Mr. Weasley arrived. And he was furious.
"I never should have left!" he raged. "Should've stayed right here and knocked his teeth in—"
"Don't think about it now, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley wearily. "The Malfoys are trouble. Your Muggle Protection Act is headache enough for him… He's just blowing hot air."
But she didn't look well either. It wasn't until Gilderoy Lockhart, arm slung around Harry Potter, announced something that she seemed to snap out of it, looking up amidst the crowd's cheers to ask a nearby person what he'd just said.
"Mr. Lockhart will be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year," Anthony explained politely, clapping along as he leaned in.
"Harry looks awful," Ginny whispered.
Amidst the click-clack of camera shutters and puffs of purple smoke, Harry walked stiffly back, arms laden with Lockhart's books. He looked even more exhausted and dazed than Mrs. Weasley. His eyes swept the area before he shoved the stack roughly into Ron's hands. "Here—you take them—"
Ron flipped open a cover. Next to Lockhart's grinning portrait, a flamboyant signature sprawled in golden ink, complete with a little cartoon smiley face. Ron scowled and held the book away as if the picture might lean out and kiss his hand too.
"Don't make that face, Ron," said Hermione. "He'll be our professor!"
"He licked my mum's hand!" Ron cried. "Revolting! And the way he was just… Did you see? All chummy with her—they've never met! He didn't even remember her name!"
"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, the Malfoys completely forgotten now. Her cheeks were flushed pink as she glanced at her husband. Mr. Weasley looked like he'd just swallowed a fly.
"It's called a kiss on the hand, Ron, it's not an insult," Hermione corrected. "I thought it was rather gallant, actually."
Ron's face said he didn't think so. But his mother was glaring, so he just muttered and passed the whole set to Ginny. "Bet you don't mind the idiot's name on them… Here. I'll buy my own with Harry and Hermione later."
…
Harry, Ron, and Hermione weaved through the crammed bookstore, pulling required textbooks from various shelves. Fred and George were pretending to queue in the endless signing line, really waiting for Lee Jordan. Percy was still nowhere to be seen ("He's been weird all summer," said Fred), and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had decided to share a nut-sprinkled ice cream.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger were mesmerised, browsing the magical titles, pointing at the bizarre names on the spines and whispering to each other.
"Best not touch those," Anthony advised as he passed by. Mr. Granger startled, yanking his hand back from The Complete Guide to Biting Flora.
"Thank you… Oh, Professor Anthony."
The used book section was dusty. Daniel, worried Anthony would soil his "seven-Galleon noble robes," had made him wear a Flourish & Blotts shop assistant's smock over his clothes. Anthony, sleeves rolled up, smiled up at the Grangers.
It wasn't until he reached the used section that he understood why Daniel called it a disaster. Lucius Malfoy, before leaving, had tossed the papers scattered on the floor back onto the shelves but hadn't bothered sorting them or dealing with the books that had tumbled down.
"Is Mr. Lockhart easy to deal with?" Anthony asked, frowning as he compared the runes on two page corners before giving up and handing them to Daniel.
"Salamander is six, Acromantula is eight. These two are consecutive." Daniel glanced at them and handed them back. "You a fan?"
Anthony slotted the pages together, not looking up. "No. But he's about to be my colleague."
"Depends on what you mean by 'deal with.' Drinks and a chat? No, I wouldn't recommend it." Daniel flipped rapidly through a three-hundred-page tome, shaking out a handful of crumbled leaf fragments.
"Unless you need a huge venue, lots of attention… cameras, lights, flowers, applause…" Daniel dusted off the crumbs and cautiously sniffed the book. "Something smells mouldy… No. As long as you learn to ignore him, Lockhart isn't hard to deal with."
…
Even after being sent to move books twice because of the assistant's smock ("I owe you one. Drinks later."), Anthony thoroughly enjoyed the time spent cleaning books with Daniel.
It almost felt like being a cashier again, helping colleagues take stock after closing, wondering why there were two extra caramel yoghurts but one less bag of mozzarella.
He missed the feeling of his fingers running over the shelves, the tall metal racks with their cold, familiar touch, everything in its proper place. He knew exactly which corner held the boxes of macaroni.
Chatting with Daniel, Anthony cleaned and assembled pages belonging to the same book. He got faster, even musing that if Hogwarts sacked him, he could work at Flourish & Blotts. He'd be happy as a bookstore cashier.
He also asked Daniel if he could find contact information for the author of The Monster Book of Monsters.
"Why?" Daniel asked warily.
"Hagrid loves that book," Anthony said, remembering Hagrid rescuing the half-burnt copy from under his bed (it had still tried to bite his fingers with its charred pages). "He wants to buy another."
Daniel sighed and led him deeper into the storeroom, pointing to a cage. "We've got four left. If Hagrid wants them, he can take the lot. The author was over the moon last time he saw his books selling. Left a few more."
He tried to sell Anthony the remaining monster books on the spot, but Anthony was due at The Burrow. They agreed he'd collect them after term started. Anthony would be making frequent trips between Hogwarts and London anyway for the Wraith Chicken experiments.
…
By the time he and Daniel had tidied the used section (even clearing some of the books Lockhart's massive portraits had displaced from the storeroom), the others had finally fought their way through the crowds, gathering all their needed textbooks at the counter.
"We were looking for you. Where'd you get to, Henry?" Mr. Weasley asked. Anthony, in the assistant's smock, had passed him three times without being recognised.
"In an Invisibility Cloak," Anthony answered, straightening his own clothes.
Mr. Weasley's face flickered between doubt and belief.
