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Anthony gripped the book list, walking up the staircase to the second floor. He planned to visit Hogwarts' library.
"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure." Professor Flitwick had said when giving him the list. "You wouldn't want to miss Hogwarts' treasury, Professor Anthony."
Some staircases might suddenly appear or vanish, forcing students to memorize all the castle staircases' temperaments, but professors always enjoyed certain privileges—he could take the most convenient spiral staircase. Anthony followed it to the second floor's sun-drenched corridor. Looking out, the lawn spread a warm green expanse under the sunlight, extending all the way to the pitch-black Forbidden Forest.
Inside the library, sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on row after row of bookshelves along the walls. Hogwarts hadn't started yet. Apart from the librarian, Madam Pince, the library was empty. The air was filled with the scent of aged parchment and dust. Neat rows of long wooden tables surrounded the room, quietly awaiting seekers of knowledge.
When Anthony entered the library, Madam Pince scrutinized him severely. "Professor Henry Anthony?"
"That's me." Anthony said.
"Very well. Please sign here. When students want to borrow books from the Restricted Section, they may come to you for permission." Madam Pince handed him a heavy ledger. "Restricted books are restricted for good reason. The books here are relatively dangerous. Please be cautious."
Anthony wrote his name below Quirrell's trembling signature. "I suppose there are no Muggle Studies books in the Restricted Section?"
"Muggle Studies, no." Madam Pince said. "Muggle-related, many, and very dangerous. If you're interested, they're all in the Dark Arts section."
"I'll look at the regular books first." Anthony politely declined. He took out his list. "I'm looking for these books."
...
With Madam Pince's help, he quickly found all the books Professor Burbage had listed. Some of Professor Flitwick's recommended books were in the Restricted Section.
"Strange. I remember it being here." Madam Pince frowned, staring at the shelf. On the packed shelf was a tiny gap. The book to its left began dripping thick, blood-red liquid that trickled onto the shelf below, emitting shrill howls.
Madam Pince unceremoniously swatted the spine with a feather duster. Both liquid and screams vanished.
Anthony looked down at his list. Beneath Magic.
"Madam, is this one dangerous?" He asked. "I mean, do we need to go rescue some student who's been unconscious in their dormitory all holiday?"
Madam Pince shook her head in confusion. "No, the missing book doesn't contain any lethal magic. It became restricted because of its content. Its author was both a magical theorist and magizoologist, extremely keen on exploring differences in how magic manifests in wizards versus magical creatures. He conducted many illegal experiments—he's probably dead in Azkaban by now. We worried reckless students might be seduced by the book's content, so we made it restricted. I can't imagine who'd steal this."
She stared fixedly at that spot, as if she could glare the thief's soul out through the gap.
"Does the Restricted Section have surveillance?"
Madam Pince was greatly offended. "I am the surveillance, the only one, and I never slack off."
"No, I didn't mean that." Anthony realized she'd misunderstood. "I meant cameras."
"Cameras?"
"Never mind. Don't worry about it." Anthony gave up. He wasn't about to explain closed-circuit television to anyone.
But Madam Pince wouldn't let it go. "Are you talking about a Muggle thing, Professor Anthony?"
So Anthony spent over half an hour explaining what he knew about Muggle library management methods.
Madam Pince's questions multiplied. Anthony finally told her that Muggle library management was a complex discipline. Muggle schools offered corresponding majors, and students spent several years studying before graduating. He was just an ordinary reader and couldn't answer overly specialized questions.
"How interesting." Madam Pince said thoughtfully. "I didn't know they had libraries."
Anthony took a deep breath and muttered to himself, "I'm used to it already."
"What, Professor?" Madam Pince asked absentmindedly. She'd started staring fixedly at the gap again.
Anthony said, "I'm saying I'll work hard to teach Muggle Studies well."
"You'll do wonderfully, Professor Anthony." Madam Pince said. "When's your first class?"
"Second day of term. Third-year Gryffindor and Slytherin."
Madam Pince's eyes widened. "Oh." She looked at Anthony with pity. "Good luck."
...
The half month before term started passed quickly. Anthony left his room to dine, take tea, and exchange knowledge with professors. Back in his room, he focused on catching up on coursework, preparing lessons, playing with his cat, and finding time to reply to Mr. Weasley's letters.
Professor Flitwick greatly praised Anthony's talent for Charms, commending him for "trusting his magic completely."
"Charms and Transfiguration are very similar, but there's a subtle difference." Professor Flitwick told him when Anthony mentioned his slow Transfiguration progress. "Transfiguration demands higher precision, while Charms' greatest requirement is confidence. You must believe magic will answer you! I've seen many students with correct gestures and correct incantations who can't produce perfect charms because they fear failure."
