Errol's return, hale and hearty, sent a wave of relief through the Burrow. Even Ron only muttered a brief complaint about the old owl's new diet ("Hermes and Hedwig never eat rats, you know"), before happily offering his finger for Errol to nibble.
Mrs. Weasley tried to pay for the medicine, but Anthony waved her off, suggesting it could cover his recent stay.
She seemed ready to argue. The fireplace erupted with green flames. Mr. Weasley was home.
"Evening, Molly. Evening, Henry," he said wearily, dusting soot from his robes. "What a day. Thank Merlin they knew I had to get the kids to King's Cross tomorrow… We finished checking all the surnames starting with 'L' today. The Malfoys are next…"
"That lot's trouble, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley fretted. "Don't go picking unnecessary fights."
"You think I'm scared of people like them?" Mr. Weasley straightened, indignant.
Errol landed on his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek. Mr. Weasley's expression instantly softened, Malfoys forgotten.
"Oh!" he said, delighted. "Errol's better?"
Anthony recounted the story again. The old owl. The potion. The tiny mouse.
"So, the one you met must be the shop owner?" Mr. Weasley asked with interest, changing into slippers and hanging his coat.
"Must be," Anthony said. "I saw him fire an employee, too."
"Fire someone?" Mrs. Weasley asked, concerned. "What happened?"
"Fellow named Roland Lawton, I think… He asked for leave three times and got sacked," Anthony recalled. He noticed Mr. Weasley frown.
"What's wrong?"
"Like I said, we just finished the 'L' surnames today." Mr. Weasley looked puzzled. "I don't recall any wizard family named Lawton."
"Maybe he's not British," Mrs. Weasley soothed, then called upstairs, "Dinner! We have treacle pudding!"
Cheers and thunderous footsteps. Red-haired children and one black-haired Harry Potter poured down the stairs. Fred and George reeked of gunpowder. Mrs. Weasley shot them a look.
"Dad, you're taking us tomorrow, right?" Ron asked, mouth crammed with beef pasty. Everyone was stuffed, scraping gravy from their plates with forks.
"Yes, that's right," Mr. Weasley said, reaching for a pasty himself. "All packed?"
His question was cut off. Mrs. Weasley produced an enormous white platter. The golden, gleaming pudding wobbled as she carried it. Anthony saw Harry rub his stomach, eyeing the dessert with a longing swallow.
The moment the platter touched the table, the kitchen exploded.
Not literally. But close.
A deafening BANG. Orange and green fireworks with long, shimmering tails shot up, swirling beneath the yellowed ceiling.
"FRED! GEORGE!" Ginny shrieked. She'd been staring, fork in mouth, and nearly swallowed it.
Fred and George laughed, directing the falling golden sparks to chase their mother, settling in her loose hair. Once everyone had a slice of pudding, the fireworks burst into purple stars, drifting down and vanishing just above the floor.
Curious, Anthony caught a tiny ember. It sizzled in his palm, spitting occasional gold sparks, perfectly harmless.
The ginger cat jumped through the window. It watched a drifting ember, tail twitching slowly.
"Over here," Anthony beckoned. "Ignore that."
The cat considered. It leaped gracefully over the clutter by the window, padded over, and jumped into Anthony's lap. It circled once on the narrow space, claws hooking his robes, then settled.
Anthony smiled down, scratched its chin, and pulled his hand back just as the cat snapped playfully at empty air. Annoyed, the cat propped itself up, peering over the table at the empty, gravy-stained plates and the tempting sheen of leftover pudding.
Ginny made a strange, choked sound. She was staring across the table at the cat, utterly enchanted. Mr. Weasley had warned Anthony—Ginny had always loved cats.
Anthony remembered Ron once scoffing that Ginny would get detention on her first day at Hogwarts for trying to pet Mrs. Norris.
"Or Professor McGonagall," Harry had added. Then both boys had fallen into a horrified silence.
It had been a peaceful afternoon. Anthony had peeked over his newspaper to see Ron and Harry frozen at their card game, pale-faced, clearly unable to handle that mental image.
…
After pudding, Percy helped clear the plates, piling them into the sink. A magical cloth jumped from its rack, drying each dish as they leaped out, wet and orderly, to clatter onto the counter.
Amid the clinking and the rush of the tap, Fred and George filled the kitchen with more Filibuster Fireworks.
Ron and Harry debated the Cannons' last season, calculating how many opponents they'd need to beat to advance. Percy tried to discuss career paths in Muggle Studies, but Mr. Weasley was already asking about the difference between doorbells and telephones.
Mrs. Weasley pushed past the twins. They were circling Ginny, urging her to ask for more dessert because "you'll need it tomorrow," and "everyone's starving after escaping the Sorting."
"They won't really hurt me, will they?" Ginny asked nervously, glancing at Anthony.
Anthony smiled. "Can't say. You'll find out tomorrow."
"Oh, you have no idea, little sister," Fred said, with a glance at their mother's back. "We're fourth years now. Still can't bear to watch the Sorting again."
"Thought we'd lost Ron last year—not that we'd mind," George added. "But we'd hate to lose you, Ginny."
Ginny looked to Ron for help. He and Harry were deep in conversation, completely oblivious. Ginny's eyes flicked to Harry beside Ron. Her face flushed.
"Shut up, Fred, George. Leave her alone," Percy said pompously. "You're scaring her."
Fred gasped dramatically.
"Apologies, oh exalted Prefect." He mimed tipping a hat. "We won't do it again. Right, George?"
"Since your lordship commands it…" George began.