The clerk behind the till pointed at the bundle Anthony was packing. "What's that?"
"Hm?" Anthony looked down. "Oh, not a shop book… A blank diary." He pulled it out and handed it over. "From the used section. Daniel gave it to me."
"Daniel!" the clerk called. But Lockhart had just told a joke. The shop roared with laughter and applause, drowning him out.
Frowning, the clerk flipped through the shabby diary and handed it back.
"Don't remember us taking this in," he warned Anthony. "We don't usually give away items of unknown ownership… If you'd like one, we have a batch of brand new diaries…"
"It's fine," Anthony began, then glanced at the waiting Weasleys. "Actually, yes, please. A new one would be lovely. Thank you. This one can stay here in case the owner returns."
…
Anthony gifted the new diary to Ginny as a pre-Hogwarts present. They said goodbye to the Grangers outside The Leaky Cauldron and took the Floo Network to The Burrow.
Anthony tumbled out of the fireplace, nearly crashing into a kitchen table. It was scrubbed clean, holding a plate of half-dried ham with a gleaming silver knife beside it. Opposite the book-laden mantelpiece was the stove, a few pots sitting quietly. An old, well-thumbed cookbook lay open by the sink, showing two bowls of oxtail stew dancing a waltz.
The cramped kitchen smelled of fried eggs, sausages, and butter. As Anthony looked around, Harry emerged from the fireplace. He steadied himself, pulled his glasses from his pocket, put them on, and scanned the room carefully, visibly relieved.
"Oh, I forgot to put the ham away," Mrs. Weasley said, flustered. "Well, would you like some, Henry?"
Anthony declined. Mrs. Weasley promptly produced a huge apple pie from a cupboard, declaring anyone who wanted a slice could help themselves. But she sent Anthony upstairs first to unpack. He was staying in Charlie's room, as Charlie couldn't make it home all summer.
Lugging his suitcase, Anthony found the small wooden door bearing Charlie's name. It swung open easily. The floorboards creaked underfoot.
The bed wasn't large, but it was soft, smelling of sunshine. A yellowed Quidditch team training schedule was taped to the wardrobe door, along with Charlie's seventh-year timetable. Anthony noted he hadn't taken Muggle Studies, but every Care of Magical Creatures class was circled.
The window looked out over a vast stretch of green grass. In the distance, what looked like a Muggle village sent up thin trails of smoke. On the windowsill sat a dragon model missing half a wing (not a Norwegian Ridgeback, though Anthony didn't recognise the breed) curled in a patch of sun as if asleep.
Anthony moved the model to a drawer. Inside, he found a photo of Charlie Weasley with Percy, Fred, and George.
Charlie, freckled like his brother Ron, looked more muscular than any Weasley Anthony knew. Charlie and the twins were grinning, holding their broomsticks like microphones, pretending to interview Percy. Percy stared stiffly at the camera, unsure what expression to wear.
Anthony gave the room a final check for anything the Skeleton Cat might start a fight with, drew the curtains, and opened his suitcase. With a series of clicks, the bones packed between his clothes and books flew out, assembling into a feline skeleton on Anthony's lap. Two balls of Soul Fire POOFed into being.
The Skeleton Cat struggled briefly, failed to free itself from Anthony's hold, and chomped down on his hand. Anthony patted its skull soothingly. "We're guests. Fine if you bite me. Be polite to everyone else."
The cat gnawed on his hand in frustration, then let go. Anthony took that as agreement.
"Good cat," he praised, transforming it into the ginger tabby. The cat leaped away immediately, busying itself with licking its ruffled fur irritably.
…
Anthony fell in love with life at The Burrow almost instantly.
Mrs. Weasley ruled the kitchen, steadfastly trying to shoo everyone out. Anthony only earned the privilege of peeling potatoes after demonstrating his bell pepper-washing charm.
Mr. Weasley returned from the Ministry each day, dusty and full of bizarre cases to share as dinner stories.
The Weasley twins lived opposite him. When they pulled their door open one morning to see Anthony emerge in slippers, they groaned dramatically.
"Mum! Can't the professor stay somewhere else?" they yelled.
"Quiet, Henry's a friend!" Mrs. Weasley yelled back. "And if you don't change out of those pyjamas, no breakfast! Don't forget to feed Elon!"
Anthony saw the owl, too. Elon puffed up its feathers at first sight of him, wings spread wide, hopping agitatedly in its cage.
When the ginger tabby curiously strolled into the twins' room, the owl shrieked angrily, battering its cage so loudly Percy came up from downstairs to check. Ron and Harry passed the doorway on their way down, gloomily observing, "Told you. That bird's mad. The Muggles must've fed it something wrong."
"I expect it's because Professor Anthony keeps rats too," Percy said. "Elon is an owl with a taste for rats."
The Wraith Mouse's first appearance at the Weasleys' drew awed whispers. Compared to the aloof, ever-present ginger cat, an ethereal, transparent mouse was far more intriguing.
"It's so much smaller than Scabbers," Ginny said, wide-eyed as the Wraith Mouse nimbly leaped onto Anthony's shoulder.
Ron agreed. "Scabbers is a big rat. We've taken good care of him… Well, we did, before that mad bird showed up." He glared at the twins.
Anthony apologised. "Sorry. That was my owl adoption event."
"No, no, it's fine…" Ron said, seeming unprepared for the apology. "I mean, you keep a cat and rats. You must think they can get along, right?"
He pulled Scabbers out.
The Wraith Mouse sniffed Scabbers and recoiled with a disdainful sneeze. Scabbers shrank back. In Anthony's mind, the wraith conveyed a strange mix of puzzlement and utter contempt.
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