Anthony climbed the tower stairs. Students stared at him, confused.
"I'm Henry Anthony, Muggle Studies professor." He set his bag on the windowsill. "Astronomy final starts now. Put away all course materials. Make sure there's nothing near you that might trigger the Anti-Cheating quills. We're distributing them shortly."
The Astronomy exam was scheduled for midnight. Last night's sky—thick clouds, zero stars—had forced a postponement. But Professor Sinistra had an important astronomical conference tonight. Also at midnight, naturally. Astronomers lying on lawns eating pudding while discussing stellar movements. So another professor had to proctor.
When Anthony had asked Sinistra at yesterday's dinner whether the sun was a star, she'd practically glowed.
"Would you proctor the Astronomy final, Professor Anthony?" She paused. "It's terribly difficult finding a professor who can only give students wrong answers."
"It's not? I thought the sun was a star."
Sinistra shook her head. "No. Even if it shares remarkably similar properties with those distant stars, one thing matters..." She met his eyes. "What shines on us daily is the sun. What we depend on is the sun. No other star compares to its importance."
She took a treacle tart. "That's why we don't memorize it. Why it doesn't appear in centaur astrology—because it is our life. It is us. The sun isn't a type of star, Professor Anthony. The sun is the sun."
Which was why Anthony now stood beneath the stars facing yawning children. They lazily packed notebooks, star charts, incomprehensible items. Drew quills from his holder. Second-years needed to peer through telescopes, mark observable stars on charts, write five properties for each.
While students puzzled over the sky, Anthony drifted behind them, checking their answers. As Sinistra said, his meager astronomy knowledge couldn't identify correct answers. But basic logic easily spotted contradictions.
"Cho!" a student whispered. "Is Ganymede there?"
Anthony coughed heavily. Stood behind them.
Beside her, a pretty girl carefully turned. Glanced at Anthony. Under his warning look, she bit her lip, turned back, and pressed her eye absently to the telescope.
"One stern warning, ladies." Anthony said quietly. Walked away.
She waited. Shook her head quickly, as if adjusting her telescope.
Her classmate didn't catch the hint.
"Is it or not?" the student asked again, gripping her bouncing Anti-Cheating quill.
Anthony coughed from across the tower.
The girl called Cho hesitated. Whispered: "No."
"Ladies." Anthony sighed. "I'm truly sorry—exam voided." He tapped both quills with his wand.
The nearly-bald quill leaped up, flew to the parchment, and crossed out most answers. Cho's quill hesitated, crossed out the Ganymede answer, then settled into the inkwell.
"That much?" Anthony stared at the marked zone, then at the curly-haired girl. She must have considerable strength to force an Anti-Cheating quill through everything after question one. He checked the top. No name.
"What's your name?" Several students twisted to watch. Cho's face went white.
"Marietta." The curly-haired student swallowed. "Marietta Edgecombe. Professor, I'm sorry. Can I continue? I promise I'll write the rest myself." Pleading eyes.
"I'm truly sorry, Miss Edgecombe." Anthony gently pulled Cho's paper from under the inkwell.
The motionless girl went paler. Tears welled.
"Cho... Chang. Hope I'm not butchering that." Anthony glanced at the parchment. "Miss Chang, you may both return to your dormitories."
Marietta begged: "Professor, we know we were wrong! I need a grade—my parents will be so disappointed..." She started crying.
Cho Chang's tears fell. She clenched her hands, seemed about to speak, then said nothing. She packed her things and ran down the stairs.
"Cho? Cho!" Marietta called after her, hesitated, then turned back. "Professor, please! I can't accept—"
Anthony looked at her. Shook his head. Said quietly: "I warned you three times."
...
Because Marietta disrupted others, Anthony had to tell her sternly: continue this and Ravenclaw loses ten points, plus detention. After her footsteps faded, Anthony swept the platform. Students ducked their heads.
When Anthony announced the exam was over, everyone returned quills immediately and quietly handed him parchments.
Sinistra heard about it the next day.
"Cho Chang should have been allowed to continue," she said.
Anthony blinked. "Professor Sinistra, I recall someone instructing me to severely punish academic dishonesty. Apparently all Astronomy exams are like this—too easy to cheat."
Sinistra sighed. "Yes. That was me."
...
Anthony noticed he hadn't seen Marietta or Cho at breakfast. Though considering the midnight exam, most students hadn't appeared that morning.
But at lunch, still no sign of them. He asked Flitwick: "Are Miss Edgecombe and Miss Chang from your House all right?"
Flitwick looked puzzled. Took seconds to realize who he meant.
