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Antony held the letter in one hand and pulled three or four mice from his bag with the other. He had just written to Mr. Weasley to inform him there was no longer any need to worry about Ron's pet.
The nearest owls swiveled their heads, their round eyes fixed on the rodents. Two barn owls glided down from a distant perch, landing soundlessly before him. They jostled, wings shifting subtly, each angling for a better position. With many shops closed for the Easter holiday, the owls normally busy delivering flyers and packages now enjoyed more leisure time, or more accurately, more time to be bored.
"To Arthur Weasley at The Burrow," Antony told the owls. "If he's at the Ministry, just drop it by the house."
More owls descended. He was surrounded by a low, comfortable chorus of hoots. Those on the edges flapped their wings to keep balance.
Antony looked at his welcoming committee, surprised. He even recognized a few belonging to students. He was about to hand the letter to the nearest owl when he spotted a familiar figure at the far end of a perch.
"Is that you?" he asked, hesitating as he studied the bird's face. "From the Dragon Reserve?"
The owl shook its head, ruffled its feathers with an air of superiority, and let out a soft hoot.
"Excellent." Antony placed the letter and the mice before it. "They're yours."
The owl wasted no time. It snatched up a mouse, tossed its head back, and swallowed. One by one, the mice disappeared. Finally, it extended a leg, waiting for the letter. Antony tied it on. With a graceful push, the owl was out the window, a shrinking black speck against the greening hills beyond.
Antony watched it go, then turned the empty bag inside out to show the remaining, hopeful owls. He headed downstairs.
It was a warm, bright day. The sky was blue, the lake clear, and spring was humming in the air. He paused in the corridor. The gentle breeze was an irresistible summons. He crossed the Entrance Hall and stepped outside.
Beneath the brilliant sun, several students lay under a tree, textbooks covering their faces. Antony knew they weren't asleep. As he passed, he caught their muffled complaints about Snape's mountain of homework, Mrs. Norris's alarm-like yowls, and Filch's detentions.
Further on, small groups of students, similarly seduced by the spring day, walked and laughed along the edge of the Black Lake, where the grass had grown tall and silent. The tarred little boats were upturned on the dock, a row of glossy beetles catching the light.
On the path between the dock and the lawn, a crowd had gathered. At its center stood a figure utterly at odds with the season.
"If you continue to shout, Mr. Thomas, I'm afraid I shall have to deduct more points," said Umbridge in her high, girlish voice. "Students, I think you'll be pleased to know this malicious toy will no longer endanger your health within the school. Now, why don't you go and engage in some beneficial activity? Reading, perhaps. Or writing an essay."
The students didn't move. They showed no sign of scattering to do anything "beneficial." Antony noticed several wore colorful badges on their chests: two oddly-shaped snakes biting each other's tails, their colors shifting, forming an endless loop. He'd first thought it a new Slytherin trend, until he spotted familiar faces—mostly Gryffindors—and realized it was the badge of that student club dedicated to finding new uses for Roger the Snake.
"You can't just take it!" Katie said indignantly.
"Oh? I rather think I can, my dear," Umbridge said sweetly.
"But…" a Hufflepuff student said nervously. "But it's not even on Filch's list of prohibited items in the castle!"
Umbridge tilted her head back slightly, looking down her nose. "Then you must not have read it carefully enough."
Thomas muttered, "I've nearly got it memorized."
"Then you must not have memorized the latest version, Mr. Thomas," Antony said. "It was added just before the Easter holiday." The professors had discussed it in the greenhouse. "However, Professor Umbridge, I believe that list only governs items inside the castle. It hasn't yet commented on magical objects outside."
Everyone turned to look at him. Several students smiled, making space for him to step forward.
"Quite right, quite right," Umbridge trilled in agreement, as if she'd anticipated this. "Nevertheless, think of the dreadful influence such magical contraptions must have on young, impressionable minds! I'm astonished they were permitted for so long, Professor Antony." She wiggled the garish Roger the Snake dangling from her stubby fingers.
"What dreadful influence would that be, Professor Umbridge?" Antony asked.
