In the end, Anthony brought them all back to his flat and borrowed Hedwig to send a letter to the school. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat on his sofa, looking around curiously. Anthony went into the bedroom to confirm the Wraith Chicken was dozing in his wardrobe, shut the door, and returned to his guests.
Ron was leaning over the windowsill, watching the plump garden gnome statue in the neighboring yard. The faded thing was grinning stupidly, a shovel hoisted on its shoulder. Creeping ivy had already crawled up its body and was about to poke into its nostrils. A snail inched slowly across its hat.
"The owners forgot to prune and water the roses," Harry said knowledgeably, leaning next to him.
"Do you have one of those… 'dropping heaters,' Henry?" Mr. Weasley asked enthusiastically. "Why did you seal up the fireplace?"
Because I occasionally found myself sleeping in it before I mastered the Scourgify Charm.
"No idea. Probably the previous tenant," Anthony lied, opening the fridge. "Um… want some frozen pizza?"
…
Professor McGonagall knocked on the door while they were playing Monopoly.
Mrs. Weasley was nearly bankrupt, always landing on Mr. Weasley's properties. Everyone had a glass of orange juice or cola. A bowl of gummy bears and some chocolate oat biscuits sat nearby. Ron held up an empty crisp packet, peering inside desperately.
Professor McGonagall gave a sharp nod to Anthony as he opened the door and strode in, her face stern. "Potter, Weasley—"
Three Weasleys looked up at her simultaneously. Mr. Weasley was struggling to chew five small green gummy bears because Anthony had told him each color tasted different.
He swallowed them all with a loud gulp. Anthony felt his own throat seize up in sympathy.
"Professor Dumbledore received your letter," Professor McGonagall continued, utterly composed. "He is unfortunately indisposed, so he sent me to assess the situation. We are unclear why you could not access the platform, but I am pleased you thought to contact a professor…"
"Like we had a choice," Ron muttered under his breath to Harry. "She was right behind us. What were we supposed to do? Hop on your Nimbus 2000 and chase the train all the way back?"
Harry's expression suggested he thought that sounded pretty cool.
Professor McGonagall shot them a look. Both Ron and Harry immediately put on their best innocent faces.
"In any case," Professor McGonagall's gaze swept over the crisps, fizzy drinks, and game board. Mrs. Weasley flushed slightly. "It appears you have come to no harm. We are applying for an emergency Portkey authorization. If it is not granted…" She glanced at Anthony.
Anthony took the cue. "I'll contact Honeydukes, borrow their fireplace, and travel via the Floo Network from The Leaky Cauldron."
Professor McGonagall gave a satisfied nod, declined offers of orange juice and the sofa, gave the Monopoly board one last glance, and left.
…
Fortunately, the Portkey authorization came through quickly. Professor Flitwick appeared at the door and turned a teapot into a Portkey.
Mrs. Weasley gave Ron and Harry one last hug, promising to send Christmas presents. Before they left, they helped Anthony tidy the kitchen; Mr. Weasley pocketed three packets of gummy bears. Then Anthony, Harry, Ron, and Professor Flitwick placed their hands on the teapot. The three of them carried their trunks. The ginger cat dug its claws firmly into Anthony's shoulder. Professor Flitwick held the empty birdcage and tucked Harry's broomstick under his arm.
"Three… two… one…" Professor Flitwick squeaked.
An invisible hook yanked hard behind Anthony's navel. The world spun. It wasn't like Apparition. His fingers were glued to the teapot, dragged along by it. The solid kitchen tiles vanished. Wind roared in his ears. The cat's claws bit deep into his shoulder. The Wraith Mouse pressed desperately against him.
The next moment, he was on solid ground again. He was in the staff room at Hogwarts. He saw the familiar tea service cabinet, but the teapot wasn't on the hearth. The professors were probably preparing for the Welcome Feast.
He stumbled sideways a few steps, steadying himself against a chair back. The cat jumped onto the table and began grooming itself.
The two second-year Gryffindors were already on the floor. Luggage toppled over. Ron clutched at Harry's robes, looking dizzy and pale. Harry's trunk had landed on Ron, and Scabbers let out a shrill squeak.
