Most students still had exams. They weren't savoring Hogwarts' lavish breakfast.
Low murmurs filled the Great Hall. Students yawned, eyes closed, shoving potato chunks into their mouths. Others muttered course notes while absently stirring porridge.
"'Bringing Hogwarts in the right direction'..." Anthony read aloud. "Well then." He speared his roasted mushrooms into a neat row. Added extra black pepper.
Professor Burbage glanced at Sprout's newspaper. "Same thing last year. I take it you also refused our dear Minister, Henry?"
"Did he invite everyone?" Anthony asked, surprised.
"Pretty much." Professor Sprout said. "Though I think he only lost his temper with Charity."
"As if he could actually block me from the Muggle Liaison Committee." The Muggle Studies expert with the very long title—Professor Charity Burbage—slathered butter on her bread. Took a solid bite.
Sprout looked worried. "I think he actually could, Charity. He is the Minister, after all."
Burbage said breezily, "Then we'll get a new Minister." She burst out laughing at Sprout's expression. Choked. Gulped pumpkin juice, coughing. "I'm joking."
Her violent coughing startled a student reading Unfogging the Future over breakfast. Stopped her from bringing bacon to her nose.
"Who would you replace him with?" Anthony asked. "Um... does the magical world have red-blue politics?"
"What? No." Burbage said. "I really was joking. Think about it—next in line would probably be Madam Umbridge. God, I literally cannot imagine her not being Senior Undersecretary."
"She could come teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts." Professor Flitwick stood on tiptoe in his chair, trying to scoop marmalade. He'd caught their conversation. Joked, "I mean, there's a vacancy. The Ministry could bring much-needed reform and all that."
"No. Impossible." Sprout passed him the last of the jam. "Minerva says we've already contacted several Defense masters. They've all shown interest. Apparently Albus even reached out to Ilvermorny's headmaster. Looking for professors there."
"That sounds promising." Burbage said. "By the way, has the Stone been removed from the school?"
"It has." Flitwick said, scraping his little silver spoon against the glass jar with a clink. "I think only Albus knows where it went."
"If I were Nicolas Flamel, I'd make fifty identical fake stones." Burbage said. "Lock them all in Gringotts. Maximum security for each one. Let thieves and robbers face furious goblins over useless rocks."
Flitwick said thoughtfully, "I imagine you'd have trouble forging the Stone. At least—people would easily discover it can't make gold. Though if someone chose to test the Elixir of Life, that might take considerable time... I mean, a lifetime."
After breakfast, Anthony returned to his office. He'd stayed up grading all the exams last night. Left the grade tallying for this morning.
Even though he'd braced himself while grading, Anthony still double-checked everything carefully. Made sure he hadn't mistaken any "O" for a zero. Fourth-years had about an 80% pass rate—passing, not excellent. Third-years were 86%. Slight variations between classes.
But recording grades in his lesson plan, Anthony noticed students who'd joined the practical activities averaged higher scores.
Anthony thought back carefully. Made sure he hadn't taught extra material during those outings. Like he'd told students—his goal was just taking them to the Muggle world for fun. At most, letting them practice interacting with Muggles without scaring people. In other words: acting normal.
He pulled out student papers. Cross-checked one by one. Students who'd received three pounds pocket money from him generally knew pence-to-pound conversions better. Those seriously considering pet adoption were especially familiar with various Muggle gadgets.
"Muggles can cook fully utilizing various tools they've invented without magic," Megan wrote. "Additionally, their stoves typically use gas, ovens typically use electricity, rather than wood fires. For a cat, teaching it not to try climbing into ovens or onto stovetops is important. For owners, ensuring pets aren't in danger before using such tools is crucial. Unattended stoves or ovens are dangerous for Muggles (and their cats)."
She'd even written about tinned food: "When Muggles need long-term food storage or quick, no-cook meals, they might choose tins. Depending on design, Muggle tins have different opening methods, but those requiring can openers deserve special attention. Their can openers aren't the automatic ones in magical kitchens—they're manual."
