In any case, Dolores Umbridge wouldn't be coming to Hogwarts anytime soon. They chatted outside the castle a while longer, and then Professor McGonagall suggested Remus stay the night at Hogwarts.
Lupin said, "Thank you, Minerva, but I don't think Hogwarts has that many spare beds—"
Professor McGonagall cut him off. "I know a place with plenty, Remus." A smile flickered across her face. "Poppy's been wanting to check if you've been taking your potions as ordered."
Lupin paused, then couldn't help but laugh. "I hope she'll be satisfied. Honestly, this past full moon was the easiest one I've had in years, thanks to her… and Professor Snape's Wolfsbane Potion."
…
Madam Pomfrey, as Professor McGonagall had predicted, was more than happy to see Lupin. She promptly provided him with a bed, a nightstand, and a small cup of sleeping potion.
"You look better than last time, Mr. Lupin," Madam Pomfrey said bluntly. "But still dreadful. You need sleep."
"Right, Madam Pomfrey," Lupin said, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Madam Pomfrey glanced toward the quiet, curtained-off bed belonging to Sirius Black. She strode over, pulled the curtain aside warily, and peered in. Sirius was lying on his side, back to them, seemingly fast asleep. Madam Pomfrey nodded in satisfaction and left.
Lupin smoothed the bedsheet, a touch of nostalgia in his expression. "Honestly, considering I'm out of work and dealing with those reporters, I think I'm holding up rather well—Oh, by the way, Padfoot, we buried Peter."
For a moment, Anthony didn't know who he was talking to. Then he heard Sirius's voice, cold and flat from behind the curtain. "What's that got to do with me?"
"Just thought you should know," Lupin said calmly.
Dumbledore said, "Speaking of work, Remus, the door is always open if you wish to return to Hogwarts to teach. I give you my word."
Lupin nodded. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." For some reason, Anthony got the feeling Lupin wasn't particularly eager to become a Hogwarts professor—at least, not the Care of Magical Creatures professor.
They chatted about the topic a while longer, so Anthony learned Lupin was still trying to find work. The problem was, the renewed public interest in Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black had spilled over onto him.
People were remembering James Potter's old friends, recalling how inseparable the four of them had been. Since it was difficult to get interviews with Sirius at Hogwarts or Peter Pettigrew in Azkaban (or in the ground), reporters had turned their focus to Lupin.
Lupin tried applying for jobs while hiding his condition, as he'd done for years. But time and again, during an interview, he'd spot a few reporters hurrying to station themselves outside the window. In the end, every employer would politely, or furiously, ask him to leave.
"What will you do now, Mr. Lupin?" Anthony asked.
Lupin thought for a moment. "I don't know. I might try looking for work in the Muggle world…" He gave a helpless smile. "The trouble is, Muggle background checks tend to be stricter than wizarding ones. Maybe I'll freelance. Be a street performer… do some magic tricks or the like."
Professor McGonagall frowned. "And those reporters who can't reach Sirius will have a field day writing about you violating the Statute of Secrecy."
Lupin sighed. "Yes."
A rustling sound came from behind Sirius's curtain. He seemed to have just turned over.
Professor McGonagall said, "Perhaps you could become an adventurer—"
Lupin smiled wryly. "An adventurer who gets terribly weak around the full moon and terribly frightening on the full moon."
"Maybe you could be a writer," Anthony suggested. "One Thousand and One Jobs or something."
"More like One Thousand and One Jobs Lost," Lupin said. "But thank you. I'll keep thinking about the street performer idea."
Anthony offered, "You could play the accordion, Mr. Lupin. Accordions are always popular, and they don't break the Statute."
Dumbledore agreed. "Quite right, Henry. Music is one of the things that speaks most directly to the soul."
Lupin said, "I don't play the accordion."
Professor McGonagall said, "I'm fond of the violin."
Lupin looked amused. "When did you get the idea I played violin, Minerva?"
"I merely said I'm fond of it," Professor McGonagall replied. "Honestly, Remus, Care of Magical Creatures—"
The curtain on the next bed was yanked open. Sirius seemed to have finally had enough. He said stiffly, "You could whistle."
"I know you taught me, but it's been a long time since I whistled, Sirius," Lupin said, turning his head. "You're talking to me now?"
Sirius said, "Then you could be a motorcycle racer!"
…
On Saturday morning, Anthony opened his eyes to a room still steeped in darkness. Another gloomy day. He sat up. The cat sleeping on his pillow cracked an eye open, looked at him, and closed it again. The wraith chicken sat motionless atop his wardrobe. The wraith mouse was curled up near the cat's tail.
"I'm going out today," Anthony announced loudly. No one paid him any mind—cat, chicken, or mouse—they were all asleep. The mouse curled itself tighter, burying its head in Anthony's mattress.
Anthony shrugged. "Alright then."
He slipped on his slippers, drew the curtains, and ambled off to wash up. Today, he was meeting Daniel at the Leaky Cauldron. After that, he needed to buy white wine for the cat and some applewood and brandy for Norbert.
At breakfast, neither Lockhart, Snape, nor Filch were present. Anthony chatted with Professor Sprout for a while about potential candidates for the Care of Magical Creatures post, then left the Great Hall in good spirits.
Outside, the sky was every bit as leaden as the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall had shown, but the snow had stopped. The paths had been cleared. All along the road to Hogsmeade, students in black school robes were out and about.
Anthony felt wonderful. Every roof in Hogsmeade was piled with thick snow, just like on a Christmas card.
