With a confirmed meeting time, Anthony buried his head completely in that stack of parchment. He didn't spare a glance at the Potions section—if Snape truly expected him to understand it, Anthony would have to seriously consider whether the man had gone mad—but curses and rituals were genuinely interesting.
Aside from shattering the bedroom chandelier, the pets at home hadn't disturbed him much. The Wraith Mouse had somehow decided to decorate his room—its room—with apples, and felt having a supposedly fifty-year-old secondhand chandelier balance over ten apples was the most correct decision.
Besides that, the Wraith Chicken had curiously wandered over, wanting to know what made Anthony hold something up while brushing his teeth. The Skeleton Cat had condescended to try reminding Anthony to pour it wine.
"Go away," Anthony told the cat, pushed it off a passage discussing skeletons' role in rituals. Though from a necromancer's perspective, that entire passage was absurdly wrong.
The cat whipped around, bit his finger hard, embedded teeth in flesh. Anthony hissed, said thoughtfully: "Using the dead's blood instead of wine... Hmm..."
He switched the pen to his left hand, wrote several crooked lines. The cat impatiently scratched him a few times, jumped away.
Friday morning, Anthony opened the window. Found the sky terribly overcast. The whole city was gray. Even the supermarket lights seemed somewhat dim. The Whaley Supermarket cashier smiled, greeted him, handed him a sandwich for breakfast, kindly wished him to enjoy his holiday.
"Hopefully," Anthony took the sandwich, smiled and shook his head. "I hope my current colleagues welcome me as much as you do."
Hogwarts far away in Scotland was also shrouded under dark clouds. The stuffy humid air vaguely foretold at least one rain approaching.
Anthony emerged from Hogsmeade village—Honeydukes allowed him to borrow their Floo fireplace because he was "a major customer who ordered five boxes of coconut ice"—passed the station where the Hogwarts Express stopped, circled the Black Lake, worried all the way whether he'd remembered to close the window and bring the dittany inside when he left.
Snape welcomed him at the main gate.
This meant Snape strode out from the castle, cold eyes turned to Anthony, nodded at him impatiently, skipped all pleasantries: "You're late, Anthony. If you have any gratitude, I hope you remember who this is all for."
Anthony checked his watch. "I think I'm actually three minutes early. But all right, sorry."
"You'll be late the moment you step into the room. Follow me." Snape said coldly, turned back, led him down narrow stone steps to the dungeons.
Snape's office was as dim as ever. The fireplace gaped darkly empty. Anthony tried controlling himself not to think whether this meant Snape's Floo Network was closed—any fire head attempting to emerge would immediately get doused with water.
Anthony found himself a chair at Snape's eye gesture, watched him take a box from the cupboard behind, carefully lift out four very small bottles, place them on the desk.
Anthony had to lean close to see at each bottle's bottom a drop of silvery water, like a mercury bead—though some colors were closer to silver-gray, others leaned toward white.
"Anderson's Pure Blood, Siegel's Resurrection Potion, Gardner's Silver Moonlight, Senay's Continuation Water," Snape introduced softly, gaze lingering on them. "Very exquisite imitations... Each underwent dozens or even hundreds of improvements and corrections..."
Anthony waited for his "but." It never came. He looked up confused. Snape's sallow face wore a cold smile. Said softly: "Tell me, Anthony, why can't we use them directly?"
"I don't know. Because they're too expensive?" Anthony said, saw Snape undisguisedly show an "you're about to get a T" expression.
"No. Because this one burns through the user's throat. This one makes people only able to eat toads that just ate Flobberworms. This one makes people burned by sunlight..." Snape said, paused dramatically. "And this one has no effect whatsoever. Just perfectly mimics unicorn blood in form."
"Wonderful," Anthony said.
"You didn't read Progress in Potion Simulation of Unicorn Blood Since the 16th Century at all, did you?" Snape said softly, ominously.
"Yes," Anthony said frankly. In fact, he'd even forgotten its title.
"Excellent, Anthony," Snape said. "Excellent."
"Look, Snape, you know I've only received one year of magical training. Also know I'm clueless about Potions," Anthony said, ignored Snape's "obviously" comment. "I don't understand why you think I need to participate in Potions research. I thought having you was enough. Even the Headmaster doesn't plan to participate in unicorn blood simulation. I don't think I can help with any production details."
"Because obviously you summoned your little pet. You also whimsically want to curse it, just to... what was that phrase? Ah yes, 'still have its company after term starts,'" Snape said, voice containing more fury than it should.
He slammed the cupboard shut. "You witnessed Quirrell's spellcasting process—though still knowing nothing. You proposed imitating that ritual. And our Headmaster, the great Dumbledore, for some unknown reason, thinks he should support your foolish decision."
"All right, I'm very sorry," Anthony said. "If you find this project very difficult, please tell me. Because I truly don't understand at all. I don't want it taking too much of your holiday time... I can try finding other methods."
Snape glared at him viciously a while, sat in the opposite chair, face very unpleasant.
"So?" Anthony prompted. "If you still want to discuss, can we skip the Potions section—by the way, I appreciate the effort you've put in, not sarcasm—move to curses and rituals? I saw you also sent materials about this. This probably means you have some details you want to discuss?"
Anthony and Snape argued over whether Quirrell said "I curse you with living blood" or "I curse you with living flesh and blood."
"'Flesh and blood' makes no sense," Snape said impatiently. "Blood and flesh are two completely different things. They can't be mentioned together."
"Of course they can. When cutting flesh, blood flows. When bleeding, flesh is damaged. They're things wrapped around bones. Very hard to separate," Anthony explained. "The clever Portia used this point to make 'cutting a pound of flesh' empty words."
