"Dragon egg?" Anthony said. Leaned closer. Examined it carefully. "I know you've always wanted a dragon, but didn't you say it's illegal?"
Hagrid shifted his large feet uncomfortably on the ground. Looked considerably more sober: "About that... well, yeah. I suppose that's why the bloke couldn't wait to get rid of it..." He looked at Anthony hopefully. "You'll keep this secret, won't you?"
"Uh..." Anthony asked. "Does the Headmaster know?"
"No. Don't think he's had time to find out yet," Hagrid said. "But of course, he will. Nothing happens in this castle without Dumbledore knowing."
Anthony worried Dumbledore already knew. After all, Hagrid had traded—well, gambled, not much better, possibly worse—a Class A non-tradeable item right under another Dumbledore's nose.
And though the brothers clearly had a complicated relationship, Anthony preferred to believe the Hog's Head Dumbledore wouldn't watch a dragon egg enter the school without informing Hogwarts Dumbledore.
"You'll tell the Headmaster, won't you, Hagrid?" Anthony asked. "Since he'll find out anyway, better to say something early."
Hagrid muttered: "All right, I will... but not now. At least let it hatch first..."
Wonderful. Let Dumbledore worry about it. Maybe he could build a little castle for Hagrid's dragon baby next to the Acromantula hollow in the Forbidden Forest. Until the dragon eventually kidnapped a princess from somewhere. Anthony hoped it wouldn't be a British royal princess—preferably not Her Majesty either.
"How long is that?" Anthony still felt uneasy.
Hagrid bent down. Tossed two more logs into the fireplace. Poked them to make the fire burn hotter: "Depends on what kind of dragon. Fastest would be about a month—oh, I need to chop more wood. The bloke who gave it to me said to keep the egg in fire... Shame I forgot to ask his name. He really knew his magical creatures. Hope I see him again."
"Do you have to keep the fire burning like this?" Anthony frowned. "It's getting warmer. People will notice something's wrong."
Hagrid scratched his head.
"You're right, Henry." He asked earnestly: "So what do you suggest?"
"Put out the fire," Anthony said simply. "Put the dragon egg back in your pocket. Tell the Headmaster what happened. Then hatch it in winter when everyone's burning fireplaces."
"But that's too long!" Hagrid said. Stared stubbornly at the Azkaban pass in the fireplace. "It might not last that long... Dragon mothers don't wait six months to start incubating..."
Anthony said: "Then wait for the holidays. Just over a month. All the students go home. You can prepare a baby carriage and diapers for your dragon in peace."
Hagrid exclaimed: "You've reminded me, Henry! I should prepare for the little dragon's arrival!"
He started rummaging through boxes for yarn and knitting needles. Planning to knit several pairs of woolen socks for the incoming new life. Anthony tried to persuade him further. But Hagrid wasn't listening anymore.
"I'll tell you when it hatches!" Hagrid said. "You can be its godfather!"
The next day was Monday. Dumbledore still sat in the middle of the staff table. Smiled. Welcomed all staff and students coming down for breakfast.
When everyone had eaten their fill, Dumbledore suddenly tapped his cup with a small silver spoon. Stood up. The crisp sound echoed through the Hall. People gradually realized the Headmaster had something to say. Stopped their conversations. Owls flying in folded their wings. Stood obediently by the tables.
"Now that you've all eaten and drunk your fill, I have a few things to tell you," Dumbledore smiled. "Course selection forms have been posted on the notice boards in each House common room. Please all take a look." His bright eyes glanced at the two red-haired twins whispering together at Gryffindor. "I assure you it's not a prank."
Some commotion at the tables. Many students looked confused—they'd obviously rushed down for breakfast without checking any notice boards. Anthony saw Hermione roll her eyes. Started quickly explaining something to messy-haired Harry and Ron.
"Also, Madam Hooch asked me to remind everyone that according to supplementary regulations from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, regional referees have the right to modify official rules at their discretion during local competitions. To balance fairness, justice, and entertainment in Quidditch.
"She announces that under this regulation, the inter-House Quidditch Cup at Hogwarts will follow Hogwarts-specific Quidditch rule standards. Team captains should see Madam Hooch during free time for details.
"Besides that, I must reiterate: anyone who doesn't wish to die an innocent death should not enter the corridor on the right side of the third floor. The Forbidden Forest, as its name suggests, is also forbidden to students—especially recently."
"Especially recently"—Anthony suddenly remembered the dead unicorn. He'd been too busy and had nearly forgotten.
He began discreetly observing the professors at the staff table. Except for stern McGonagall and expressionless Snape, everyone reacted to the Headmaster's words. Flitwick frowned worriedly. Sprout smiled reassuringly at the students below. Burbage beside Anthony looked puzzled at Dumbledore, seemingly not understanding why he'd reiterate this rule. Filch scanned all students ominously.
And even more professors were absent. Professor Trelawney always in her room gazing at the future. Professor Quirrell now afraid of students. Professor Kettleburn with limited mobility... And so on.
Among these rarely-seen professors, Quirrell was the one Anthony knew best. Also the only one from whom he currently sensed necromantic magic—skeletal cat necromancy, very similar to the necromancy on the unicorn.
"Finally, as the weather grows warmer, in addition to dinner ice cream, Hogwarts will also provide chilled pumpkin juice, lemon honey water, milkshakes, and ice cream at lunch. But lemon ice cream remains dinner-only." Dumbledore said cheerfully. Sat down amid student cheers.
"Professor Quirrell?" Anthony knocked on Quirrell's office door once more. "I'd like to talk with you."