Professor Flitwick happily handed Anthony a piece of cake. "You trust magic completely, Professor Anthony, so magic favors you. Even with imperfect gestures, your strong confidence produces correct results. But Transfiguration won't... no, it's an art of restraint and precision. I must say, I prefer forgiving Charms." He whispered to Anthony, "Don't tell Minerva."
Anthony nodded earnestly and stuffed the cake in his mouth to show it was sealed tight. Professor Flitwick cheerfully directed the teapot to pour him tea.
But then again, anyone who'd spent ages climbing out of a coffin, woken daily by wraiths, with a skeletal pet... would probably trust magic quite completely.
He also found time to have drinks with Hagrid.
Tom was right. Hagrid was a rough, warm-hearted good friend with an innocent nature that didn't match his fierce appearance.
He was delighted to hear Anthony had a cat. "Yeh should bring it out for walks, Henry. The sun's been lovely lately, an' the students haven't arrived yet, so yeh don't need ter worry about anyone frightenin' yer cat."
Anthony recalled his cat's "living creatures keep out" temperament. He wasn't worried about students frightening the cat, but the cat frightening students.
"I'll try." He finally promised, facing Hagrid's sincere black eyes.
Hagrid also shared much information about Hogwarts. Anthony now knew the Boy Who Lived arriving this year had been held by Hagrid as a baby, knew the Forbidden Forest housed many magical creatures including unicorns he'd never seen, and knew the school's biggest rule-breakers who loved sneaking into the Forbidden Forest were the Weasley twins, a pair of third-year Gryffindors.
When Hagrid heard Anthony's first class was third-year Gryffindor and Slytherin, he clapped Anthony's shoulder with his enormous hand (nearly knocking him under the table). "Good luck. Yeh'll be fine."
He was quite certain the twins would take Anthony's class.
"Look on the bright side," Hagrid said optimistically. "At least no Slytherins will take the class. They won't fight in yer classroom."
...
The September first Start-of-Term Feast was quite grand.
The house-elves had planned the menu at least two days in advance, asking each professor individually about preferences and suggestions. The surrounding weather was adjusted repeatedly, just so the floating candles in the Hall would appear bright and warm against the ceiling that mirrored the sky.
On the evening of the feast, milk-white ghosts passed through walls, startling Anthony greatly. Ghosts were completely different from his wraiths: wraiths had substance—otherwise the wraith chicken couldn't wake him by pecking—but ghosts clearly didn't. He'd never seen these ghosts in the castle before and didn't know if they were related to necromancy or could tell he was a necromancer.
"Oh, you haven't visited Professor Binns yet." Professor Sprout noticed his reaction and said across Professor Trelawney. "He's the History of Magic professor, also a ghost. He usually only stays in the History of Magic classroom and his own room."
The Sorting Hat sat on a wooden stool, waiting to sort first-years into their houses. Professors were required to wear their best robes and sit at the High Table, ready to welcome new students into the magical world.
"Look closely. Severus's robes—you won't see them more than a few times a year." Professor Burbage told Anthony. "Eight thousand Galleons. A gift from a graduate."
Anthony turned to look. Snape sat beside Professor Quirrell, looking impatient. His black robes were... very black. Anthony had absolutely no idea about wizard robe appreciation standards. He was currently wearing his most expensive robes—eleven Galleons, five Sickles.
"I didn't spot the eight thousand Galleons." He whispered to Professor Burbage.
Professor Burbage stifled a laugh. Anthony swore Snape glanced at them mockingly and began conversing quietly with Quirrell.
...
After Professor McGonagall brought in the new students, the professors stopped chatting. Anthony was attending his first Start-of-Term Feast. Following others' example, he sat up straight and stared blankly at the empty plate before him. Dumbledore wore his favorite wizard's hat, watching with great interest as new students approached the Sorting Hat pale-faced and trembling, his fingers tapping a cheerful rhythm on the table.
New students were sorted into houses like an assembly line. Some were clearly satisfied with their results. Other students looked bewildered when removing the Sorting Hat, walking toward their house table with backward glances.
Harry Potter—just as Hagrid had predicted to Anthony over drinks—went to Gryffindor. Deafening cheers erupted in the Hall. The Gryffindor table exploded with celebration. Anthony noticed two identical red-haired boys jump onto chairs, waving their hats and shouting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" If Professor McGonagall hadn't been standing right there, Anthony would bet they'd dance a paso doble on those chairs.
Professor Burbage noticed him watching the twins.
"Yes, you have them in your first class." She said helplessly. "Fred Weasley and George Weasley, the Weasley twins. Good luck, Professor Anthony."
Professor Trelawney on Anthony's other side stretched out her thin, bracelet-laden arm, took Anthony's teacup, and stared at it for a while. "Misfortune, Professor Anthony. Unavoidable misfortune."
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