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His laughter broke the serious, slightly annoyed expression on Harry's face. Harry grinned.
Ron laughed too. He nudged Harry's shoulder, his eyes slanting towards Hermione with a meaningful look. He made a face. Harry hurriedly wiped the grin off his face.
Hermione gave them both a cool, measured look, raised her chin, picked up her magazine and placed it on top of a stack of books.
"Have a pleasant afternoon," she said politely to Hagrid and Anthony, with one last pointed glance at Harry and Ron. Then she turned and strode away, arms full.
"Oh, for crying out loud. Here we go again," Ron muttered. "You reckon Lockhart's been slipping people curse-breakfast again?"
Harry felt another grin threatening, but he just shrugged. He said his goodbyes to Anthony and Hagrid and went after Hermione's retreating figure, with a still-grumbling Ron in tow.
"What's all that about?" Hagrid asked, perplexed, watching the two boys half-walk, half-run across the lawn to catch up to the brown-haired figure. "Hermione upset?"
"A little, perhaps," Anthony said.
They watched Hermione turn around, clearly saying something. Harry and Ron slowed for a moment, then speed-walked to catch up again. A little later, Hermione's pace slowed as well, and the three of them began walking towards the castle at a normal speed.
"They'll be fine," Anthony narrated, looking away.
Hagrid kept his worried gaze on the castle. "Why'd she get in a huff all of a sudden?"
"Er…" Anthony said. "At least they're patching things up. How about you, Hagrid? How have you been? It's been a while since I visited."
"Oh, brilliant!" Hagrid's attention snapped back immediately. He smiled down at Anthony. "Busy, but brilliant… I've been spending most of my time," he glanced left and right, leaned in closer, and dropped his voice to a whisper, "on the zoo. You know."
Anthony matched his conspiratorial tone. "How's it coming?"
"Can't say. It's a secret still. But," Hagrid puffed out his chest, "I'll tell you this, Henry, you're gonna be amazed."
Anthony suddenly felt a flicker of worry. "You haven't put a dragon in there, have you?"
"Weeeell…" Hagrid hedged, his eyes shifting away.
Anthony's stomach dropped. "Have you?"
Hagrid's head drooped. "Not yet," he muttered, sounding distinctly put out.
"Just keep an eye on Umbridge, alright?"
Mentioning Umbridge perked Hagrid up. "She ain't getting in," he said, waving a large hand. "Professor Flitwick put some defensive charms on the fencing… besides, there's Fluffy guarding the door…"
"Fluffy?"
"Fluffy with three heads," Hagrid said. "The three-headed dog, the one from the third-floor corridor back in the day. He's mine. Got him off a fella from Greece… a bloke who breeds magical creatures. I reckon he dabbles in selling Chimaera eggs on the side too, but I've never run into him on the black market. Slippery character."
Anthony sighed. "Maybe lay off the black market purchases for a bit… at least for now, eh? Minerva has enough on her plate."
"But I need to get some potion for the Flesh-Eating Slugs…"
"Umbridge just docked Gryffindor forty points and sent the Weasley twins to Filch for detention," Anthony said. "All the way until the week after Easter. Minerva's not happy because Wood stormed into her office to protest. Both of Gryffindor's Beaters are out of training. On top of that, she's dealing with letters from the Ministry. Professor Dumbledore's busy visiting Ilvermorny, so he's handed some of the school duties to her too…"
Hagrid's face darkened with fury. "But the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match is in May! That vile, evil harpy!" He jammed the scrubbing brush back into the tar bucket so hard it almost toppled over. "Right. I won't let her cause more trouble. Those slugs can wait."
Anthony paused, then nodded. "Excellent."
…
Leaving Hagrid to his gently rocking boats, Anthony turned back along the lakeshore. He decided to try his luck in the greenhouses again.
This time, he found Professor Sprout in the western greenhouse near the Forbidden Forest.
Reddish-brown soil was scattered around her. Jars of all sizes floated near the ceiling, each containing a flickering flame that heated most of the greenhouse. But in the shadows away from the jars, a cool, damp breath seemed to seep mysteriously from the moist, dark earth.
A beam of light shone down from something resembling a skylight, illuminating several small, baobab-like plants. They were wriggling contentedly, ensuring the sunlight fell evenly on every branch.
Professor Sprout was tending to a shriveled, twig-like plant. She heard the door open, pushed her wide-brimmed hat up, and looked over.
"Henry!" she called cheerfully. "What brings you here? Come see this! Oh, careful over there!" Anthony stepped over a pile of wrinkly purple things. "Shrivelfigs, sent from Uagadou. Albanian samples, probably. And never mind that pile, that's Sphinx dung. They seem to be using it as a substitute for dragon dung."
