On Friday morning, as Anthony opened his office window to look for the ginger cat, an owl finally flew in, looking utterly bewildered. The poor bird's feathers were dishevelled, it looked travel-worn, and it was trembling from the cold. The moment it landed on Anthony's desk, it instinctively shuffled closer to the steaming teapot.
Anthony poured a small cup of warm water for it. The owl hooted gratefully, dunked its beak in and out of the water in a flash, then lifted its head and rhythmically tapped its beak. Water dripped slowly from its feathers. Anthony quickly moved all the nearby paperwork away.
The letter began with "Dear Professor Henry Anthony," but the contents were anything but dear. The Ministry of Magic, just as Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had warned, was not at all pleased with their late-night visit to Azkaban. The letter noted that Peter Pettigrew's 'disappearance' shortly after their departure was also rather suspicious.
With an air of self-importance, the Wraith Chicken ambled out from the bedroom and collided head-on with the owl, which had suddenly turned. Both birds were visibly startled. The owl immediately took flight, circling the office's chandelier over and over. The Wraith Chicken flapped its wings, landed expertly on the chandelier, and tilted its head to watch the owl orbiting it.
"Leave it, chick. That's a guest," Anthony said without looking up, still reading the letter from the Ministry.
The Ministry informed him that according to their reports, Dumbledore had contacted the Head of the Auror Office, Scrimgeour, thus acquiring temporary clearance to visit Azkaban; Snape, somehow, had managed to secure visitation rights for that night, so his presence at Azkaban was considered reasonable.
Therefore, among the group, only Anthony and Sirius—both former inmates—were illegally present at Azkaban. Especially Sirius, since he had even entered Peter's cell. But considering he had just left Azkaban, and that it was indeed a cell he was very familiar with (Anthony dwelled on these words for a moment), the Ministry deemed his actions understandable under the circumstances.
Under these premises, the Ministry sternly condemned Anthony's behaviour. However, after several severe paragraphs, the letter abruptly changed its tone, informing him that even so, they were willing not to pursue his responsibility in the matter too severely.
As long as Anthony remembered to keep the secret, no one would care where he, Dumbledore, and Snape were, or what they did, on that quiet night. The letter hinted that because Anthony was still under Dumbledore's guarantee, they—surprisingly—would not attempt to disturb his peaceful life. However, they seriously demanded that Anthony not attempt to enter Azkaban again.
Anthony couldn't help but wonder what the unwritten 'or else' was. Or else he'd be thrown into Azkaban, again?
…
He replied to the Ministry's letter—mainly to make the chattering owl leave; he could feel the Wraith Chicken was itching to pluck a few owl feathers—telling them he'd received it and was willing to guarantee he absolutely did not want to enter Azkaban, actively or passively. He'd only been there twice, and neither experience had been particularly pleasant.
Anthony handed the reply to the owl.
The owl looked longingly back at the fireplace and the teapot, allowed Anthony to tie the letter to its leg, then flapped its wings alone out of the window and vanished into the pale grey sky.
A thick layer of snow already covered the ground. Scattered snowflakes still drifted down occasionally. Flying opposite the departing owl was a large, cheerful flock of owls. Carrying letters or ordered goods for students, they glided gracefully beneath the heavy clouds.
…
From the lectern, Anthony smiled and said goodbye to the students leaving his classroom. He packed his things and, on his way to the library, suddenly ran into his cat.
It was in a secluded corner, enthusiastically weaving in and out of the Fat Friar's ghostly body. The Fat Friar floated low, making a motion to pet the cat. The cat poked its head out from his hand, looked around, and spotted Anthony.
The Fat Friar also looked up. "Good afternoon, Professor Anthony!"
"Good afternoon, Friar," Anthony said, crouching down and reaching out towards the ginger cat.
The ginger cat swished its tail, leapt, and landed on his lap. Its front paws hooked onto his robes, nearly tearing another set. Anthony quickly wrapped his arms around it, letting it steady itself against his shoulder. The cat peered behind Anthony for a while, then retreated, settled on his lap, and began purring softly.
The Fat Friar watched enviously. "That's a fine cat, Professor Anthony. I even suspect it's not afraid of ghosts at all. You know, most cats avoid us."
"I bet it isn't," Anthony said. "But this is the first time I've seen it be this friendly to anyone else."
The Fat Friar looked much happier. He extended his hand to the ginger cat, watching it push its head through his milky-white palm.