After tinned food, she continued enthusiastically: "Tin lids require careful handling as they can cause cuts. Tinned pet food is also very common, so cat-owning households typically prepare special bowls for their cats, pouring the tinned food in rather than letting them eat directly from the tin." She'd added a small note in brackets: "(Professor Anthony, can Muggle cats eat magical cat food? Do magical cats also eat tinned food? I've never heard of a Kneazle cutting its tongue.)"
Other students had clearly spent too much time on Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"The Muggle-Repelling Charm is a wizard's modification of the Stunning Spell. It's relatively gentle, making approaching Muggles feel they have unfinished business, causing them to leave." A large ink blot here proved this student had wracked his brain trying to write more Muggle-related content.
Finally, he'd added a short essay: "I don't know if Muggles would find this spell truly gentle. I wouldn't want someone putting extra unfinished tasks in my head. Even if I really did have unfinished tasks, I wouldn't want to be reminded while going somewhere."
"And I don't understand—suppose a Muggle is in crisis. How would he run somewhere, then suddenly remember he should buy dinner for the day after tomorrow? He couldn't possibly think 'There's a wolf behind me, looks like a castle ahead, but whatever I need to buy kale first.'"
Anthony stared at this student's crossed-out "P.S." Made out: "P.S., kale really tastes terrible."
He hesitated. Changed the failing grade he'd initially given this answer to passing. At least this student showed strong empathy for Muggles. And his question was genuinely interesting.
Besides, kale really wasn't good.
After tallying grades, Anthony leaned back in his chair. Rested. For him, the first school year's teaching officially ended now. He held up his lesson plan. Looked at it against the sunlight through the window.
At the year's start, it had been a brand-new notebook. Neat, clean, empty. Now it was filled with his lesson notes.
The front had the course schedule. Later notes included pages recording student questions. The pages with worn corners from frequent flipping were his organized third and fourth-year Muggle Studies knowledge points. Messy handwriting sections were discussions with Burbage. Parts full of tables logged student adoption intentions and various assessment grades.
Shake it, and from between pages would fall letters from parents, drafted application forms and documents, reading lists from colleagues, student notes, Hagrid's dragon-book borrowing slip—Anthony pulled out the borrowing list. Put it in the back of his drawer.
"I think I'm doing okay as a professor." Anthony told the cat. "Maybe not as comfortable as being a cashier, but at least I tried."
The cat gave him a haughty look. Leaped onto the cat tree's highest platform. Looked down at him. It had managed to stack a case of white wine up there. Anthony always felt someday twelve bottles would crash onto his head.
"I miss the wraith chicken." Anthony looked up at the cat tree. "It would definitely push all your wine down. Then you'd understand why cat trees aren't called storage racks."
The cat lay on its white wine territory. Lazily swished its tail. Eyes narrowed. Gave a soft meow.
Anthony reached out. "Come here, good kitty."
But the cat just watched him briefly. Then turned away, uninterested. Anthony called it a few more times. No response. He let it be.
"Fine. Stay there. I'm going for a walk." He stood, pulling on his robes. "I have a feeling my afternoon will be busy... next few days too."
Putting his wand in his robe pocket, he pulled out the wraith mouse. The mouse was napping. Suddenly poked awake by his wand.
"Want a walk?" Anthony asked the mouse.
The mouse jumped from his hand to the desk. Found a small corner between the pen holder and teacup. Went back to sleep.
The Black Lake's surface glittered gold under the sun. Almost blinding. A few students who'd finished all their exams lay on the lawn. Enjoying the breeze in tree shade. Some reviewed knowledge outdoors in Q&A format. But most were still in the castle library or common rooms, clutching textbooks. Various insects buzzed around flowers and grass. Students waved them away impatiently.
Anthony walked along the lakeshore. Thinking about some not-so-warm-and-bright things in the sunshine.
He'd recently discovered his necromancy was in a strange state. For whatever reason, it seemed suddenly less hungry for souls.
Anthony guessed maybe it was because the basilisk really was an enormous soul. Or because Voldemort's soul was truly revolting. He wasn't sure which guess was closer to truth. Couldn't even say which he hoped was true.