Dodging a spiky plant with blood-red flowers and passing a few golden cacti, Anthony crouched next to Professor Sprout. He listened to her cheerful explanation of the care and handling of some herb with a long, complicated name, and passed her the trowel or shears as she indicated.
Only after the "long-named plant" was safely potted and the pot buried in soil did Professor Sprout stand up, dusting herself off. "Thank you so much, Henry. Did Minerva send you?"
"Ah, no. It's Gillyweed."
"Pardon?"
"Did I get the name wrong?" Anthony asked, pulling the herb Mr. Lind had sent him from his pocket.
"No, no, you didn't," Professor Sprout laughed. "Give it here. I just wasn't expecting to hear that word from your mouth."
"This is Gillyweed, right?" Anthony asked.
Professor Sprout wiped her hands on her already-soiled robes, took the rat-tail-looking thing, and held it under her nose for a sniff. She examined it closely, rubbing the slick mucus between her fingers.
"Yes, indeed. And very fresh, too," she confirmed. "See this grey-green stem here? Mediterranean Gillyweed. It's the most potent variety known. Just an ounce lets a person stay underwater for over an hour. Oh!"
"What is it?" Anthony asked.
"Look at this, Henry!" Professor Sprout whispered in delight. "It's a clump of Pixie Gillyweed! Very rare. Very precious…"
"Pixie Gillyweed?" Anthony leaned in closer, peering at the spot she indicated. He saw nothing special. "I'm not seeing the pixie connection."
There were no translucent wings, no shower of golden dust. It still looked like some kind of worm or rat's tail, with just the slick mucus catching the greenhouse light.
"It's called Pixie Gillyweed because it's so scarce. It's only ever been found in Cornwall, so the joke is that Cornish Pixies planted it," Professor Sprout explained. "They'd say the pixies took Gillyweed from the shore into lakes, or into the dark, sunless pools in caves. Of course, that's mostly to emphasize just how rare it is."
She gently separated the tangled mass of grey-green plants and picked out a slightly reddish strand. "See? Classic Pixie Gillyweed. Do you know why it takes on this unusual color?"
Anthony stared at the pale red "rat's tail." "Because pixies planted it?" he offered, without much hope.
"Well, Henry," Professor Sprout said in an encouraging, guiding tone, "Gillyweed is a Mediterranean aquatic plant, meaning it usually lives in…"
"The sea," Anthony said. He chuckled. "Right, I see. What's the difference between Gillyweed that grows in fresh water versus salt water?"
"It turns a lovely pale red," Professor Sprout said.
"I mean, does it, I don't know, turn you into a merperson or something?"
"Certainly not!" Professor Sprout warned him. "And you must never say such a thing in front of merpeople. They're quite proud of their identity. Like Centaurs, they'd rather be classified as 'beasts' by the Ministry than be grouped with vampires and such as 'beings.'"
"I can understand that. I'm not too keen on being classified alongside vampires either."
"Hmm… fair point," Professor Sprout conceded. "But no, Pixie Gillyweed has no functional difference from the common variety."
Anthony asked, "Then what makes it so precious?"
Professor Sprout gave him a mildly chiding look. "Because it's a lovely pale red, Henry."
…
After Anthony replied to Mr. Lind ("It's a lovely pale red specimen of Gillyweed"), the Easter holiday arrived.
The library was filled with sighing, groaning students, buried under piles of homework, casting longing glances at the sunshine outside. Most professors had assigned more work than usual, if only to keep students too occupied to antagonize Umbridge. She was still handing out 'A' and 'E' reports, though news of the English team's advancement in the European Quidditch Championship League had taken up most of the Daily Prophet's space. Anthony hadn't seen any more inflammatory articles for a while.
It was in this fragile peace that a plump, round package arrived at Hogwarts.
The owl carrying it was scrawny and small. Under the watchful eyes of Anthony, Professor McGonagall, Umbridge, and Filch, it labored across the Great Hall. Its wings beat frantically, causing it to bob and weave unsteadily towards the Gryffindor table. With a final, desperate effort, it dropped the package right beside Harry's plate, nearly landing it in a dish of bacon. Harry caught it just in time, as Ron and Hermione looked on curiously. The little owl circled proudly above their heads, hooting with apparent satisfaction.
Anthony glanced at Umbridge. Her hand was frozen mid-air, her bulging eyes fixed on the scene like a toad spotting a fly.