"I'm not scared!" Ginny suddenly squeaked, eyes wide, voice trembling. "Ron told me how to fight a troll!"
Ron looked up from his debate about Cleansweep specifications. "Huh? What?"
…
They all woke early the next day. It didn't help. Toothbrushes to pack. Blankets to stuff into cases. Final inventory checks.
Fred and George "accidentally" left Errol's cage near Scabbers. Ron accused them of attempted murder. Mrs. Weasley snapped at them to be quiet; she was helping Ginny find her umbrella.
Percy sat on his trunk, trying to force a quilt inside. Harry was doing the same, face red with effort—Mrs. Weasley had given him a set of pillowcases and sheets, and he seemed determined not to leave them behind.
"Lockhart has seven books!" Ron moaned. "Does he know how much space that takes?"
His trunk clicked shut under Anthony's hand.
Anthony glanced at Harry. He was nearly done. Anthony turned, waving his wand to shrink the twins' textbooks and blankets.
By the time everyone was ready, the sun was high. They threw luggage—and two owl cages—into the boot, then piled into the car. Scabbers, the wraith mouse, and the ginger cat got the privilege of riding in the cabin.
Mr. Weasley started the engine. Anthony checked his watch. "Plenty of time, Arthur."
…
The journey was a comedy of errors.
Ten minutes in, the engine died. Mr. Weasley got out to check multiple times ("You said it flew perfectly the other day?"). He finally convinced Mrs. Weasley to try the invisibility booster ("Can't have Ginny late on her first day"). The car miraculously started on its own.
Just before the motorway, the tyres blew. Twice. Once because of a mysterious clump of wire. The second time, for no reason at all. Mrs. Weasley got out, shielding her wand with her handbag, and surreptitiously cast a Mending Charm.
Then, the bird droppings. Plop. Plop. Plop. Right on the windscreen, blocking Mr. Weasley's view. They became the only car on a sunny road with its wipers on.
Somehow, they still reached King's Cross by half past ten. Mr. Weasley found luggage trolleys. Anthony and Percy loaded them. Mrs. Weasley continued her handbag-shielded Levitation Charms.
Anthony had never taken the Hogwarts Express.
He followed the others at a jog. The train waited at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. They needed the right wall. They also needed to vanish into the crowd with plausible deniability. The latter usually took time.
"Percy first," Mrs. Weasley directed. "Arthur, you take Fred. Henry, watch George, please." She turned to Ron and Harry. "You two together, alright? I'll bring Ginny right behind you."
Anthony looked around. How could people not notice a group with large trunks, owls, and brooms, disappearing one by one through a wall?
If they just put out a hat and played an accordion, people would probably toss in coins and argue about how the trick was done.
"We could go together, Mum," said one of the twins.
"No," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. "Alright, Arthur, you're up."
A large crowd of tourists passed. They had to wait, watching the station clock, its second hand sweeping round and round.
Mr. Weasley leaned casually against the trolley, a man waiting for someone. As the crowd thinned, he suddenly stumbled, pushing the trolley forward. He grabbed one twin's sleeve as if off-balance. Then they vanished, trolley and all, into the brick.
"Your turn, Henry," Mrs. Weasley commanded. "Three, two, one, go!"
The other twin dashed through. But Anthony found he couldn't bring himself to do it. Something felt wrong. A hidden gaze. His unhelpful brain started reciting clauses from the Statute of Secrecy.
"Fine, I'll go first," Mrs. Weasley said. She took Ginny's hand and hurried through the wall.
Anthony took a breath. That feeling of being watched returned, stronger. He looked at Harry and Ron. They peered at him from behind the towering luggage.
"You two go ahead. Don't be late." Anthony checked the clock and stepped aside. "I'll follow."
He watched, helpless, as they walked straight into solid brick.
CRACK.
The impact was loud. People nearby turned to stare. Anthony stood beside two sprawled boys, looking like the most negligent adult alive.
Travelers stopped. Crowded around. Murmured. "What happened? Is that an owl?"
Harry and Ron scrambled up, righting the toppled trunk. Hedwig shrieked and flapped in her cage. Anthony apologized to the approaching guard, saying they were in a rush, had simply crashed into the wall.
"Which platform you headed for?" the guard asked, sympathetic. He waved the onlookers away. They kept glancing back at Hedwig.
"Platform Eight. Train to Edinburgh Waverley," Anthony said without thinking. It was the station for his botanic gardens trip; he'd memorized the routes.
The guard pointed. "That way then. Better hurry. Think the next train leaves in five minutes."
Anthony thanked him. He turned to see Ron and Harry frantically pushing and prodding the wall.
"Have I… turned into a Muggle, Professor?" Ron asked, voice hollow, staring at his hands. "Even a Squib should get through."
Anthony placed his hand flat on the bricks and pushed. Cold. Solid. Unyielding as any wall should be. Yet his cat still purred in his arms. The wraith mouse's faint presence still echoed in his mind.
"I think it's the station," Anthony said, checking the clock. "Five minutes. I worry the other side's sealed too, or Arthur and Molly would've come back for you."
Harry and Ron gritted their teeth, shoving the trolley at the wall again. Hedwig screeched in protest.
"Alright. Enough. It's fine," Anthony said lightly. He took the trolley handle. "We'll take another route. Floo Network or Apparition. Pick your favorite."
"Wh—what?"
Anthony steered the trolley, guiding two shell-shocked young wizards slowly away from the wall.
"Floo or Apparition," he repeated. "Don't worry. I am a professor. We have other ways to get to school. Or… I could write to the Headmaster. Ask him to send Fawkes for a pickup?"
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