"You know, Professor Anthony, sometimes I do miss all of this," the Fat Friar said. "Fine wine, good food, the warmth of a friend's hand, the feeling of uncurling when you drink something hot in winter… and, of course, furry animals. I used to keep a few lambs. They were quite entertaining too…"
He seemed lost in a warm memory, a smile on his milky-white face. Anthony crouched on the ground, not disturbing him. The ginger cat was still sniffing lightly at the Fat Friar's hand held before it. Anthony didn't know if it could smell the ghost, but to him, the Fat Friar, like any other ghost, smelled like water… or ice, considering the sensation a living person felt passing through one.
"Oh, Professor Anthony," the Fat Friar suddenly said, as if jerked back to the present from the past, "I heard Professor Kettleburn is planning to establish a zoo at Hogwarts?"
Anthony said, somewhat surprised, "I think it's just an idea at this point. Do you have any suggestions, Friar?"
"I hope he doesn't keep sheep," the Fat Friar said seriously. "They don't smell pleasant, and they can eat every patch of grass bare."
…
The Fat Friar left. Anthony stood up, holding the cat.
"You didn't become friends with the Fat Friar because he's cold, right?" he asked, looking down at the cat for confirmation. "You're not this affectionate with Nearly Headless Nick."
The cat lowered its head and bit his arm. Anthony hissed.
"Alright, I apologise. Do you want to go for a walk, Cat?" The cat still wouldn't let go. "Hmm? A cold, gloomy, snowy day. Isn't that the best weather in the world for a walk?"
He felt the pressure on his forearm gradually lessen. The cat released its bite, jumped down from his arms, and strode proudly towards the main doors, taking the lead. Anthony lifted his arm. He saw a few small holes in his robes over the already healed wound.
"Reparo." He pointed his wand at his sleeve, satisfied to see the holes vanish. The ginger cat hadn't used Necromancy.
Ahead of him, the cat was waiting by the main doors, looking back.
…
It was only after stepping outside that Anthony remembered to ask Coco to put his things back in his office—he didn't request the luggage-specialist Doodoo—and then followed behind the ginger cat, slowly walking into the snow.
This snowfall was heavier than before. Some small trees were half-buried, the thick snow making them look like shrubs. A few foraging birds hopped about on the snow, pecking down occasionally, but Anthony doubted they could find anything in this weather.
His corn kernels and nut pieces had finally found appreciative diners, but beside this grey, open-air buffet crouched a watchful killer. Anthony tossed out the remaining nuts from his pocket and hurried away with the cat.
The ginger cat already seemed to know Hogwarts' outdoors better than he did. It led Anthony away from the busiest main path (where several students were walking, holding small jars of fire), weaving between bare tree trunks, pushing through accumulated snow, and avoiding snow-covered bushes and rose stems. They trudged upward, one step deep, one step shallow, always upward, and then—
The view before them suddenly opened up. This was an expanse of undisturbed snow. Around them, soft snow rested quietly on branches. It was utterly silent here, not even birdcalls. On the far side of the snowy field, the cliff edge dropped away. They had reached the high ground of the mountain.
"Is this where you've been disappearing to?" Anthony whispered, afraid to break the silence.
The cat was making its way through the snow. It plunged headfirst into the white, causing the smooth surface to mound up unnaturally, charting its path. Then it would suddenly leap out, revealing a pair of conspicuous yellow ears and half a feline face. The quiet snowfield was immediately churned into a mess.
Anthony laughed and lay down in the snow. He felt the snow crunch and compress beneath him. The trees suddenly seemed very tall. Above him was the dingy grey sky; in his peripheral vision, he could see the high white banks on either side, like a custom-made coffin.
Snow began to fall again. Anthony kept his eyes open, watching the flakes spiral down in the wind. He lifted a hand, held it up for a while, then brought it before his eyes. He stared at the snowflakes, feeling a profoundly comfortable sense of ease and pleasure.
He was dead, but he was also alive. The benefit of being dead was that the snowflakes touching him wouldn't melt; he could watch them as long as he liked. The benefit of being alive was that he could touch the snowflakes.
The ginger cat burrowed to his side, poking its head out from the higher snow layer to look down at him. Its icy whiskers tickled Anthony, so he reached over and scooped the cat out. It jumped onto his chest, turned a circle, curled up, rested its head beside his neck, and closed its eyes as if asleep.