Umbridge's eyes narrowed slightly. She smiled. "Oh, Professor Antony, you know it's not my usual style to speak so plainly. But since you insist…" She turned to the glowering students, raising her voice a fraction. "My dear children, while I applaud your creativity, I must insist this is hardly fair. Not to the innocent Miss Parkinson, nor to the victim, Mr. Davies. Every time a student plays with such a thing, it reopens their wounds… Not to mention how it deliberately overlooks the dereliction of duty by the faculty, whether it was the Quidditch referee or any professor present who failed to provide timely aid…"
Thomas said, "Parkinson? Innocent? If she hadn't made that snake—"
"Madam Hooch changed the rules after that!" Katie said. "And the professors went to check right away—"
"Roger doesn't even care—"
"Enough!" Umbridge snapped. The chorus of voices cut off instantly. A few people chatting by the lake jumped, glanced over, and hurried away.
"Young ladies and gentlemen, remember, I am your friend," Umbridge said softly. "Everything I do is to keep you from harm. Don't be so quick to argue. Think about it… Carefully. Patiently. In time, you will see…"
"I'll grab you by the ankles and throw you in the lake," a tall student muttered angrily.
Umbridge's gaze rested on his face.
Only when he looked regretful did she look away, her tone flat. "Disrespecting the High Inquisitor. Five points from Gryffindor. Regardless, if you think carefully, you'll realize who bears the true blame for Mr. Davies's tragedy."
"Of course! Definitely not the Slytherins!" a fourth-year Gryffindor said sarcastically. "Right. It was a Slytherin banner. A Slytherin alchemical snake. Custom-made for Slytherin. Brought to the Quidditch pitch by Slytherins. But Merlin, the Slytherins are so innocent!"
"If it weren't for Harry just—" another student blurted out.
He clamped his mouth shut, but Umbridge pounced instantly. "Harry Potter?"
"Harry just went to get Professor Flitwick," Katie said, her tone strained.
It struck Antony then, with a jolt of surprise, that "Harry Potter is a Parselmouth" had somehow become a secret known only within Hogwarts—much like "Antony is a Necromancer" was a secret known to every house-elf.
During the peak of Roger the Snake's popularity, nearly every Gryffindor had played with the toy, calling themselves Parselmouths. Thanks to Roger's firm stance, most Ravenclaws had accepted the logic of "Potter saved Davies" and stopped accusing Harry of being a dark wizard who spoke to snakes. The Hufflepuffs, feeling guilty for misjudging Harry, respected his wish and kept the story of Roger the Snake a secret. As for Slytherin, they refused to acknowledge Harry was a Parselmouth at all.
So, even though the whole school seemed to know at the time, amidst all the chaotic drama and subsequent silence, the fact had been buried. Like an old newspaper shoved into a drawer corner, it was covered by Dumbledore's new club, new Quidditch rules, more match news, heavy homework, and fresh scandals, until it gathered dust in most people's memories. In the end, no one spoke of it anymore.
Umbridge still looked deeply skeptical. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Antony said. "Mr. Potter found Professor Flitwick and myself."
Umbridge nodded slowly, maintaining an expression of polite doubt. Katie looked even more tense. The student who'd slipped up tried to clumsily steer the topic back. "Ahem, Professor Umbridge… Roger Davies really doesn't mind us joking about it…"
Umbridge tilted her head, like the most innocent little girl. "And how will you prove that, my dear?"
"Prove… prove it?"
"Of course," Umbridge said with infinite, child-directed patience. "You see, you can't just tell me Mr. Davies doesn't mind and expect me to believe it, can you? If someone hit you, then told me you didn't care, would you think I should believe them?"
"No…" the student said, sounding dazed. "No, you shouldn't. But… but…"
"But Mr. Davies himself is one of the creators of Roger the Snake," Antony said. He nodded toward the castle. "If you're looking for those 'malicious creators,' Professor Umbridge, I believe you'll find many confiscated Roger the Snake order forms in Mr. Filch's office… Proudly listing all their names." Antony privately thought it a very sensible move—convenient for assigning detentions.
Before Umbridge could speak, Katie jumped in. "If you still doubt it, we'll get a witness. Hey! Davies!" She waved toward the distance.
