It took Nearly-Headless Nick and Anthony some time to convince the weeping Myrtle that Lockhart's descriptions of his "bright blue eyes" and such held no sarcastic reference to "four-eyed Myrtle."
By the time Anthony returned to his room, the night was deep. After washing up, he lay in bed, quietly listening to the rustling sounds of the rat in the cat's nest. At the other end of the room, the cat was sound asleep atop his wardrobe.
Perhaps because Professor Lockhart had been so talkative at the party, even though Anthony had tried to let his words blow past his ears like the wind, he could still feel a fervent, confident voice chattering away deep within his ears. It was like sitting on a train for too long; even though you knew the white-painted metal chair beneath you was perfectly stable, your brain stubbornly insisted it was swaying.
Realizing he had already counted to the one thousand five hundred and sixty-second sheep, Anthony simply sat up, threw on his robe, and went back to his office to revise his lesson plans. After his conversation with Professor Burbage today, he decided to add a little Muggle history to the fifth-year curriculum.
After organizing his lesson plans, Anthony found himself, much to his chagrin, wide awake. He returned to his bedroom and stared for a while at the faint, fuzzy shadow atop the wardrobe. Thewraith rat crawled out of the cat's nest and sat on his instep.
Anthony picked it up and whispered, "Do you want to go for a walk?"
…
The corridor outside the office was shrouded in quiet darkness. Myrtle was no longer sighing mournfully in the bathroom, and there was no sound from behind Lockhart's office door. Anthony gently closed his own door, careful not to disturb the peace.
???.??? First to update, don't miss the excitement.
He wandered aimlessly through the castle. The rat poked its head out of his pocket, listening to the slight tremors of the nearby suits of armor as they or a breeze passed by. A few portraits were whispering; Anthony faintly heard them discussing a toad that had just hopped past.
He found himself unintentionally in the corridor with the troll tapestry. The troll in a ballet tutu was sleeping on the ground, while the Panama troll rolled its hand into a trumpet shape, leaning down to shout into the sleeping troll's ear.
Anthony thought of hisnecromancy training room, patted thewraith rat's head, and walked back and forth three times in front of the empty wall.
But the door he was so familiar with did not appear. Anthony frowned and walked a few more times, but the castle still did not respond. Thewraith rat looked at Anthony curiously.
Just as Anthony was puzzled, the wall in front of him suddenly seemed to melt and flow, and a door appeared out of thin air. Anthony watched as a red-haired head poked out and met his gaze.
"Oh… good evening, Professor Anthony," Fred said calmly.
"Good evening, Mr. Weasley—" Anthony grabbed the door and peeked inside, "—s." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fred stuffing a piece of parchment into his pocket.
George was sitting on a sofa with his back to Anthony. Roger Davies and his roommate, Emery Singh, one sitting next to George and the other on the carpet, were heatedly discussing something.
Cushions were thrown everywhere. On the low table between them was a large pile of food; next to the fries and fried chicken cutlets was a radio loudly playing music (it seemed to be a song by the Weird Sisters).
"No, no, that's really not necessary," Emery said, suppressing a yawn. "No one would want a singing snake." He was a boy who looked rather silly, almost never speaking in Anthony's class, just sitting next to Roger taking notes or staring blankly at spiders crawling on the wall.
"It's not just singing," George leaned forward a bit. "This is just the beginning. As long as we can get Old Snake to record sounds, we can ask Harry to help us record a few phrases of Parseltongue."
"But why would anyone want Old Snake to speak Parseltongue?" Roger asked, with Roger's Old Snake wrapped around his neck. "Let's talk more about the idea of disguising it as a tie. I think that would be quite interesting."
George asked, "Has anyone here joined Dumbledore's club?"
"Has anyone noticed there's a professor at our door?" Fred asked irritably.
Three heads turned in unison toward Anthony. George slammed shut a very thick notebook, Roger pulled Roger's Old Snake off his neck (he had just used it to tie a Windsor knot), and Emery stood up awkwardly, seemingly unsure what to do.
"Good evening, Professor Anthony," George said. "Would you like some fries?"
"Good evening, gentlemen," Anthony said, holding onto the door. "I hope I'm not disturbing your gathering."
"Nothing dangerous, Professor," Fred said smoothly, showing him. "Fries, chicken cutlets, bread slices, pumpkin juice, hot chocolate, and… well, wonderful music." He noticed Anthony's gaze toward the radio (which was wobbling on its antenna doing a handstand) and discreetly kicked Emery. Emery quickly turned off the radio.
"And a lot of Roger's Old Snakes," Anthony said, looking down at a wooden crate in the corner. The box was tangled with various patterned and spotted Roger's Old Snakes of different colors and sizes, some with their tongues hanging out, looking like firework fuses.
"Um… yes," George said, stepping in front of Anthony. "Professor, Professor Anthony—"
His voice was interrupted by a series of strange sounds. George groaned. Anthony turned his head to see Roger and Emery trying to cover a pile of bags and boxes in the corner (bearing the logos of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and Zonko's Joke Shop) with cushions, but unfortunately causing an avalanche.
…
No one wanted detention, so Gryffindor and Ravenclaw each lost ten points. Roger and Emery seemed somewhat guilty, while the Weasley twins were more concerned about whether Mr. or Mrs. Weasley would find out about this.
"Where did you get the money to buy all this?" Anthony asked.
"Well, about that…"
"Not gambling, is it?" Anthony knew the Weasley twins had once wanted spectators to bet on the Quidditch Cup, but Wood had fiercely refused.
"No, it's not," Roger said honestly. "Professor Anthony, it's mine and Emery's. We both contributed some pocket money, and Fred and George were responsible for bringing it into the school."