He saw Honeydukes had already put out its holiday wares: holly wreaths with Blood Pops for berries, hanging chocolate balls dusted with gold powder, dancing gingerbread men, exquisite biscuit cottages… and a Christmas-tree-shaped candy where each 'branch' was a different flavour depending on how fast you ate it. The tiny coloured baubles, ribbons, and gift boxes hanging on it would change colour. A poster next to it shouted in all caps: "EAT YOUR OWN CHRISTMAS TREE!"
It hit Anthony suddenly: it was nearly the end of November. That meant less than a month until the Christmas holidays, and then a new year.
He greeted a few students walking toward him, turned a corner by a cottage, Apparated a few times, and arrived at Diagon Alley.
The weather in London was almost as dreary as at Hogwarts, but it hadn't snowed yet. Wizards hurried along the cobblestones. Owls hooted loudly, hopping on cages or perched on shoulders. A street vendor was pitching his lucky charms and brain-elixirs to every wizard who made eye contact. The street was filled with conversation, arguments, children's shrieking laughter, the jingle of shop doors opening and closing, and so on.
Anthony quickened his pace through the crowd and pushed open the Leaky Cauldron's grimy, blurry-paned door. The pub was packed. Tom, the bartender, was busy behind the bar. A few wizards were playing cards, surrounded by a circle of onlookers commenting on each hand. In a corner sat several solitary drinkers, staring gloomily into their mugs as if trying, like a tea-leaf reader, to divine their futures from the rising bubbles.
"Over here, Henry!"
Anthony was still scanning the crowd for Daniel when Daniel spotted him first. Daniel stood up and waved. Tom heard the shout, looked up, and grinned.
"Henry, the usual?" Tom asked. "Brandy?"
"Just a beer today," Anthony said. "I've got other things to do."
Tom snorted dismissively, turned, selected a slightly-less-dirty glass from a row of grimy ones, and started drawing beer from the cask. Foam erupted violently, spilling over the rim and oozing down the sides.
Tom thumped the heavy pint glass onto the bar. "There."
Anthony smiled. "Thanks."
He carefully floated the glass over, making sure no drips landed on anyone's head, and squeezed through the crowd to sit opposite Daniel.
"Am I late?" Anthony asked, pulling out a chair.
"Oh no, not at all," Daniel said, tilting his glass to clink against Anthony's on the table and taking a sip. "I just got here myself. Not because of the bookshop—I told the manager I wasn't on duty today—but I stopped for ice cream first."
"To ice cream, then," Anthony said, raising his beer and taking a drink.
"You had ice cream too? No?" Daniel said, looking smug. "Ha, I could tell by your face you'd forgotten. I also had fish and chips."
"Ah, that fast-food place," Anthony said. "Any good?"
Daniel considered it. "Hmm… Not as good as the ice cream."
"Then I didn't miss much," Anthony said.
"How've you been, Henry?" Daniel asked. "Still enjoying the professor life?"
"Yes, same as ever," Anthony said. A thought struck him, and he pulled out his notebook. "Speaking of which, does Flourish and Blotts have these books?"
Daniel grumbled, "I said I'm not on duty." But he pulled the notebook over anyway and looked. "Magical Flora of the World… yes, we have the full set; Carnivorous Trees and Grasses, I'm not sure about that exact title, but we definitely have similar subjects; Psychotropic Plants, not anymore, we donated our copy to the Hogwarts library after the big clean-out, you could try there; Atlas of Fungi, yes, and plenty of them—we thought they'd never sell."
"Excellent," Anthony said.
"Honestly, Henry, the books you want are always so odd. First Muggle Studies and Magical History, then dragons, now dangerous herbs," Daniel said. "What's this below? Conference proceedings?"
"Some potions conference, I think," Anthony said, leaning over to look. "Might have mentioned something about the Wolfsbane Potion. Flourish and Blotts doesn't sell conference records, right?"
Daniel frowned. "Actually, I think we did have some… They just got labeled 'Suspicious Publications' during the Ministry raids and were taken away."
"What, conference records?" Anthony asked, surprised. "I only heard they took a nice herb trowel from the Borage Herbalists. What would they want with conference records?"
"Who knows? Maybe the Ministry fireplaces weren't warm enough, and they decided to use them for fuel," Daniel said wearily. "I hate thinking they might have burned those books…"
Anthony clinked his glass against Daniel's in a gesture of sympathy and took another drink.
"You said they took Borage's trowel?" Daniel put his glass down. "Not the best one, surely! Merlin, I wondered why Borage was so furious."
Anthony said, "I'm not sure, I just heard people talking about it."
"Well, even if it was the best one, I'm not entirely surprised," Daniel said, glancing around. "That Umbridge woman was in charge of the inspections. I heard she took things from several shops under the guise of them being dangerous or suspicious. Things that shouldn't have been taken."
"Like conference records?"
"Like conference records," Daniel agreed. "Oh, and she took our Cleaning Ledger, too."
Anthony had never heard of it. "Cleaning Ledger?"
"A blank diary," Daniel explained. "We spilled ink on it once by accident and found it absorbed every last drop. We tested it a few times. It soaks up ink perfectly clean, but it gets wet with water."
Anthony asked curiously, "What about water mixed with ink?"
Daniel nodded. "It absorbs that too, and not a drop remains. It was incredibly useful. Whether it was a clumsy customer's spilled drink or mop water, you just had to add a bit of ink, and it would wipe everything clean—but Umbridge called it 'highly suspicious'! I can't see what's suspicious about a good cleaning rag!"
Anthony said sympathetically, "Maybe the Ministry floors need mopping."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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