"Oh, dungbomb…" Filch whispered gleefully.
Professor McGonagall had noticed too. A flicker of irritation crossed her face. She caught Anthony's eye, then turned and began discussing a new regulation about Animagi with Umbridge ("I hear Mr. Hill is quite supportive…"). Umbridge was forced to shift her attention, engaging in the discussion ("Yes, Minerva, Mr. Hill believes it will help people realize the necessity of registration…"). Anthony quickly put down his cutlery and made his way towards Harry.
Harry was turning the package over in his hands, looking for a signature. He found none.
"Open it!" Ron urged.
"Wait," Hermione said suspiciously. "What if there's something dangerous inside?"
But Harry was already tearing the wrapping paper. A huge, brightly colored egg rolled out. Painted on it, in wobbly lines over a green meadow dotted with red and yellow flowers, was a large black dog.
Anthony's steps faltered. There was nothing to hide here. No one could say a godfather shouldn't send his godson a gift. He smiled at a nearby student who looked up at him, leaned over, and calmly plucked a fruit tart from their table. Then he walked back to the staff table. The students watched him, bewildered.
"Honestly, Henry!" Professor McGonagall murmured as he sat back down. Her face was stern, but Anthony could hear the amusement in her voice.
Anthony addressed Umbridge and Filch, who were both glaring at him. "That fruit tart looked quite good. Feel free to fetch one from the student tables if you'd like."
…
"Sirius!" Harry said, delighted. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest. Even though every year before this, he'd watched Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon stuff a huge basket of chocolate Easter eggs into Dudley's hands, he'd never imagined he would receive one. And attached to the egg was a gift that made him even happier.
"Why would Sirius think to send you an Easter egg?" Hermione asked, interested. "Oh, there's a letter here too!"
"Sirius always wants to send Harry stuff," Ron said, leaning in to read the letter with him.
//Dear Harry, //Hope you're doing alright. I hear Muggles think Easter has something to do with that bloke who turned water into wine, and rabbits and eggs hidden by rabbits. Maybe that bloke's Animagus was a rabbit, dunno. Anyway, figured sending you an Easter egg couldn't go wrong.
Ron looked up. "What's an Easter egg, Hermione?"
Hermione sighed, about to explain, when Dean from further down the table said, "It's an egg at Easter time…" "Or egg-shaped things," Hermione added. "Er… yeah, sometimes real eggs, sometimes chocolate. You paint pictures on 'em, and then they're Easter eggs."
Hermione said, "Some believe eggs symbolize birth, thus connecting them to spring, which symbolizes renewal."
"Blimey, Sirius hasn't sent you a Chimaera egg, has he?"
Harry lifted the egg and shook it gently. "I think it's a gift box. Listen, there's something inside." //I know Hogwarts usually doesn't let students leave for Easter, so I decided to send you something fun to make the holiday feel more like a holiday…
"But how d'you open it?" Seamus asked.
"There might be a mechanism…" Hermione began.
//…just smash it open. Used a little charm so only a Potter can open it. Greetings, Professors Umbridge and Snape, if you're watching.
"Sirius says I should smash it," Harry read from the letter.
Ron shoved the egg into his arms. "What're you waiting for, then? Smash it."
"No, Harry!" Hermione cried.
//Besides that, Harry, whatever happens, you write to me anytime. You know this house is dead boring and I've got loads of time. Most importantly, I'm always on your side.
Harry set the letter aside. He looked at the painted dog on the shell, then tentatively tapped the egg against the edge of the table. Nothing happened. Under the watchful eyes of everyone around him, he gave it a solid whack.
BOOM!
Conversation died instantly. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled towards them. A fat, gold-and-red firework shot into the air above their table and burst.
From the shower of sparks erupted countless white, brown, fluffy, and weightless-looking rabbits. They drifted down lazily. The moment they touched the floor, they began hopping everywhere. Gasps and shouts rose as they bounded onto and off benches, snatching fallen food from under tables, nibbling on the tassels of house banners, and happily munching broccoli and spinach offered by startled students.
Owls in the rafters flapped their wings in annoyance, dodging the floating rabbits. Neville, in the ensuing chaos, fished a feather from his porridge and stared at his bowl in miserable indecision. Before he could decide whether to keep eating, a rabbit plopped into his mashed potatoes, then scrambled out, knocking the bowl over. The little owl that had delivered the chaos-bomb was now chirping excitedly, flying circles above the shattered eggshell, narrowly avoiding rabbits. Ron reached out and grabbed it.
