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Wednesday morning. Anthony packed his bag, grabbed his suitcase, and stepped out the door. The Wraith Chicken poked its head out from behind the curtain, perched on the windowsill, and watched him leave.
Anthony waved. Already, he was looking forward to the Christmas break. Even though he was only a few dozen feet away, he already missed what lay behind that door: his old sofa, the familiar bed, the fridge plastered with to-do lists, the light that fizzed and crackled when first switched on, and the Wraith Chicken locked in its eternal squabble with the Skeleton Cat.
Since Nicolas Flamel didn't consider unicorn blood a priority for this… ambitious project, Dumbledore had proposed a few experiments they could try right away.
Flamel had provided enough alchemical supplies to sustain the Wraith Chicken through three or four attempted exorcisms — he might have guessed something, but he didn't pry, only warned Dumbledore to be careful — and Anthony had adjusted some of the experimental parameters from a Necromancy perspective.
Phase one would begin next Saturday.
If all went well, Anthony would likely return to school with the Wraith Chicken sometime after Christmas.
'However, should luck turn truly foul — a not-uncommon occurrence in my experience,' Dumbledore had written, 'we may find ourselves forced to retreat a step. We would reconsider the influence of unicorn blood and await Severus's findings; or retreat further still, beginning anew with persuading Cornelius to issue a warrant for Quirrell.'
And all of this had been decided last night. Phoenixes were incredibly useful pets.
After reluctantly accepting the Dittany leaves Anthony offered, Fawkes took his reply and vanished in a burst of flame. Anthony was still marvelling at his close encounter with a phoenix when Fawkes returned with Dumbledore's answer.
Anthony seriously considered using Fawkes as a magical comparison — and contrast — when teaching about fax machines. Fawkes, however, didn't seem to like the idea. When Anthony voiced it aloud, the phoenix nearly pecked him.
Under magical concealment, the suitcase holding the Skeleton Cat was feather-light. Anthony took a taxi to Charing Cross Road, downed a couple of drinks at the Leaky Cauldron — Tom refused to give him a discount but threw in a sour, rock-hard loaf of black bread — and entered Diagon Alley at the agreed-upon time, exchanging greetings with students who recognised him along the way.
He was meeting the Weasleys outside Gringotts; they were coming to buy school supplies. Anthony waited a while. No red-haired family appeared. Instead, he saw Hermione Granger approaching, leading two adults dressed in Muggle clothes.
The bushy-haired witch chattered away, pointing at shop fronts, occasionally smiling at classmates who greeted her.
"Professor Anthony!" Hermione called, bounding up the steps. She turned to the couple behind her. "Remember Professor McGonagall? Professor Anthony teaches at Hogwarts too — Professor, these are my parents. I told them all about the wizarding world when I got home, and they were so curious. I thought I'd bring them along to see Diagon Alley."
Mr. Granger shook Anthony's hand, a bit awkwardly. Mrs. Granger followed.
"What do you teach?" Mr. Granger asked, looking as if he expected Anthony to suddenly turn into a cat.
"Muggle Studies," Anthony said. He smiled and nodded at a few more students who said hello, catching snippets of their conversation about withdrawing extra money for some new trick at Zonko's.
"Muggle… Studies?" Mr. Granger repeated, glancing at his daughter.
Hermione explained, "It's the study of people without magic. It's an elective starting in third year, so it's not on my report card."
"But… forgive me, what's there to study?" Mr. Granger asked, baffled.
Hermione stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowd. "That's odd. Harry and Ron aren't here yet?"
"What a coincidence. I'm waiting for the Weasleys myself," Anthony said. "Is Mr. Potter coming too?"
"Oh, well, I think so," Hermione said, quickly changing the subject. "Professor, how difficult is Muggle Studies?"
Her tone held a faint unnaturalness, a clear attempt to hide something. Anthony exchanged an amused look with the Grangers.
"I don't think you need that class, Miss Granger," Anthony said. "For example, generally speaking, which is fastest: trains, cars, aeroplanes, or the Underground?"
"Aeroplanes," Hermione said without hesitation. "They don't deal with traffic congestion, they can fly direct routes, and their propulsion systems are generally more advanced."
"Less air resistance at altitude too, Hermione," Mrs. Granger added. "I imagine that helps."
Anthony smiled. "Exactly why I wouldn't recommend the class. My best students couldn't give a better answer than that."
"Hermione is always the best student," Mr. Granger said, pride unmistakable in his voice. His awkwardness was gone now, replaced by genuine curiosity. "But what is there to study about non-magical people? Isn't Hogwarts a school for teaching magic?"
Hermione's eyes kept darting to the crowded street. Suddenly, she lit up. "Harry!"
"Harry! Over here!" she shouted, skipping down the steps to meet him.
Harry looked a mess. Dust and grime covered his face and clothes. A huge crack split one lens of his glasses, surrounded by a spiderweb of smaller fractures. Hagrid loomed beside him, face thunderous. But when Hermione ran down and hugged Harry, Hagrid looked down at them, his expression softening.
"What happened to Mr. Potter?" Anthony asked Hagrid, casually repairing Harry's glasses with a tap of his wand.
"Blimey, Henry, didn't see you there… Good. Harry came out the wrong Floo. Ended up in Knockturn Alley. Saw a nasty crowd gatherin' and went to see what was up…" He looked down at Harry. "Who was you lookin' for again?"
"The Weasleys," Harry said.
"I believe they've arrived," Anthony said, raising a hand in a wave.