He didn't want to believe the human who hurt the unicorn mother was Professor Quirrell. But he'd spent time visiting other professors (Snape sarcastically called him "the impromptu social butterfly"), including those he'd barely spoken to or even knew the names of—like Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy professor who answered the door in a nightcap, bleary-eyed—but detected no necromantic scent from them.
Of course, the aura of necromantic magic wasn't indelible or unconcealable... as long as people could detect it. After all, both "necromantic magic's aura" and "the unicorn's curse" were merely magical markers.
However, in Anthony's experience, advanced wizards could usually sense it was Dark magic. But couldn't detect that touch of Death's twilight glow as keenly as a necromancer could.
"Professor Quirrell!" Anthony knocked one last time on the frame. The garlic stood quietly in the center of the painting. Looking like it might sprout soon.
Anthony shrugged: "All right then."
He turned and went to the Owlery. Asked an owl to deliver a letter to Professor Quirrell. For reasons Anthony couldn't understand, magical world owls could find you wherever you were.
Unless Professor Quirrell also kept a bad-tempered skeletal cat in his room—which could even explain the scratches he'd once had and the faint necromantic magic still lingering—Anthony couldn't think of a reason he wouldn't receive this letter.
In the letter, Anthony told Professor Quirrell that after they'd killed the basilisk together that day, he'd obtained a very interesting magical item (as he wrote this line, the wraith mouse was struggling to squeeze through the half-open window crack). But recently related research had hit a bottleneck (he still hadn't found a way to take the mouse home for the holidays, meaning a way to bring the wraith chicken into school). He asked if Professor Quirrell would be willing to discuss it tomorrow or the day after.
"Recall past shared experiences, find common interests as an entry point, then extend an invitation..." Anthony muttered. Tied the letter to a school barn owl's outstretched leg. Filled its trough with corn kernels and water.
Given that his mouse had no interest in any food, Anthony's drawer now held many nuts and corn kernels. Too many for even students to finish.
After sending the letter, Anthony came down the stairs. Brushed feathers off himself. Pondered what to do if Professor Quirrell refused the invitation. Didn't notice someone rushing up from below.
He stumbled from the collision. Quickly grabbed the railing. His other hand pulled up the student who'd fallen on the stairs: "Sorry, are you all right—Parkinson?"
Pansy Parkinson cried out. Quickly covered her face with her hands. Shrieked: "No! I'm not!"
Her swollen eyes filled with tears. She wore something like Hagrid's protective mask covering her nose and mouth. Hair disheveled. Robes wrinkled.
"What happened to you?" Anthony asked. Crouched down. Examined the young Slytherin carefully. Through the gap between the mask and hair, he could see what looked like red, swollen marks on Pansy's face.
Pansy struggled to open her swollen eyes. Seemed to finally see who was in front of her. She jerked her hand away from Anthony's. Said in a muffled voice: "None of your business!"
"Miss Parkinson." Anthony softened his tone. "Did something happen?"
"Did something happen?" Pansy repeated shrilly. Tears streamed from her eyes. "Why don't you ask your star student Davies!"
"Davies?" Anthony asked, puzzled. Then realized she didn't mean Mr. Davies lying in bed, but Miss Davies.
Before he could ask more, Pansy had already ducked past him and run up. She whistled. A beautiful, fierce owl landed on her arm.
Pansy handed the owl a letter: "Matilda, take this to Mother."
The owl affectionately pecked her ear. Seemed to comfort her by wrapping its large wings around her head—Pansy sobbed loudly—then flapped to the window. Flew off into the distance.
Anthony caught Pansy as she tried to go downstairs pretending not to see him. Pulled tissues from his pocket.
"Wipe up. Blow your nose—even if you're not Miss Parkinson." He said. "Get some rest. Since you've written home, wait for your parents' reply. Whatever it is, don't think about it now."
Pansy looked at him suspiciously. Snatched the tissues from his hand: "Easy for you to say." But she stopped on the stairs.
"What did Miss Davies do?" Anthony asked. Pulled out a box of nuts he'd prepared for owls. Opened it. Gestured for Pansy to take some.
Pansy raised her eyebrows. Said sharply: "Going to defend her again, Professor Anthony? Give me another lecture about not bullying classmates?" She said viciously: "Go tell her! Let her hear it too—I've already, already stopped bothering these... these half-bloods so much..." As she spoke, her eyes reddened again.
Anthony said: "Would you tell me what I should say to Miss Davies? What kind of lecture do you think she should hear?"
"The whole 'don't bully classmates' routine!" Pansy said loudly. Yanked down her face mask. Thrust her neck toward Anthony to show her face. From nose down, extending to her collar, all red, swollen, festering scars. Like burns and corrosion combined.
Anthony was shocked: "Have you been to the Hospital Wing, Miss Parkinson?"
"I don't need to!" Pansy said, chin up. "I'm keeping this evidence until Davies gets the punishment she deserves!"
Anthony firmly refused: "No. You'd better go now—do you have class next, Miss Parkinson?"
"I asked for leave," Pansy said. Her voice dropped again. "I can't appear in front of Draco like this."
Anthony nearly sighed.
"You don't want to appear before Mr. Malfoy like this, but want to keep these scars until—until Miss Davies takes responsibility?" Anthony asked. "Setting aside how likely these wounds are to worsen, have you really thought this through, Miss Parkinson?"
Pansy said stubbornly: "I'm not going to the Hospital Wing."
"I'm afraid that's not your decision, Parkinson," Anthony said. "Come on. I'll take you—we'll use the staff passages. I promise hardly anyone will see you."
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