Anthony and Professor Flitwick hurried to help them up, but someone else was faster.
"Oh, good afternoon!" Gilderoy Lockhart beamed, gripping Harry's arm. "My word, Harry! I never expected to see you here, and certainly not dressed so… creatively for school. But I suppose once one gains a certain fame, one feels entitled to special privileges…"
Ron lay on the floor, hand in his pocket, staring up at Lockhart in shock. Scabbers waited a moment, gave up on his owner, and scurried out along Ron's finger.
"Good afternoon, Gilderoy," Professor Flitwick said. "Mr. Potter ran into some trouble—shouldn't you be preparing your start-of-term speech?"
He practically wrenched Harry from Lockhart's grasp. Harry rubbed his arm, looking profoundly relieved.
Lockhart launched into a monologue about how he always spoke extemporaneously. Anthony seized the opportunity to quickly usher the boys out of the staff room.
"With the way Lockhart was holding you," Ron said, "he nearly had you mounted on his forehead for the feast. Besides Mum and Ginny, loads of people would pay to see that. Big news."
"They might as well kill me," Harry said flatly. "That'd be news too."
Anthony tied their trunks together and levitated the bundle behind them. They'd arrived before the Hogwarts Express, so the castle was empty of students. In the Great Hall, the house tables were decorated. Unlit candles floated in mid-air. The enchanted ceiling showed a perfect, cloudless blue sky.
"That's Hagrid!" Ron pointed out the window. Hagrid was busy in the vegetable patch. Fang lay panting beside him.
Harry brightened, waving from inside. But Hagrid was focused on mixing powders into fertilizer and didn't see them.
It wasn't until they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower that they remembered a problem. They didn't know the new password.
"Let us in," Harry and Ron pleaded with the portrait of the Fat Lady. "The prefects haven't told us the password yet."
"Oh, I'd love to help, dears, but I can't," the Fat Lady said, covering a yawn.
"Fizzing Whizzbee." Professor McGonagall's voice came from behind them. "I was looking for you, Henry. You two, inside. Don't miss the Sorting." She pursed her lips, eyeing Ron's rumpled t-shirt. "Change into your robes."
The Fat Lady swung open. Harry and Ron scrambled through the portrait hole with their luggage.
…
Professor McGonagall walked with him slowly down the stairs. She told him Professor Burbage wished to focus more energy on the Muggle Protection Act and asked if he'd be willing to take on teaching an additional year group alongside the fourth and fifth years he already taught.
"Which year?" Anthony asked.
He knew the Muggle Protection Act was facing strong opposition recently (Mr. Weasley insisted this meant the other side was scared), and he could imagine Professor Burbage would be busy all year. From her brief, rushed letters, she was pushing to become a special advisor to the Wizengamot, hoping to ensure the Act's proper enforcement. She likely wasn't even at the school right now.
"She thought you handled the third years well last term…" Professor McGonagall said.
Anthony thought about it. "Alright. But the timetable will need adjusting. I think my classes overlapped with Charity's."
"Yes, they did," Professor McGonagall said with a slight sigh. "If only professors could use Time-Turners too…"
"Time-Turners?"
"Oh, a device controlled by the Ministry. It reverses time," Professor McGonagall said. "We apply for them for exemplary students so they can take multiple overlapping classes."
Anthony stopped walking. He stared at her. "What?"
"Well, our schedules often clash. It's difficult for students to take all the subjects they wish…" Professor McGonagall said offhandedly, glancing towards the main doors. "Someone needs to remind Hagrid to collect the first years from the station."
She strode out through the castle doors. Anthony had to hurry after her. "There's a magical device that reverses time?"
"I believe so, though I've never used one myself," Professor McGonagall said, her green silk robes rustling in the sunlight. "The Department of Mysteries produces them. They wouldn't permit a professor to use one… No, I don't know why either, Henry."
Anthony clarified, "But students use them. To take many classes at once. By turning back time."
"Yes." Professor McGonagall looked at him, a slight frown forming. "Why are you making that face, Henry?"
Anthony said hesitantly, "Hm… possibly because I have a Muggle brain, and it's currently screaming on repeat, 'Why isn't time linear?' and 'How is this any different from using Rama as a taxi?'"
