
Anthony laughed. "Ah, yes. Hagrid named it Norbert. We decided to send it to the dragon reserve in Romania." He shook his head. "A bad-tempered, stumbling flying lizard."
After sitting by the lake a while, it was completely dark.
Hagrid's hut lit up. The clink of porcelain plates. Anthony guessed Hagrid was heating his rock cakes.
The Giant Squid had swum away with that shoe. An owl flew from the Owlery into the night. Wind swept over the Forbidden Forest. Didn't disturb any ripples.
Dumbledore stood first. Invited Anthony to the castle for some sandwiches.
"You know, your office and bedroom won't suddenly disappear during holidays," he said, waited for Anthony to stand. "Neither will Hogwarts' kitchens."
Hogwarts' Great Hall wasn't as bright as usual. The house tables were empty. The candles floating above them were extinguished. Only torches on the walls and candles above the staff table still burned, maintaining warm firelight.
They met Professor Flitwick and Snape in the hall. They seemed to have just finished discussing with Madam Pomfrey, were walking out from the Hospital Wing.
Professor Flitwick walked briskly, gestured something in the air with his wand. Snape frowned deeply, looked down at him, thoughtful expression on his face.
"Albus! Professor Anthony!" Professor Flitwick looked up, saw them, called happily. "What a surprise!"
"Good evening, Filius," Dumbledore smiled. "Good evening, Severus. If I'm not mistaken, you're also heading to the kitchens?"
"No. I'd rather return to my office," Snape said coldly.
"Come on, Severus! We still need to discuss—Professor Anthony, if all goes well, Mr. Davies can go home next week!" Professor Flitwick said.
"What? Wonderful!" Anthony said.
"Thanks to Poppy. She's a genius," Professor Flitwick said. "Of course, with St. Mungo's help... And you, Severus. You're unmatched in potions."
He was beaming, in excellent spirits. Almost skipping with each step.
At the fork leading to the kitchens and dungeons, Snape paused. Then under Dumbledore's gaze, nodded impatiently, followed Professor Flitwick in large strides toward the kitchens.
"Come, Henry. We might get more than sandwiches," Dumbledore said gently, pushed Anthony's shoulder. "I've heard a saying: two people eating is better than one. Four is better than two."
Four professors visiting at night delighted the house-elves. They prepared roast chicken, lamb chops, mashed potatoes, roasted mushrooms, tomato celery soup, a large basket of bread, and a huge jug of pumpkin juice.
Anthony tried to have them make just a tuna sandwich. But Coco asked somewhat hurt if he didn't like their cooking. So Anthony had to sit with the others at the table cleared in the kitchen's center, listen to Professor Flitwick cheerfully describe Roger Davies' recovery.
To Anthony's relief, they didn't need to eat under a hundred elves' gaze. Somehow, a partition appeared in the kitchen. Anthony never knew such a place existed.
The elves enthusiastically decorated a dining table for them. Dumbledore stopped the decor at gold-embroidered white tablecloth stage. But he couldn't stop the elves from placing a huge vase of flowers.
Halfway through dinner, Anthony and Dumbledore chatted about flesh magic. Professor Flitwick seemed suddenly inspired, exclaimed "I should have thought of it," dropped his fork, half-eaten bread, and Snape who was discussing potion dosage with him, hurried away.
Snape put down his knife. "I think I should go too. Excuse me."
"No, Severus," Dumbledore refused cheerfully. "Please have some more lamb chops. I noticed you didn't try them at all."
The moment he finished speaking, a lamb chop appeared on Snape's plate. Snape glared at it fiercely, like he wanted to scare it away.
Anthony couldn't help saying: "It's really quite good." Snape's glare immediately shifted direction. Anthony shrugged. "Sorry."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. Asked Anthony: "So, any plans for the rest of your holiday?"
"I don't know..." Anthony said. "Tomorrow I want to thank an owl at the Owlery. If time permits, I'll probably visit Romania—maybe with Hagrid. I also received an invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to visit near the end of the holiday. As for other times, I plan to collapse on the sofa, read or sleep."
"A full and efficient plan," Snape commented sarcastically.
Anthony ignored him. "Oh right, I also want to feed seagulls."
"Sounds like you're enjoying your holiday," Dumbledore said approvingly, nodded.
"What about you, sir?" Anthony asked. "Any holiday plans?"
Dumbledore thought. "Well, Cornelius and I have an appointment. A few meetings with Ilvermorny... Durmstrang sent an owl. I haven't replied yet. Of course, I'm still looking for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. If you happen to know suitable candidates, feel free to suggest them."
Snape cut his lamb chop heavily, snorted through his nose. "Just curious, Headmaster—what standards are you using for selection? I mean, Quirrell was such a perfect choice."
"Things aren't that bad, Severus," Dumbledore said lightly. "Yes, we discovered his problem. Now we've even discovered Voldemort—" Snape went pale for an instant. "—didn't truly disappear eleven years ago. Isn't that consistent with our speculation?"
Snape wanted to say something. But Dumbledore didn't give him a chance to interrupt. "Better news—Henry has confirmed he's very weak now. And I suspect he won't want to approach Hogwarts anytime soon... We can perhaps expect next year to be calm."
"The Dark Lord will be very angry," Snape said softly.
"Yes, he'll be angry. And he always exposes his weaknesses in anger," Dumbledore said. "Though, we all do, don't we? The flip side of anger is fear..." His sharp blue eyes looked at Anthony. Smiled slightly.
Anthony couldn't help recalling his most fearful moment since resurrection. Also his angriest moment.
The Wraith Mouse crawled out, caught that curse. For an instant, he suddenly couldn't sense his mouse between life and death... He thought like Quirrell said—it was banished, neither here nor there.
He thought he'd lost the mouse. He thought he could be banished like that too.
Anthony put a mouthful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. Nodded. "That's right, sir."
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