Bab 138: The Troubled Harry Potter
It took Anthony a while to understand why he had become the first choice for other professors to get information: there were rumors among the students, Madam Hooch was outside the castle dealing with players from both houses who had been suspended during a Quidditch match, and Snape claimed he had "important work" and disappeared. Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick had left his office early to calm the students in the Ravenclaw common room.
Looking around Hogwarts, it seemed that Anthony was the only professor who wasn't occupied.
Anthony cautiously opened the door, glanced left and right down the empty corridor, then turned and picked up the cat that was playing with the tassels on the sofa cushion. With his other hand, he gently scooped up the mouse that had just woken up and was dazedly sitting in the corner, placing it into his pocket.
"Come on, let's go for a walk," he said.
The mouse curiously pawed at the edge of his pocket, sticking its head out and sniffing the air. Anthony stroked its head with his fingertips and quickly carried the cat down the staff-only stairs to the first floor, making his way through the bustling Great Hall, trying his best not to look like he was sneaking out of the castle.
On this mild, sunny afternoon, everything outside seemed vibrant. Along the path beside the Black Lake and into the forest by the mountainside, small yellow and blue flowers were blooming everywhere. Tiny insects buzzed around the grass by the lake, and a few pet toads were sitting nearby, occasionally snapping at a meal. Anthony watched them for a moment, wondering if one of them belonged to Neville Longbottom.
The students returning from Hogsmeade were walking along another path, talking and laughing loudly, oblivious to the intriguing rumors circulating within the castle. Anthony continued along the secluded trail to the far side of the Black Lake, chatting with the cat as they walked: "Did you scratch Professor Quirrell while I was away? That's not good. Now I don't even dare to let you roam around on your own."
The cat looked up at him with its yellow eyes and impatiently nibbled his ear.
"I told you to stop doing that," Anthony chuckled, tilting his head to avoid the playful bite. The cat didn't bite hard—it simply rested its head on his neck, its fur feeling soft and ticklish.
Seeing that no one was around, Anthony set the cat and the mouse down, gazed at the vast lake, and slowly strolled forward.
Despite the pleasant weather, the wind blowing off the Black Lake still carried a cold dampness, especially on the shaded side of the water. Waves lapped against the rocks, and the splashes made the narrow path slippery. Perhaps for this reason, most students preferred the sunny side of the lake, where the cold water sparkled with golden light under the warm sun.
Just as Anthony was enjoying the peaceful quiet, he noticed three short figures approaching. Harry Potter's muffled voice drifted over on the breeze: "They treat me like a monster."
"That's just because Parseltongue is historically associated with Dark wizards," Ron said, concerned. "And, honestly, it sounded like you wanted the snake to strangle Davis or something. We know you didn't mean it, okay? It just sounded that way."
Hermione chimed in, "Well, Harry, people will forget about this in two days. They'll start gossiping about someone's new relationship or something. They always do that."
"I know, it's just." Harry began, then caught sight of a cat walking proudly nearby. The cat's tail was held high, and it jumped onto the railing, passing by the three Gryffindors with a distinctly aloof expression.
"Professor Anthony?" Hermione said, turning to where Anthony was approaching.
Anthony followed behind the mouse. "Good afternoon, Miss Granger. I take it you're avoiding the castle for some reason?"
The boy who spoke Parseltongue tossed a stone into the Black Lake. "Yeah, because apparently, I'm going to eat all my classmates soon."
"Well, then you must have a really good appetite," Anthony said lightly, stopping beside him and gazing at the tall castle and its distorted reflection in the water. "Care for a chat, Mr. Potter?"
"Professor, I didn't!" Harry suddenly whipped his head around, his voice tinged with frustration and hurt. "I don't know what's going on! I mean, I get it now—talking to a snake isn't exactly normal, but I didn't make the snake attack Davis!"
Anthony raised a calming hand. "Potter, no one thinks you made the snake attack Davis."
"No?" Harry said, his voice dropping. "You should see my classmates, Professor Anthony. Even Ron—"
"I didn't!" Ron interjected indignantly, but Harry continued, "—even Ron said it sounded like I was encouraging the snake to do something bad."