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.
"Oh, Minerva. You witch-brain," Anthony sighed.
"Is that a Muggle insult towards witches?" Professor McGonagall asked with interest. "Should I throw down my glove and challenge you to a duel? Hagrid, just a reminder. You need to collect the students from the station."
Hagrid slapped his forehead, leaving a massive muddy handprint. Anthony privately hoped it wasn't dragon dung.
"Afternoon, Hagrid," Anthony said. "And no, it's not an insult, Minerva."
"Blimey, I almost forgot!" Hagrid boomed. "What's the time? I need to hurry… Fang! Thank you, Professor McGonagall!"
They watched Hagrid stride towards the Black Lake, bend down, and wash his hands. The giant squid scooped water with a tentacle and splashed him.
…
Before the Sorting began, the Great Hall buzzed with conversation. Night had fallen. Thousands of candles burned in mid-air, mingling with the starry sky enchanted on the ceiling. Returning students sat at their house tables, smiling, sharing stories of their holidays.
Anthony regretted his seat choice almost immediately.
Now he knew why this spot was empty: Lockhart sat to his right, Professor Trelawney to his left.
Lockhart was describing some snow lotus flower he'd found during a mountain adventure to Professor Sprout.
"I wouldn't dream of taking credit, of course, but when I left that peak, it was practically carpeted in snow lotuses… I was recently told the locals consider it a sacred site now… A few humble fertilizer blends I concocted might have played a small part…"
"Oh, really, Gilderoy?" Professor Sprout said. Anthony detected a hint of impatience in her tone for the first time. Lockhart remained oblivious, still holding forth.
Professor Trelawney gazed down at the students below, muttering about "tragedy," "doom," and "pride before a fall."
"And what do you teach, may I ask?" Lockhart suddenly turned to Anthony, teeth gleaming.
Anthony glanced warily at Professor Sprout. She was sipping pumpkin juice, giving him a look of sympathy and helplessness.
"Henry Anthony. Muggle Studies."
"Ah, Muggle Studies!" Lockhart said loudly. "Gilderoy Lockhart—I bet you already knew that—Defence Against the Dark Arts. That, too, I'm sure you knew. Such a burden, fame. Sometimes people know all about me before I've even introduced myself… But I understand. It's the love of my readers, really."
"Mm."
"Do you enjoy reading, Professor Anthony?" Lockhart asked warmly. "I've always maintained one can learn more from books than from experience at times. After all, reading Wanderings with Werewolves takes but a few hours—though many tell me they reread it constantly, so of course it takes longer—but how many have the time or ability to live with werewolves for years?"
Someone behind them let out a derisive snort. Anthony and Lockhart both turned. Professor Snape was walking past them towards the empty seat to Dumbledore's right, a cold smirk on his face.
"Aha! Professor Snape!" Lockhart said, beaming. He clearly knew about Snape's persistent interest in the Defence post. "I know, I know. You're thinking, 'Why would a celebrated adventurer like Lockhart come to Hogwarts to teach Defence?' Tsk, tsk. Don't think me so shallow. I firmly believe—"
"Good evening, Professor Lockhart," Snape said, cutting him off. "Good evening, Professor Anthony."
Anthony didn't acknowledge Snape. Professor Sprout looked at him, startled. Snape turned and walked away without another word.
Lockhart winked conspiratorially at Anthony. "You needn't do that on my account, Professor Anthony. I'm not offended—if I got angry at everyone jealous of me, I'd have no time to live my own life. No, I'm not that foolish, am I? But that does mean you've read my books, haven't you?"
Anthony had to admit it. "I have, but—"
"Excellent!" Lockhart's smile grew even brighter. "I knew it! Then I needn't repeat what I wrote in chapter twelve of Wanderings with Werewolves: the perfect birthday gift is harmony between magical and non-magical folk!
"Don't take offense, Professor Anthony, but I consider myself a bit of an expert in Muggle Studies as well. Though, as I said in an interview two years ago, I deliberately use the term 'non-magical people,' not 'Muggles.' It's a matter of attitude. What do you think, Professor Anthony? Oh, may I call you Henry?"
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