Leaving Loch Lomond was a quick affair. Dumbledore and Anthony shared the last scrawny little fish, Nick rolled up the tent, Perenelle packed away the boat and fishing rods, doused the campfire with lake water, and stomped a few times on the soaked ashes before muttering incantations and circling them a few times.
With a very faint sound, Anthony saw something golden flash in the black ashes and vanish. Before he could hide his curious expression, Perenelle had already looked up. She smiled at him and explained, "Magic leaves traces."
Dumbledore said, "The Priori Incantatem can detect spells previously cast by a wand, magic near underage wizards triggers the Trace, and the Revealing Charm can detect and remove magic attempting to conceal an object's true nature…"
He gestured for Anthony to look at the barbecue grill, which was being magically folded and pocketed: "And powerful alchemical products, like Dark magical artifacts, emit an unmistakable aura under the right observation methods. Nick and Perenelle are very familiar with various ways to detect and conceal magical traces."
Nick said, "You make us sound like criminals." He was carefully wrapping a set of exquisite silverware around his arm. They clung softly, melting into dark silver patterns on his sleeve.
Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard Nick's complaint: "They are two famously elusive foxes."
"The foxes are going to visit your pet chicken, Henry," Nick said, finally standing by the lake and taking a deep breath. "Alright, let's go."
…
With a soft pop, the four of them appeared in the alley behind Anthony's address. A few birds squabbling nearby were startled and fluttered away.
"Ah, Muggles," Nick said, sniffing the air. "You live among Muggles?"
"Yes," Anthony said, leading them around to the front door. He lifted the mailbox flap and squinted inside. "GG bill, no letters. Excellent."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Anthony," someone greeted him from behind.
Anthony turned around to see Mrs. Jones holding a shopping bag, looking at him in surprise.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Jones," Anthony said.
Nick, Perenelle, and Dumbledore seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving Anthony alone in the garden with its withered, yellowed weeds.
"How come you're back?" Mrs. Jones asked, puzzled. "Did something happen?"
"No, nothing major," Anthony said. After a moment's thought, he added, "Kevin is settling in very well at school. I think he and his roommate have become good friends."
"Excellent. I expect I'll hear many interesting stories when Kevin comes back for Christmas," Mrs. Jones nodded at Anthony. "I don't mean to take up your time, Mr. Anthony, but I thought I should say hello."
"Of course. Then I wish you a pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Jones," Anthony said. "If there's anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to tell me."
"I will," Mrs. Jones said. Then she seemed to remember something, her expression hesitant.
Anthony asked, "What is it?"
"This is really silly…" Mrs. Jones said, slightly embarrassed, her face flushing a little. "Anyway, you know Professor Lockhart, right?"
…
After Mrs. Jones left, the other three wizards silently reappeared beside Anthony, like dew condensing from the air.
"Who is Lockhart?" Nick asked, puzzled, putting a translucent stone into his pocket. Perenelle was stroking a pure gold ring on her finger, while Dumbledore seemed to have merely lifted a Disillusionment Charm.
Anthony hesitated: "The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, a very famous adventurer and writer."
"Adventurer…" Nick mused. "Two hundred years have passed…"
Dumbledore smiled and reminded him, "Before you embark on another adventure, don't forget the chicken, Nick."
"Alright, alright," Nick sighed. "You're such a spoilsport, Albus."
Dumbledore walked through the door Anthony held open: "Forgive me, Nick. I'm merely a mortal with limited time."
With a click, Anthony turned on the electric light.
Dumbledore's gaze swept over the tidy sofa, clean tabletop, and empty windowsill. He nodded familiarly at the chicken, which had poked its head out at the noise, then looked back at Nick and Perenelle, letting out a surprised hum.
"What is it?" Perenelle asked.
"I am the most normal living being in this entire house," Dumbledore mused. "That's not very common."
Nick argued, "Perenelle and I are more normal living beings because we've lived… uh, many more years than you."
"Over five hundred years," Perenelle said.
The chicken and Anthony made eye contact. Anthony realized he couldn't tell which of them was the more normal dead thing.
…
Under the guidance of the more normal living beings, the most normal living being set up an entire alchemical apparatus.
Anthony's job was to provide them with plenty of carbonated drinks and snacks, and to sit with Nick and Perenelle, playing Monopoly with them.
"I swore I wouldn't participate in any more alchemical experiments," Nick said, using a GG flyer to block the golden light reflecting from Dumbledore's assembly of the apparatus, steadfastly staring at the board. "I hate accounting. It gives me a headache."
"Albus, better make the crossbar longer," Perenelle said. "The chicken is more… fluffy than we anticipated."
The chicken puffed out its chest, pacing beside them, occasionally hopping onto a chair or flying to the top of the refrigerator.