Snowflakes didn't melt on the cat either, but the cat would twitch its ears, shaking all the snow accumulated on their tips onto Anthony.
From Anthony's perspective, the cat looked like a loaf of bread dusted with icing sugar.
…
Night had fallen by the time the cat woke up. Anthony stood, brushed the snow off himself, and walked slowly down the mountain with the cat.
Only then did he realise how conspicuous Hogwarts was. On such a snowy night, the hundreds of lit windows turned it into a massive lighthouse, marking the way back.
Through the dark, skeletal branches, Anthony could see a slightly stooped silhouette standing by the main entrance. Filch, without a doubt. Filch's shadow stretched on the ground, looking like a tall, menacing giant.
Then Anthony saw Filch turn and step outside the doors. Anthony strained to follow his movements and realised he was going to speak to another group of people. One tall figure wore a pointed hat; Anthony was certain it was Dumbledore, with… someone else.
Filch returned inside shortly after, closing the oak doors but leaving a small side entrance open. The castle's windows went dark one after another. Curfew.
Anthony quickened his pace, following his cat past Professor Sprout's greenhouses, skirting the frozen, snow-covered Black Lake, and finally returning to a familiar path.
He saw Dumbledore's group was still at the castle entrance. As he drew closer, the murmur of conversation reached his ears. He heard Professor McGonagall's voice, apparently trying to persuade someone. A little closer, and he recognised Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Remus Lupin.
"Really, Remus, we are considering suitable candidates for the Care of Magical Creatures teaching position next term," Professor McGonagall said.
"Thank you, Minerva, but do you truly think I'm one of the suitable candidates?" Lupin pointed out. "I didn't even take Care of Magical Creatures."
Professor McGonagall's tone became a bit strained. "But, well… according to Sirius, you were frequently in the Forbidden Forest during your student years."
Lupin sounded amused. "With him." Then he paused, his voice lowering. "With them, yes. But to be honest, Minerva, I don't really remember the creatures in the Forbidden Forest. They usually just ran away."
Professor McGonagall seemed to be genuinely hesitating. Watching her turn her head, Anthony felt he could picture her tense face, her expression one of serious thought as she tried to find a solution.
"Oh, Henry!" Professor McGonagall spotted the approaching ginger cat and followed its trail to Anthony behind it. "Where have you come from?" She looked at Anthony's snow-covered robes, appearing even more puzzled.
"I went for a walk," Anthony said. "And you?" He nodded in greeting to Dumbledore and Lupin, both of whom smiled back.
Professor McGonagall said, "We went to bury Peter Pettigrew."
Anthony asked in surprise, "Today?"
"Yes, Henry," Dumbledore answered. "A simple little village. A simple funeral. No headstone."
"I didn't even think there would be a funeral," Anthony said. "I mean… I didn't think anyone would actually attend."
Lupin said with a bitter smile, "Sirius is already angry with me about it."
Dumbledore said gently, "Someone had to be responsible for digging the hole and filling it in, Henry."
"A funeral with three attendees is enough to be called a funeral," Anthony said.
Dumbledore said, "Four, actually."
"Who was the fourth?" Anthony asked in surprise. "Sirius? Mr. Potter?"
"Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "I suspect he came to ensure we kept things as quiet as possible, so everyone would continue to believe Peter Pettigrew was still imprisoned in Azkaban." He sighed. "He still refuses to give up on those Dementors. Or rather, I believe he is thoroughly frightened of us…"
"Frightened?" Anthony asked.
Lupin said, "He acted as though Professor Dumbledore was about to storm the Ministry and become the new Minister himself."
Professor McGonagall said stiffly, "And he made the most impertinent request I have ever heard. I can't believe you agreed, Albus!" She seemed to grow angry just thinking about it; Anthony could hear her breathing become rapid.
Anthony asked with concern, "What was it?"
"Fudge has appointed Umbridge as some sort of 'High Inquisitor,' wanting her to 'investigate' the series of incidents at the school—"
"Series of incidents?"
"Lucius Malfoy must have told him plenty… the various accidents during Quidditch matches, the Dark Magic injury to Mr. Davies—though they called it a quarrel between Miss Parkinson and her mother—the curse injury to Mr. Malfoy, and so on. Apparently, the professors at Hogwarts are not quite up to standard in their eyes."
"And you agreed, sir?" Anthony turned to Dumbledore. "Merlin, why not let Mr. Lupin take the position instead!"
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