Another thing: he'd found after the wraith mouse's connection with him strengthened, it could leave Hogwarts' boundaries. He'd discussed this with Dumbledore. But even the Headmaster could only speculate about a fog of magic.
Dumbledore thought Quirrell's unfinished curse had changed something in the wraith mouse. Though it might just be because the mouse had wanted to protect Anthony.
"The determination to protect someone... if resolute enough, might create miracles. Love." When Dumbledore said "love," he was as serious as if they weren't discussing a dead mouse. He sighed softly. "I think Voldemort might not have figured this out even now."
Anthony asked, puzzled, "Love let the mouse leave Hogwarts' boundary restrictions? But whether it could leave restrictions had no effect on that curse. That doesn't quite track."
Dumbledore smiled. "Then it's because Quirrell very coincidentally chose his curse." He repeated: "'Banish you from this land belonging to the living.' Your mouse was banished, Henry. But it exists in this world relying on you. It's your summoned creature... I remember you saying wraiths can't truly die?"
"Right. Because wraiths never truly lived." Anthony said. "My mouse isn't any mouse's shadow. My chicken isn't any chicken's reflection. They're all—like I said before—collections of wishes."
"I doubt Quirrell had any way to banish a wish. Even if it's just the wishes of the castle's mice." Dumbledore said. "You know, generations of headmasters and caretakers have made great efforts trying to expel Peeves. They all failed miserably."
Several headmaster portraits on the wall pretending to sleep suddenly started coughing loudly. As if Dumbledore had just swept feather dusters up their nostrils.
Dumbledore introduced cheerfully, "This is Professor Eupraxia Mole. She tried locking Peeves under a bell jar. The result was Peeves gained the right to swim in the boys' bathroom. I got quite a fright going to bathe."
Under the cloudless azure sky, the rippling lake surface glittered with unrealistically warm light. Anthony encountered several students who greeted him. Some chatted briefly. Others just smiled and nodded.
He saw one failing student also by the shore. Sitting on the grounds enthusiastically playing Gobstones with friends. So Anthony decided not to tell him his specific grade yet. Though come to think of it—if a student turned in a paper half-blank, what grade could he expect?
Looking for the Giant Squid, Anthony even thought he saw Myrtle.
No—unless merpeople were creatures that looked like Myrtle, or Myrtle had a twin ghost sister, that was Myrtle. She poked her milky-white ghost head above the lake surface. Half her spectacles visible, looking resentfully at students relaxing in sunshine. A school of small blue fish passed through her neck and chest.
She saw Anthony. Made a soft "Oh." Seemed unsure what to do. They didn't usually meet outside bathrooms.
"Hello, Myrtle." Anthony crouched down.
Myrtle's face rose from the water. Said sullenly, "Hello, Professor Anthony."
"Did you used to like coming to the Black Lake?" Anthony asked. First time he'd seen a ghost outside the castle.
Myrtle said, "No. Just after becoming a ghost, I come to the Black Lake at midnight to clear my head... You know, Professor Anthony, there aren't those annoying students here..."
Anthony said, "I mean, how did you get here?" Then he suddenly remembered Myrtle seemed to have mentioned she could appear in all of Hogwarts' bathrooms through pipes. "Wait, this connects to your bathroom?"
"Yes, yes." Myrtle shrieked. Tears began rolling from her eyes behind thick lenses again. "I had no choice. Someone flushed me down. Those people never care if there's a ghost inside before flushing toilets! Of course, I'm the least—least important ghost! Flush Myrtle down, good riddance!"
Her tears rolled into the Black Lake. Made no ripples. Anthony tried comforting her. But he really had no experience being flushed down toilets into sewers and school lakes.
The Giant Squid lazily swam over. Waved its tentacles. Confused, poked Myrtle. Passed straight through her body.
Both Myrtle and the Giant Squid startled.
"Get away!" Myrtle shouted angrily at the Giant Squid. The squid flinched. Circled around the milky-white translucent ghost.
While Myrtle forgot she was crying, Anthony quickly changed the subject. "I haven't seen much of you lately."