Antony looked but didn't see Roger. Further down the path, Tracey stood with a group of Slytherin girls, looking like they'd just returned from Hogsmeade. The girls in front heard Katie's call and looked over, then back at Tracey. Tracey frowned slightly, leaned in, and said something. The girls nodded and walked on. Tracey followed half a step behind, clutching a paper bag as if she hadn't noticed Katie at all.
"Davies!" Katie ran ahead, blocking Tracey's path.
Tracey acted as if she'd just seen her. "Bell. What are you doing here?"
"Can you help us? Please?" Katie lowered her voice. "Please, Davies?"
Tracey glanced toward their group again.
"I don't know how I can help you," she said coolly. "You don't want me to hex those Gryffindor louts for you, do you? Because I'd be happy to oblige." The Slytherin girls tittered.
Katie looked annoyed. "No. I just need you to—" She grabbed Tracey's arm and pulled her toward Umbridge and Antony. "Tell Professor Umbridge that Roger really doesn't mind about Roger the Snake. You wouldn't doubt her, would you?" The last part was aimed at Umbridge.
Umbridge cooed, "I don't doubt anyone, Miss Bell. But children are so easily misled."
"I'm not a child!" Katie said angrily.
"Then, Miss Davies," Umbridge turned her head. "Is it true Mr. Davies doesn't mind this… malicious magical contraption?"
Tracey's gaze swept over the surrounding students and Antony, lingered on Umbridge's smile, flicked to Antony again, and finally dropped. "I don't know."
"How can you not know?" Thomas challenged.
"I don't know if Roger minds…" Tracey said slowly. "But I mind."
"What?"
"As Roger's family, every time I see someone joke with that thing, I feel sick," Tracey said. Her face was pale, as if she truly did feel nauseous. "I mean, that toy is truly vicious."
Katie stared at her, mouth slightly open, temporarily speechless.
Umbridge said victoriously, her voice soft, "You're saying, as a victim's relative, you feel hurt by these jokes, correct? Would you oppose me confiscating these items?"
Tracey was silent for a moment.
"You look unwell, Miss Davies. I think you should go and rest," Antony said. "You don't need to answer these questions."
"No, Professor Umbridge, I wouldn't oppose it at all," Tracey said with a small smile, not looking at Antony. Her use of 'Professor' seemed to please Umbridge further.
"Good girl," she said gently. "I know you. Albert Davies's daughter." She turned back to the students with the ouroboros badges. "It seems the matter is settled. Enjoy your afternoon—and remember, engage in beneficial activities."
She pushed through the students and walked away. Roger the Snake hung limp from her grip, its head bobbing with each step, its forked tongue nearly brushing the tall grass.
The Slytherin girls said smugly, "Let's go, Tracey. You've delayed us long enough."
Katie said, "Davies, how could you—"
Another student sneered, "Katie, she's a Slytherin!" He shot a resentful look at Tracey. "Slytherins are all sneaky like that. You should know that by now! I don't know why you thought she'd help!"
"She's Roger's family!" Katie argued. "And she takes Muggle Studies, I thought… I thought…"
Tracey stood very straight, her face pale.
The nearby Slytherin girl said impatiently, "Don't listen to their rubbish, Tracey. We're leaving."
"I can't believe Roger has a sister like you!" Thomas said with disgust. "Come on, Katie, we'll think of something else. Thank you, Professor Antony. I know you tried to help."
Antony nodded. "However, Mr. Thomas, Roger the Snake is indeed a prohibited magical item within the castle now. Be mindful of the rules."
"Yes, Professor," Thomas said. He and his friends moved off toward the woods, heads together, muttering angrily about how to stop Umbridge's ever-tightening control. Katie shot a final, furious glare at Tracey and the Slytherins, then turned and ran to catch up with her friends, ignoring the deliberate, mocking laughter behind her.
"What a bunch of idiots," one Slytherin girl said, her smile vanishing. "Hilarious, thinking Tracey would help her. Let's go." She turned and headed for the castle, bag in hand. The others followed, chatting and laughing, ridiculing the third-year Gryffindor's foolish hope.
Tracey said, "Alright." She lifted her eyes, shot a quick glance at Antony, then looked down again. She repeated softly, "Alright."
"Miss Davies," Antony said.
Tracey's face grew even paler. Her expression tightened. "Yes, Professor Antony?"
"Miss Davies," Antony said gently. "It's all right."
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