Dumbledore checked the blueprint and nodded: "No problem."
"You're about to go bankrupt, Nick," Perenelle said, looking at her card. "Give me fourteen hundred pounds."
"There must be some mistake…" Nick muttered, not very concerned, handing her the fake money.
Anthony hesitated but didn't point out that Nick only needed to pay eight hundred pounds. Perenelle smiled at him.
A little later, Nick was truly bankrupt.
Perenelle played with Anthony for a few minutes, seemed to grow bored, and while Nick wasn't looking, transferred all her cards to Anthony, declaring herself bankrupt too.
"Wait, Perenelle," Nick frowned. "Have you been making me overpay every time?"
Dumbledore called from across the room: "She has."
"I was wondering when you'd notice," Perenelle said with a smile. "You're the world's worst arithmetic apprentice, Nick, but also a genius alchemist."
Anthony walked over to Dumbledore, looking at the incredibly intricate, large golden apparatus: "Is there anything I can help with, sir?"
"Certainly," Dumbledore said seriously. "I'd love a Coke."
…
While the alchemical apparatus slowly heated up ("turning from white to red"), the four of them played another round of Monopoly. Nick complained while carefully calculating on paper.
Anthony privately suspected the other three could manipulate the dice, but he had no proof, so he kept landing on other people's properties.
He was the first to lose. The chicken flew onto his lap and settled down.
"Five times seven… have that chicken peck the apparatus, Henry," Nick said without looking up. "Then soak whatever falls off in water and make it drink it. Nine plus three…"
"Alright," Anthony said, picking up the chicken and standing by the apparatus. "Um… where should it peck?"
Nick said, "The apparatus. That golden thing on the table."
Perenelle said, "Anywhere on the apparatus. Let your pet choose a spot it wants to peck."
Anthony looked down at the chicken and placed it on the table. The chicken spread its wings and shook itself.
"You heard them, give it a peck," Anthony said. The chicken tilted its head, looked at him, then lowered its head and tapped the nearest spot with its beak.
A soft hum echoed in the room, followed by a click. A small, oval, pure white stone dropped out.
"Aha, five hundred twenty-five!" Nick said. "Give me five hundred twenty-five, Albus—has it drunk it yet?"
Anthony almost didn't realize Nick was talking to him.
"Not yet," he called out, filling a glass with tap water and dropping the stone in. "It's not dissolving, Mr. Flamel. Do I need to stir it?"
"Of course it won't dissolve," Flamel said matter-of-factly. "It's a stone, not sugar. Just give it the water."
"Uh… alright."
Anthony reached into the cupboard, took out a teacup, and poured the water into it.
"Have some tea, chick," he said, pushing the cup forward.
…
After forcing all the water down the chicken's throat, Nick finally turned around.
Dumbledore had also gone bankrupt and was assigned to dismantle the still-glowing apparatus ("Hurry up, Albus, don't let anyone see me standing with alchemical apparatus"), while Nick enthusiastically brandished a dinner knife against his wrist.
"Left arm, Mr. Flamel," Anthony reminded him.
"Oh, right, yes," Nick said.
Before Anthony could say "and not with a dinner knife," Nick had already cut himself—with the sharpest dinner knife Anthony had ever seen—splattering blood onto the tiles.
"I curse you with the flesh and blood of a living being," Nick recited cheerfully from a parchment. The blood on the floor immediately began boiling violently, emitting wisps of purple smoke. "I curse you with bones once awakened by necromancy," he said lightly, pointing at a piece of basilisk bone in front of him. "What's next… oh, witnessed by death, you are no longer connected to this land of the living!"
A dark yellow curse shot from his fingertip toward the chicken. Even though the curse's wording differed from Quirrell's, magic responded to him instantly.
The chicken stood still, letting the curse sink into its body.
From the perspective of necromancy, Anthony clearly felt something shake. Then, the connection between him and the chicken seemed to slowly strengthen.
"Oh, this is fascinating!" Nick said happily. "Like pulling weeds!"
Perhaps because he was conscious this time, or because the designed experiment was more precise, Anthony clearly sensed the changes in the chicken throughout the cursing process.
It was as if someone lifted a teapot and poured the relationship between the chicken and the entire house into Anthony's body.
"The land of the living" no longer sustained the chicken's existence, so Anthony—the chicken's summoner—became a new land, a land of death.
Deep in his mind, like a faint star lighting up in the night sky, he could also sense the chicken's emotions.
Through the connection, Anthony felt a tremor of joy and contentment, like the low clucking of a chicken finding food.
Anthony opened his eyes and felt a weight on his head. The chicken had flown up and was affectionately tugging at his hair.
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