"You haven't come to my bathroom, Professor." Myrtle said sadly. "Nick organized a party there. I wanted to invite you and Professor Quirrell—since you're our neighbors—but Peeves tore up our prepared invitations. Preparing invitations as a ghost is very difficult!"
Anthony asked with interest, "You had a party? What kind?"
"A Shroud and Winding Sheet party. We all pretended we'd just died and were about to be thrown into sewers by the living. All that moaning, wailing, crying... Oh..." Myrtle said nostalgically. "It was wonderful. I keep telling Nick he should do it again. But his mind's completely on that Headless Hunt thing now."
"Headless Hunt?"
"A bunch of ghosts playing head juggling on horseback and such. Ever since Nick heard about them at the party, he's been obsessed with joining. He wants to do something memorable before his five-hundredth deathday..." Myrtle said, picking at her chin. "I think flushing his head into the Black Lake would be very memorable too. Don't you think, Professor?"
"Um... maybe." Anthony said.
Myrtle asked, "By the way, where's Professor Quirrell?"
"He left." Anthony said. "Didn't the other ghosts tell you? He's no longer a Hogwarts professor... Oh, I don't know if he waited for his paycheck. He really should have waited until year-end before dealing with his own business."
Myrtle said wistfully, "Yes, the living always come and go. While I'm already dead... No job, no paycheck, no business of my own... Not even a moment to think for myself without interruption..." Tears began pooling in her eyes again. She looked gloomily at the sun-baked lawn. Then at students walking over in conversation. Sank herself into the lake.
Anthony waited worriedly by the lake a while—meanwhile feeding dry bread to the Giant Squid—but Myrtle never resurfaced. She'd probably gone back to her bathroom through the pipes. Hogwarts' drainage system really was quite primitive. Under these circumstances, Anthony didn't know if he'd want to be a merperson living in the Black Lake.
As he'd predicted, his afternoon was very busy. Leaving the dining table, he heard several footsteps immediately follow. His students were trying hard to pretend they'd also just finished lunch. Coincidentally taking the same route as the professor. Also coincidentally wanting to visit the professor's office about pet adoption.
Anthony opened the door. Said with amusement, "You first, Mr. Roberts."
"Yes, Professor Anthony!" Roberts said cheerfully. Elbowed his friend smugly.
"Then you. I remember you wanted to adopt a dog?" Anthony called to his friend. Quickly found several forms from his drawer. "Here are Hogwarts' pet regulations—we mentioned them before. Dogs might only be kept at your own home. This is the health report Ms. Howard provided. She'll spend this week and next processing our applications—if she conducts your phone interview, remember to thank her. Look over the materials first. Alright, Roberts, come in."
The wraith mouse had gone to some corner again. But the ginger cat was still atop its wine case. It looked coldly at Anthony and the entering student for a while. Turned its head aside. Lay back down. The student glanced at it a few times. Wisely didn't try disturbing it.
"Please sit, Mr. Roberts." Anthony shuffled through materials. "Let's see... a black cat. No previous pets at home. Father's a Curse-Breaker, mother's a Healer. Right?"
"Right, Professor." Roberts said. Craned his neck looking at photos of the black cat that wasn't his yet. "Oh, little darling."
"Ms. Howard's suggested phone interview time is... this Friday. Have you finished your exams?"
"No. Still have Arithmancy." Roberts said. His smile faded slightly. "But by Friday there won't be exams."
"Then I'll confirm the interview time with Ms. Howard." Anthony said, making notes. "Since it's a phone interview, I'll Side-Along Apparate you outside Hogwarts to use the phone. I rented a small room at the inn there—don't worry, I got my Apparition license. I promise not to lose any of your parts."
"Okay, Professor." Roberts said. Still looked somewhat uncertain.
"You can also take the train." Anthony said. "There's a small town about forty minutes' walk away. Five-minute train ride from there to the inn—here's the inn's name and address." He pushed the parchment over.
Roberts said, "No problem. Let's Apparate, Professor. I haven't experienced it yet!" He'd started shaking his head frantically after hearing "forty minutes' walk."