Anthony, trying to be fair, said, "Well, it did sound like that." Seeing Harry's downcast expression, he quickly added, "But look at the result: the snake was attacking Davis, you spoke to it, and the snake let him go. It's not hard to draw the conclusion that 'Potter made the snake let Davis go.'"
"What did I say?" Hermione said to Harry, giving Anthony the impression she had said something similar before.
Harry said uneasily, "They think it's because of some spell Professor Flitwick cast."
"Alright," Anthony replied. "But regardless, since you didn't actually do anything wrong, your classmates will figure it out sooner or later. And when they do, you can say, 'What did I tell you?'"
Harry looked up at him briefly, then turned his gaze back to the dark, mysterious waters of the Black Lake.
"I believe you, Potter," Anthony said gently. "Unless you give me a reason not to, I'm going to follow the simplest logic. Davis is a clever student, and when he wakes up, I'm sure he'll thank you."
What Anthony didn't mention was that Davis had probably been too panicked to even notice Harry speaking to the snake. When not clouded by fear, the truth becomes much clearer.
Harry forced a small smile. "Thanks, Professor."
…
When Anthony returned from his walk, he bumped into Professor McGonagall on the staff stairwell. He spoke with her about the suspicions Harry's classmates seemed to have—Anthony couldn't understand why anyone would suspect Harry, as the boy had no motive to hurt Roger Davis—and Professor McGonagall informed him that Dumbledore had already been alerted. The headmaster was expected to return soon.
Although Dumbledore's letter indicated that he didn't understand why Harry could speak Parseltongue ("Albus doesn't recall any blood connection between the Potters and Slytherins"), Professor McGonagall believed that Dumbledore would be able to quell the unsettling rumors once he was back.
"Isn't the headmaster out of the school?" Anthony asked.
Professor McGonagall nodded. "Yes, I really should propose that he attend every Quidditch match, but Durmstrang has suggested opening an exchange on research into Dark Magic. Albus is attending a meeting today." She unconsciously emphasized "you," prompting Anthony to give her a curious look.
"Hasn't he attended in the past?" Anthony asked.
Professor McGonagall replied, "Don't try to predict Albus's schedule, Henry. You'll find he's never at school, yet always at school."
However, Dumbledore didn't make an appearance until dinner time, and both Professor Flitwick and Snape (perhaps wisely) decided to skip the meal in the Great Hall. Thanks to Professor McGonagall's stern demeanor and the whispered conversations of several students at the long tables, Anthony was able to enjoy his fried chicken without too many curious interruptions.
Even Filch, in a hushed voice, asked Anthony when Potter would be expelled. Before Anthony could respond, Professor McGonagall sharply reminded Filch that even if she were expelled herself, she wouldn't allow any student to be forced out over "such nonsense." She kindly advised him to drop the subject.
Filch wasn't the only one who seemed convinced that Harry would be expelled—though Professor Trelawney, in her usual cryptic manner, seemed to side with the boy.
"I saw a great serpent coiled around each of our heads," she said with an air of mystery. "Doom follows someone closely and has come to the school, It is a boy. I've seen it. He's a boy."
"Try this carrot, Sybil," Professor Sprout offered kindly.
Anthony couldn't help but notice that Harry and his friends were absent from the Gryffindor table.
As he was leaving the hall, Anthony overheard several Hufflepuff students discussing the incident. They were convinced that Harry hadn't come to dinner because he was planning to send all the other Quidditch players to the hospital, one by one, to secure Gryffindor's victory in the Quidditch Cup. According to the rumor, thousands of snakes were soon to emerge from the Slytherin dungeons, each one large enough to swallow Marcus Flint in a single bite.
"Slytherin only managed a draw through trickery. Potter must be furious," one student said.
"But what did Davis do?" another asked. "If Potter were going to let the snake attack someone, it should've been Flint."
"Calculate the points. If Ravenclaw wins, it would hurt Gryffindor's chances," added the student who managed to bring the Quidditch Cup into the discussion—in Parseltongue, no less.
Another student joined the conversation. "Maybe Potter wanted the snake to attack Flint. Maybe that's what he told the snake, so it let Davis go. If it weren't for that spell Professor Flitwick used, we'd probably be attending Flint's funeral."