The Weasley twins, in the midst of the pandemonium, doffed their hats and began scooping hopping rabbits into the giant bread baskets. When Professor McGonagall, her face like stone, strode past them, they bowed theatrically and pulled handfuls of rabbits from their hats.
Professor McGonagall ignored them. "Mr. Potter," she said, her voice cutting through the noise. "I expect an explanation." A flick of her wand, and every rabbit in the Hall vanished. Several students who had been cuddling them sighed in disappointment.
"I… I'm sorry," Harry stammered. "I didn't know it would do that, I had no idea…" "Lies!" Filch spat, flecks of saliva flying. "Born liars, the lot of you! Make a mess, then play innocent!"
Hermione flushed scarlet with shame. The little owl kept chirping.
"Shut it, you idiot!" Ron hissed at it. "Ow!" The owl pecked his finger happily, apparently thinking it was a game.
Umbridge's high, girlish voice cut in, dripping with false sweetness. "Lying children deserve a little correction, don't they? Let me see… ten points from Gryffindor. How does that sound?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione spoke in unison: "But…" "It sounds inadequate," Professor McGonagall said coldly, turning fully to face Umbridge. Umbridge gaped at her, looking as if McGonagall hadn't just refused her but had also punched her in the face.
"Minerva…" "If you notice I am handling this matter, I would appreciate you not doling out punishments before I have reached a decision, Dolores," Professor McGonagall said, seeming to channel all her recent frustration into the words. "Regardless, I believe I am Mr. Potter's Head of House. I do not believe he is lying."
Umbridge's chest heaved. Professor McGonagall looked down at her, unflinching.
Silence fell over the Hall. Students nearby inched away quietly, watching the standoff with a mixture of awe and anticipation. Neville was trembling. Anthony placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small, reassuring smile.
"Thank you for your understanding," Professor McGonagall said, giving a curt nod to Umbridge, whose eyes burned with icy fury.
"Oh, you're quite welcome," Umbridge simpered, her face devoid of any real smile. "Splendid, Minerva. I shall await the outcome of your… handling."
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow and turned back to Harry. "You claim you did not know the contents?"
"Yes. I mean, I knew it was an Easter egg, but I didn't know this was inside."
"You did not order it, Mr. Potter?"
"No. It's… it's from Sirius." Harry glanced at the letter by his hand.
Professor McGonagall's gaze fell on the painted black dog on the eggshell. She sighed faintly, her tone softening a fraction. "I would expect you to exercise more caution with parcels of unknown content in the future, Mr. Potter."
"But Sirius is my godfather," Harry said, as if defending him. "He'd never hurt me…" "You would be surprised how easily letters can be forged," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "Now, finish your breakfast." She shot a disapproving look at the little owl in Ron's grip and swept away.
"I thought you were going to take points, Minerva," Anthony murmured as he fell into step beside her.
"I do believe they deserve to lose some for the disruption they caused," Professor McGonagall replied impassively, her sharp gaze making two students attempting to swap homework pale and pretend to be very interested in their carrots. "However, Dolores seemed eager to take on the task."
"For the wrong reasons."
Professor McGonagall considered this for a moment as they walked. "No matter. Miss Granger will explain it to them."
…
"Sirius nearly got you into trouble!" Hermione whispered, a touch of reproach in her voice. "Professor McGonagall was about to take points, if it hadn't been for that Umbridge…"
"Maybe he warned me," Harry said quickly. "I haven't finished the letter… oh, Ron, he says… he says…" Hermione leaned over to look. "What? 'If your friend Ron is willing to give it a home, the little owl is his.' That's wonderful, Ron. 'As an apology for not killing Wormtail sooner and letting him escape to the Weasleys.' Oh."
Ron eyed the little owl suspiciously. It was still chirping excitedly, turning its head to take in the surroundings. Neville subtly shifted his milk goblet farther away. The owl gave Ron's hand another affectionate peck. Ron hissed in pain, sucking in a sharp breath, and let go. The owl fluttered unsteadily around them for a loop before landing back on Ron's now-reddened hand.
The Weasley twins, several seats away, leaned over. "That was a pretty decent firework, Harry," one of them said approvingly. "Know the shop address?"
"Have some decorum, Fred, George!" Percy snapped.
His brothers seemed not to hear him. "And, Ron, d'you mind shutting off that alarm clock?"
"Alarm clock?" Ron said.
"The fuzzy one," the other twin said. "Our dim little brother."
Percy, for once, agreed. "It is rather loud."
Ron looked down at the little owl chirping cheerfully at him.
"Right. You're mine," he declared, closing his hand around it again. "Just remember to deafen these lot for me."
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