Several redheads emerged from the crowd, followed by Mr. Weasley. He was out of breath, his face clearing with relief at the sight of Harry. "Harry! We've been looking everywhere. Molly's frantic — oh, Henry, did you find him?"
"No, Hagrid did," Anthony said. "Hagrid ran into Potter in Knockturn…"
"Knockturn Alley!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed.
"Wicked," Ron said, sounding envious.
While Mr. Weasley (and a now-hurrying Mrs. Weasley) launched into warnings about how utterly not cool that place was, Anthony leaned closer to Hagrid and asked quietly, "Why were you in Knockturn?"
He hoped it wasn't because Hagrid felt his hut was too empty and wanted another 'interesting' pet. Acromantulas and dragons were enough.
Hagrid tried to whisper back, but his voice carried to everyone. "Needed a potion for gettin' rid of flesh-eating slugs. Cabbage patch is crawlin' with 'em…"
"I thought you had plenty of gardening potions," Anthony said, puzzled. "Pomona said she gave you all her extras."
"New problem this year," Hagrid mumbled. "Might've not cleaned up some dead rats proper… Went ter ask Professor Snape — he's back at the castle — but he was in a right foul mood. Said he weren't in charge of school produce preservation, told me ter buy some in Knockturn. Right, best be off. See you at Hogwarts!"
He pushed through the crowd ("Oi, watch the robes!"), his tall, broad frame disappearing towards the mouth of Knockturn Alley.
"Snape's just being difficult on purpose!" Ron said hotly, trailing his mother up the Gringotts steps.
Mr. Weasley was now deep in enthusiastic conversation with the Grangers. Judging by their expressions, they were beginning to understand the purpose of Muggle Studies.
"But he's a professor," Hermione said. "What does he gain if the school's cabbages get eaten by slugs?"
Harry guessed, "Maybe Snape doesn't like cabbage."
Anthony followed behind Percy, who was fussing with the shiny badge on his chest, ensuring it was perfectly positioned for maximum visibility.
Crossing the threshold, Percy nearly tripped on the polished marble floor. The twins caught him, grinning, and said something teasing. Anthony watched as Percy's face flushed, gradually matching the colour of his hair.
"How is that owl of yours?" Anthony suddenly remembered to ask.
Percy shook off his brothers' hands, brushing his robes. Fred — or George — answered, "Same as ever. Still refuses to eat anything but meat."
"Elon's on sirloin now."
"Because someone decreed we can't feed owl pellets made of dried rat."
"Even though it's the cheapest owl feed."
Mrs. Weasley turned her head. "And no one is putting dead rats in Ron's bed!"
"That was an accident," the Weasley twins told Anthony cheerfully. "We only meant to put one."
Ron, overhearing, flushed with anger. "Scabbers is my pet! Not owl feed!" He pulled the fat, grey rat from his pocket, carefully stroking its patchy fur. The goblin at the entrance wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"No one wants your pet," Fred said. "You're being paranoid. Elon is a strong, young owl, but he hasn't flown outside our room in over a month."
George added, "And even with steak, Elon prefers the lean cuts. Scabbers is so fat he's practically all grease. Elon wouldn't touch him."
"Only ickle Ronniekins thinks Scabbers is a treasure," Fred mocked. "Even after he bit you."
"Because your mad bird scared him!" Ron yelled. "You can have that lunatic bird as your brother!"
"They've been like this all holiday," Harry told Hermione matter-of-factly. "Don't worry — er, don't worry about Scabbers. Ron swore anyone who hurts it will have to step over his dead body."
Anthony cut in. "I heard your final grades were… interesting, Fred?"
Fred choked, erupting into a coughing fit. The nearby goblin shot another disapproving look at their noisy group.
"No, just a 'P' in Herbology," George said. "The rest were shockingly good."
"Thanks for the 'E', Professor," Fred gasped, recovering. "Almost as shocking as you using my first name."
"I can't call everyone 'Mr. Weasley'," Anthony said. "I was just curious if everyone knows about that incident with the Doxy eggs…"
"Professor! Professor Anthony!" Fred cried, glancing at his mother's retreating back. "If you could develop sudden amnesia, that would be a third shock."
"Alright, alright," Anthony relented.
The Weasleys and Harry headed deeper into Gringotts to their vault, while the Grangers stayed in the main hall to exchange Muggle money. The goblin behind the counter seemed to recognise Anthony as he led them over.
Anthony offered to handle the exchange — he knew the routine well — but the Grangers politely declined. They gazed at the goblin with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, gathered their courage, and approached cautiously.
"It's alright, Professor," Hermione said. "They're just very curious."
Anthony looked down, seeing only a mass of bushy hair.
"Professor Anthony," Hermione asked, looking up, "are you sure I shouldn't take Muggle Studies? Ron said his brother got twelve O.W.L.s, and that included Muggle Studies, right?"
"If it was twelve, then yes, it would have," Anthony said. "But — and I'm genuinely asking, not criticising — is achievement judged by the number of certificates?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, but I want to be the best. If I got twelve, I'd make sure every single one was 'Outstanding'."
"That's an ambitious goal. And judging by what other professors say about you, I believe you could do it, Miss Granger — if you decide that's truly what you want," Anthony affirmed. "I don't know if anyone in Hogwarts history has managed twelve 'Outstandings', but I can guarantee it would be a tremendous challenge."
As he spoke, he found himself wondering just how Ron's brother had managed a timetable for twelve O.W.L.s. From what he knew, the Hogwarts schedule was full of clashes. Some students had told him, regretfully, they'd have taken Muggle Studies too… if only it hadn't conflicted with another class.
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