"Listen, Anthony, blood and flesh aren't the same thing magically! Dragon blood has at least twelve uses. Dragon meat's greatest use is just pain relief. If you're truly as humble as you pretend, at least admit your ignorance. Go see others' research. Not that I expect you to actually know anything."
"That review you sent is full of errors. In my magic, they're one thing—flesh and blood both belong to life's domain. The part I can't recreate no matter how I try."
"That only means you tried the wrong direction," Snape mocked. "Try separating blood and flesh. Maybe you'll discover your constant failure isn't because of magic, but your brain."
Anthony shook his head. "You think I haven't tried? Flesh and blood are intertwined in the life-death domain. Quirrell couldn't have separated them. In fact, if he'd only said 'blood,' I'd even doubt whether this curse could succeed."
"Oh, who claimed to have only received one year of magical education, using that to defend their ignorance?" Snape said harshly. "Now become a curse master? You must think yourself extremely clever, Anthony?"
"That's a curse specifically targeting necromancers. For God's sake, who's the necromancer here, Snape!" Anthony said loudly, then sighed. "All right, can we stop this debate where neither side can be convinced, move to the next discussion point?"
Snape didn't answer. Expression somewhat strange. Anthony replayed it, realized what an inappropriate exclamation he'd just used. Couldn't help shaking his head, laughing.
"All right, for Death's sake, I'm that necromancer," he said. "Can we skip the debate? In fact, I don't know why I'm discussing this with you. I thought you only needed to simulate Quirrell's blood."
Snape narrowed his eyes, said smoothly: "I don't know if you noticed, but this curser needs to be a living person."
"Yeah," Anthony said, then suddenly realized Snape's meaning. "Wait, you can't be saying..."
"Also this person needs to know your... inglorious identity. I hope you understand, this means your range of choices isn't very large," Snape maintained his smooth tone, looked at Anthony coldly. "Quirrell, of course—you can definitely find him and persuade him to do it again. Dumbledore, too busy and noble. Minerva, oh my, I wonder why you keep hiding your Dark magic from her. The Ministry, tempting option. Besides that remains..."
Anthony heard himself say: "You."
"Reasonable logical reasoning, Anthony."
"I'm truly very sorry," Anthony said. "I didn't mean to cause you so much trouble. You know, this isn't your responsibility. It's mine. I'll find someone else. Forget the curse part, Snape. I'm grateful enough you'll help simulate Quirrell's blood."
Snape looked at him inscrutably a while, suddenly said: "Eight unicorn tail hairs."
"What?"
"Eight unicorn tail hairs," Snape repeated somewhat impatiently. "Plus that basilisk corpse. Then we're even."
"Oh, all right, I'll try." Wonder if Hagrid has a way. "Thank you."
Snape nodded roughly, reluctantly accepted his thanks.
They almost ate lunch directly in Snape's office. But Anthony coincidentally (or unfortunately) noticed the shelf by the wall. Rows of large glass jars on it, each soaking something disgusting.
"Either the Great Hall or the kitchens," Anthony insisted. "Or I'll come find you after lunch to discuss. Whatever you want. I want to eat in a warm, bright place."
So it was the kitchens.
Snape's face was as gloomy as the weather outside the castle. But Professor McGonagall happened to hear Snape was at school, came to discuss Roger Davies' final grade issue.
She welcomed Anthony in surprise, accepted his lunch invitation, approvingly thought the house-elves would be happy to see more people in the kitchens. When Professor McGonagall truly wanted to do something, she rarely failed.
"Caredi wants me to teach three years simultaneously," Anthony said, took a piece of apple pie for dessert.
As Snape pointed out, he tended not to remind Professor McGonagall he was a necromancer.
For some utterly irrational reason, he was a bit worried that being a Dark wizard would hurt her feelings. And Snape actually stopped trying to continue discussing "bones" and "skeletons'" connections and differences, turned to asking about Professor McGonagall's sixth-year course selection.
"Which three?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"I think she said third, fourth, and fifth years. But I'm a bit hesitant. Because fifth years... you know, they have exams."
"But if you don't plan to continue teaching fifth year, they'll have only received fourth-year Muggle Studies training from you," Professor McGonagall pointed out. "They were also Caredi's students in third year. I don't think changing professors too frequently is good for them."
"Won't be more frequent than Defense Against the Dark Arts," Anthony joked.
"Well, if you must compare with Defense Against the Dark Arts," Professor McGonagall said, allowed herself to relax slightly against the chair back.
"But you have a point, Minerva," Anthony said. "I'll think carefully... By the way, regardless of which years I teach specifically, textbooks won't change. I think Caredi doesn't plan to change textbooks either. So you don't need to worry about sending booklists for now."
Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows slightly. "Couldn't be better, Henry."
"What's wrong?" Anthony had learned this was her "I have some impolite complaints" tone.
"Gilderoy Lockhart, our possible future colleague..." She glanced over at the sound Snape made. "Not long ago wrote me a letter. Told me if he truly accepts our offer—as you may know, the offer hasn't been sent yet—he hopes to use his series of bestsellers as Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks. A whole set. Every year."
"Including Household Pests?" Anthony asked. "That seems to always be Flourish and Blotts' bestseller." And he knew Mrs. Weasley had a copy. Heard she wanted to buy a hardcover edition.
"No," Professor McGonagall said, elegantly wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Lockhart and Dangerous Creatures series."
"Pity. Pests sounds like the most potentially useful one," Snape commented coldly.
"I know that set. Really good reading," Anthony said fairly. "Exquisite illustrations. Highly entertaining text. All his personal experiences. If not for the whole set being possibly hard for some students to afford, it might become their favorite textbook."
"Exactly, Henry," Professor McGonagall said. "All seven years, complete sets... I can only hope if we do hire him, he can stay several years. Not make students buy so many books again."
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