Someone else chimed in, "I don't think we'd be invited to Flint's funeral." The conversation quickly shifted from Harry Potter's ability to speak Parseltongue to the idea of a pure-blood Slytherin family's funeral.
…
Anthony was busy searching for the positioning collar he had crafted for his cat when he heard a knock at his office door.
"Come in!" he called, opening the door with a wave of his wand.
To his surprise, Harry Potter stood outside. Anthony glanced at the clock—it was still more than an hour until curfew.
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry, looking slightly uncomfortable, glanced at the striped teapot and stacks of parchment on Anthony's desk. "Professor Anthony, Professor Dumbledore isn't at school, and Professor McGonagall is in solitary confinement, um. Neville suggested I talk to you, and Hermione made me promise I would come."
Anthony quickly waved him in.
"Have a seat, Potter." He pushed a chair towards Harry. "Milk, pumpkin juice, or hot chocolate?" He hadn't expected this—how had he become the stand-in for Dumbledore or McGonagall?
"No, thank you, Professor," Harry said, trying to appear relaxed as he stood in Anthony's office. "I just—could you—do you know the password to the Headmaster's office?"
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "If Professor Dumbledore's not in the school, I doubt you'll find much help by going to his office."
"I.." Harry hesitated. "I heard that the Sorting Hat is in the Headmaster's office."
Anthony thought about it. He'd been to Dumbledore's office several times, usually dealing with something urgent, and often distracted by Fawkes, the phoenix. He couldn't recall whether the Sorting Hat was there.
"What do you want with the Sorting Hat?" Anthony asked, pouring two cups of tea from the teapot. He handed one to Harry, who hesitated before taking a sip and finally sitting down.
"I just want to find it," Harry replied stubbornly.
"And then?" Anthony asked with a slight smile. "You're not planning on getting re-sorted into another house because you think another house has a better chance of winning the Quidditch Cup, are you?"
Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "If we keep working hard, we can still win the Quidditch Cup this year."
"Then what's the problem?" Anthony asked. "It sounds like you're quite content in Gryffindor."
"I am!" Harry said firmly. "But Hermione told me that Salazar Slytherin was a famous Parselmouth, which is why the symbol of Slytherin is a snake."
"Just because you and Salazar Slytherin speak the same language, you think you should've been sorted into his house?" Anthony asked, shaking his head. "Relax, Potter. I don't see any logical connection here."
"But someone said—I heard—that Parseltongue is the mark of a Dark wizard," Harry replied, his voice filled with uncertainty. "And Hagrid said all bad wizards come from Slytherin. So, as long as I wasn't sorted into Slytherin, that means I won't turn out bad, right?" He looked at Anthony, clearly hoping for some reassurance.
Anthony hesitated. He didn't want to launch into a long discussion about how a person's future depends on their choices, how the concept of good and evil isn't always clear-cut, and how one's house at Hogwarts doesn't define their morality.
Instead, he simply asked, "Why would you turn out bad?"
"I don't know, because I'm a bad person?" Harry shrugged, his tone almost dismissive. Anthony could tell that Harry had likely heard rumors like, "Potter only defeated the Dark Lord because he's destined to become one himself." Such conspiracy theories often appeared in pamphlets during Anthony's own study of modern magical history.
"No one is born a bad person," Anthony assured him, drawing from his years of experience. "And, while I'm not your professor, from the gossip I've heard, all your teachers—excluding some unfair evaluations—seem to think you're a humble, hardworking, and kind student."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise, as if he couldn't believe it. Anthony continued, "Didn't you help Mr. Longbottom retrieve his Remembrall during flying class? Your head of house, Professor McGonagall, was quite proud of that. Professor Sprout has mentioned how seriously you approach your essays; Professor Flitwick has praised you several times in private; and, of course, there's Hagrid."
Harry interrupted, "It's really Hermione... Hermione helps us—me and Ron—with our essays. She's always the first to finish her assignments in class. She's even previewed all the questions the professors ask us."
Anthony smiled warmly. "See? Now I can tell others that Harry Potter is the kind of person who praises his friends without hesitation."
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