Anthony looked at the four boys before him. Emery hung his head, Roger still had faint, almost invisible marks on his neck and held the prank prop named after him in his hand. Fred and George, more familiar with Anthony, were smiling at him expectantly—Anthony was now very familiar with this expression. Several times, he had seen them look at Mr. Weasley this way, asking him to help them hide things from Mrs. Weasley.
Anthony shook his head and smiled. "Don't cause too much trouble for Mr. Filch, okay? Now go back to sleep—or find an empty classroom later, but be careful not to get caught by me again."
He didn't confiscate the magical fireworks, hiccough sweets, and biting teacups probably worth over fifty Galleons, but merely looked through the boxes with interest and took away the dungbombs.
"Thank you, Professor," Fred said with relief, "but empty classrooms are too unreliable."
George also recalled something and said, "Ghosts walk through walls, then there's a scream, and Filch comes."
…
Watching them head back in the direction of their respective house towers, Anthony continued his walk through the castle, carrying two bags of dungbombs. Thewraith rat hung curiously from the bag opening, sniffing around.
He went to take a look at the abandoned bathroom—the Weasley twins' former laboratory, Tracey's potion-brewing room. He skillfully found the small tool left by the Weasley twins and pushed open the somewhat dilapidated door.
Thewraith rat was startled by the toilet plunger that happily welcomed them, jumped onto the broken tile floor, and scurried downstairs. Anthony called a few times, only receiving gradually calming emotions from the rat. He looked around the bathroom and found that the shelves holding potion ingredients were somewhat emptier, while the cleaned cauldrons were neatly placed by the sink.
Just then, there was a slight noise outside the bathroom door. With a creak, the door was gently pushed open.
Tracey Davis walked into the bathroom, saw Anthony standing in the middle, and stopped.
For a moment, Anthony found it somewhat amusing. One Singh, two Weasleys, two Davises—perhaps he should take more nighttime strolls.
"Good evening, Miss Davis," he said calmly.
"Good evening, Professor Anthony," Tracey said politely, looking at the bags of dungbombs in Anthony's hands. "You wouldn't happen to have seen my pointed hat, would you? I'm looking for it."
"Unfortunately, no, Miss Davis," Anthony said. "However, I noticed this bathroom seems to have become a potion-making room."
Tracey's gaze swept over the toilet-converted shelves and the empty cauldrons, her tone somewhat surprised. "Yes."
"I assure you your pointed hat isn't here," Anthony said, walking past her and pushing open the door. "Come along, Miss Davis. It's past curfew now. Points or detention?"
"Points, Professor Anthony," Tracey said, following him out of the bathroom.
Anthony asked in surprise, "Slytherin isn't too concerned about points this year either? Alright, Slytherin loses five points."
Tracey smiled but didn't reply.
As they passed a window, Anthony took advantage of the moonlight to carefully examine Tracey's complexion. She still looked pale, but her color was much better than when she was brewing the Calming Draught last term.
In fact, Anthony had just seen her in class a few days ago. He noticed Katie Bell sitting next to her before class, seemingly chatting about something. Judging by Tracey's expression at the time, Anthony would even say she seemed happier than last term.
"Professor Anthony?"
"Hmm?"
"Never mind," Tracey shook her head.
Anthony encouraged, "You've piqued my curiosity, Miss Davis."
"I know this is a very presumptuous question…" Tracey said, looking up at Anthony. "Professor, are you a half-blood wizard?"
"I'm a pure-blood Muggle," Anthony replied as usual. "No, I don't think either of my parents were wizards. Why do you ask?"
"It's Draco," Tracey said. "Draco and Pansy were discussing your bloodline."
"They think I'm a half-blood wizard?" Anthony asked in surprise.
"They don't believe you're Muggle-born," Tracey corrected. "Draco said Hogwarts never hires Muggle-born professors, and then someone mentioned your name."
Anthony had indeed never paid attention to his colleagues' family backgrounds. He couldn't answer for other professors, so he simply said, "Well, there's at least one counterexample now."
"Yes," Tracey hesitated. "Professor Anthony, how do Muggle-born wizards view half-blood wizards?"
She seemed to be asking this question sincerely. Anthony suddenly realized there were almost no Muggle-born students in Slytherin—at least, he didn't know of any.
"I'm not sure what others think, but given that other conditions are unknown, I suppose Muggle-born people might initially think wizards are just wizards. At least, I'm afraid many Muggles categorize people this way: those who can do magic and those who can't," Anthony said. "But, Miss Davis, 'other conditions' are very important. As humans, we also pay attention to many, many things beyond our parents' bloodlines."
He looked at Tracey and said, "Does this person laugh often? Are their teeth straight? Do they like kale? Do they often hand in essays late? Miss Davis, if you find someone looking at you but only seeing 'half-blood wizard,' completely ignoring specific details like these…" He remembered the gazes that pierced through the "Necromancer" label to see him and smiled. "…then you know that person is blind."
…
They walked down the stairs under the light of his Lumos spell.
"Miss Davis," Anthony called to Tracey when he saw the stairs leading to the dungeons, pointing his wand toward the hospital wing. "At any time, if you feel you need it, you can go see Madam Pomfrey. You know, she's a professional."
"Thank you, Professor Anthony," Tracey said.
Anthony said seriously, "Besides that, if you need help, you can also approach any member of the staff. That's our job."
Tracey drew in a sharp breath, as if she really had something she wanted to say. In the white light from the tip of Anthony's wand, her eyes sparkled, her expression shifting uncertainly.
Anthony waited.
But in the end, Tracey only said, "Professor Snape is also a half-blood, did you know that?" After saying this, without waiting for his answer, she simply nodded at him. "Have a pleasant evening, Professor."
She quickly descended the stairs toward the dungeons, her black school robes soon disappearing into the dark, cavernous hallway.
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