"Then it's settled." Anthony said. "Now let's do some simple preparation... For instance, have you kept cats before?"
"No, Professor. You know, our cats are too expensive." Roberts said naturally.
"Then how are you sure you can care for this cat properly?" Anthony smiled, shook his head. Indicated this was a mock interview. "Just want to make sure. For example, if the cat gets sick, what would you do?"
Roberts started rolling his eyes upward frantically. Trying to recall the materials.
He recited: "I would immediately contact my veterinarian and accurately describe the symptoms. I would follow the vet's advice and schedule appropriate treatment time for my cat... Um, if the condition is mild and doesn't require immediate veterinary treatment, I would closely monitor the cat's condition and provide necessary home remedies or treatment methods according to the vet's advice."
"I would ensure the cat's comfort, isolate it if necessary, provide a quiet, stress-free environment for rest and recovery... Strictly follow the vet's instructions for medication or treatment, and closely observe changes or improvements in the cat's health." He stopped. Took a big breath. "If the situation worsens or the cat's condition doesn't improve, I would not hesitate to seek further veterinary help, or consider hospitalization if the vet recommends it."
Anthony waited until he finished. Then pushed over a glass of lemonade. "Take a break, Mr. Roberts. You prepared very seriously."
Roberts took the glass. Said somewhat embarrassed, "I memorized it several times. I really want Isabella."
"You've already decided on a name?" Anthony smiled. "Very good. I can foresee how Isabella will stand on your shoulder. However, those materials are just aids. You can speak honestly based on your real situation. Think about it, Mr. Roberts. Why do you think you can care for a cat properly? Or even—how are you sure you're not allergic to cats?"
"My roommate has a cat." Roberts said. "Our dorm already has two cats. They fight on my pillow every day. Sometimes claw out all the feathers. But I can grab them both and scold them. Neither scratches me. I think I'm very suitable for keeping cats."
"How are you sure your Isabella won't be bullied by the other two cats? Or might she attack other cats, causing injuries?" Anthony said. "You must understand—when the rescue gives you a cat, they don't expect you to train it as a slave or warrior. Cats don't necessarily like living with other cats." And some cats don't even like living with living things.
"But that's how magical cats are!" Roberts said. "We put cats in baskets. If they fight, we each hold our own cats and leave. If injured, we feed them a little potion. Plus Isabella is a strong, beautiful cat. She likes humans very much. I can't imagine her being bullied. Besides, I've already made a box for her by my bed. Those two cats can't get in."
"She likes humans very much?" Anthony said. Looked down at the black cat materials Ms. Howard had sent. "Oh yes. 'Extremely needs companionship' 'Intelligent and gentle'... The box is a good idea, Mr. Roberts. You can mention you've already prepared a safe, independent space for the cat in the environment. Show you're prepared to introduce this new companion into your residence under controlled, supervised conditions. Ensure all cats can gradually get to know each other in a safe environment."
"Okay, Professor." Roberts said. Muttered phrases like "safe independent space" and "get to know each other under controlled conditions."
Anthony reassured him. "It's fine. This just proves you've thought about possible challenges and prepared to handle them. A positive attitude and proactive attempts are very important, Mr. Roberts."
"But one box isn't nearly enough!" Roberts said. "I feel like it sounds like I should give Isabella a room. God, are Muggle cats fragile like Muggles? Do they die easily? Do they collapse emotionally easily?"
"No. Wizard cats and Muggle cats are the same. Their individual personality differences are far greater than differences from whether their families use magic." Anthony assured him. He'd done homework before taking students to adopt. "The difference is between cats and Kneazles. But they can still crossbreed naturally."
"But it sounds like Muggles treat cats as fragile items." Roberts said. "Our cats are all stubborn, sharp-toothed, sharp-clawed furballs. Aiden—my roommate's cat—threw a huge tantrum because he wasn't allowed to chew quills. Destroyed our entire dorm's Potions essays."
"Yes. The magical world has some different cat-keeping methods from Muggles." Anthony said. "I'm temporarily categorizing it as culture shock."