"Oh, nothing serious." He chuckled. "Had a fight. Didn't come to blows."
Sprout disapproved. "Filius!"
"Really, not a big deal." Flitwick waved. "You and Minerva have disagreements. Chang and Edgecombe sulking? Friends quarrel."
McGonagall: "Professor Flitwick!"
Flitwick grinned. "All right, all right." He popped chickpeas into his mouth.
Anthony shifted his gaze. At the Slytherin table, Pansy silently ate a chicken leg, distracted. She missed one of Malfoy's jokes. When everyone laughed, she snapped awake, set down the leg, and added comments.
...
While Cho and Marietta fought, Tracey and Pansy had formed an awkward relationship.
After Pansy's public argument with her mother, Slytherins watched her strangely—as if she might announce any second her ideal husband was no longer Malfoy but a Weasley. Any Weasley.
Malfoy laughed at this, then turned to ask: "You wouldn't, would you, Pansy?" They were in the common room. Flickering firelight. Fish swam past the window, scales glittering.
"Of course not." Pansy said softly, looking at him gratefully.
"Oh?" Cold smile.
She said dismissively: "You know... that's nonsense. Weasleys are poor and disgusting. All Gryffindors. Ha! Them?"
Malfoy nodded, satisfied, then suddenly sat up. "Exactly right, Pansy. Weasleys are poor and disgusting, heads aren't right... Wonder how they're still purebloods. Love Muggles so much, might as well marry a Mudblood. That junkyard only suits filthy bloodlines."
Pansy brightened. "Granger? That Mudblood?"
"Good thinking, Pansy. Granger and Weasley—ha!" Malfoy studied her as if seeing her for the first time. "Didn't know you could think."
Tracey snapped her book shut.
"Of course she can." She strode to the dormitory.
"Oh, the 'person' is defending you," Malfoy mocked. Pansy flushed red.
...
"What do you think you're doing!" Pansy stormed into Tracey's dormitory. "I don't need your defense, half-breed!"
Tracey was organizing clothes. She folded a robe, placed it in the wardrobe, then looked up.
"I'm helping you. Or getting revenge." Tracey said. "You can guess which."
Pansy stood frozen, teeth clenched, face twisted. "If—if you had even a shred of conscience—shame—"
"Shame?" Tracey's voice rose. "Weren't you the one who attacked us first? Me and Roger? Think back. You'll know who needs shame."
"You're talking about me?" Pansy's chest heaved. "I—I stood up for you. Got hit by my mother. Mocked by classmates. Even Draco suspects me—"
"Don't you deserve suspicion?" Tracey said. "You did it for us? For who?"
"I..." Pansy glared, then furiously scanned the room for something to smash the other girl's head.
Tracey said quietly: "Admit it. You did it for your own conscience."
"I must have lost my mind to think you counted as human!" Pansy spat. "Should have known—inferior breeds are hopeless. Full of useless fantasies. Think they can stand equal with purebloods! Mother was right. You should have died with your filthy mother, and your lunatic father—"
She stopped. Tracey whirled, grabbed a glass bottle from the wardrobe, and held it up. Yellow-green liquid inside. Looked ominous.
"I'm the one who lost my mind," Tracey said. She hurled the bottle to the floor. The sturdy bottle bounced twice, then cracked. Watery liquid seeped out, staining strange shapes on the green carpet edge.
"What is that?" Pansy asked, hiding the tremor in her voice. She suddenly realized Tracey was much taller. Remembered Tracey was a second-year. Remembered how she'd poured pus down her collar. Didn't understand why that bottle hadn't hit her head.
Tracey said flatly: "Scar remover."
Pansy stared.
Tracey stared back, looking down. "I mixed powdered porcupine quills into your Bubotuber pus. Very small amount. Enough to make wounds hard to heal. I almost—I was going to—"
Pansy looked at the leaking bottle and took a small step back.
"I thought I should apologize," Tracey said. "Thought Roger had a point."
"If—if you want to apologize!" Pansy's voice rose. "Then stay away from me! Don't you understand? Right now the last thing I need is connection to you!"
"God, you really are an idiot!" Tracey said. "You're already connected to me!"
"Then get lost!" Pansy shouted. "Pretend none of this happened!"
"Fine!" Tracey said. "No—wait. Parkinson... I just thought of something. No. I won't stay away. Go ahead and deny it. But starting today, I'm telling everyone you're my best friend. Watch how your 'friends' react. See if they believe you or me, the half-breed." She gave a mocking smile. "Those pureblood friends you're so proud of? In their hearts, you're worth less than me."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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