"What?" Professor Sprout said. "But… but I thought his punishment was already settled! Wasn't that announced in the Wizengamot court? The Dementor's Kiss?"
"The Wizengamot changed its mind, of course," Professor Burbage sniffed. "I even worry that if we give the Ministry a few more days, they might find some excuse to pardon Pettigrew." She accepted the tea Anthony handed her, leaned back into the flesh-eating foliage, and sighed. "Pettigrew's little performance has everyone second-guessing. Everyone's got an opinion."
She listed them off. "Crouch suggests we keep the story of Peter Pettigrew quiet, to avoid alerting the Death Eaters still at large outside Azkaban. Fudge still wants to publicize the crimes, tell the public they've found his wand. Mad-Eye suggested we get the wand's location out of Pettigrew first, then bring in a Dementor for the Kiss…"
"Mad-Eye? Alastor?" Professor McGonagall asked, surprised. "Was he there?"
"Yes," Professor Burbage said. "He shouldn't have been at the meeting, but the Auror guarding Pettigrew—Kingsley Shacklebolt, I think—requested the Minister assign Mad-Eye to watch and transport the rat. In case he tried to run again."
She continued, recalling. "Umbridge doesn't much care if Black is cleared. She wants the focus to be on the Ministry finding the Dark Lord's wand. On top of that, she wants a firm statement that he is dead and gone for good. Incidentally, I think that part is actually Fudge's idea. Madam Bones wanted to keep the original sentence, to preserve the Wizengamot's dignity, but she agrees on the immense symbolic importance of the Dark Lord's wand. Pettigrew just kept weeping, begging, apologizing… said he wanted to make amends…"
"How shameful!" Professor McGonagall said.
"In short," Professor Burbage took a sip of tea, rubbing her forehead, "it was a complete mess today."
Professor Sprout handed over a small plate of cake. "You should get some proper rest, Charity. Life imprisonment is still a very harsh punishment."
"Of course, I know that," Professor Burbage said. "Doesn't mean I'm not disappointed. I told them there were more important things. Black is still waiting for his official exoneration. The families of those Muggle victims are still waiting for compensation. Other crimes Pettigrew might have committed—who else he might have betrayed, what the consequences were. And so on. But that lot just stood there, arguing over whether to publicly correct Black's wrongful conviction… If Madam Bones hadn't flatly refused, I think the Minister might have seriously considered hiding the Pettigrew story entirely. Just saying the Ministry found the Dark Lord's wand. Hah! Then he'd probably think he had leverage over Crouch for good measure!"
Snape sneered. He sat rigidly on his stool, his expression unreadable, staring into his teacup. He hadn't said a word the entire time.
"Isn't that why you became a Wizengamot Special Advisor, Charity?" Anthony offered. "Because you have goals? Because you still have hope?"
"Thank you, Henry," Professor Burbage managed a small smile.
"I'm serious," Anthony said. "If it weren't for you, and Madam Bones, and—I don't know—whoever else, Mr. Black might have carried that false accusation forever. Pettigrew might have escaped. You've already made the outcome less disappointing, Charity."
…
Despite her low spirits, Professor Burbage praised Professor Sprout's tea and pastries, and promptly devoured half a box of chocolate biscuits.
"I really did need those," she explained. "At the end today, they had the Dementors come collect Pettigrew directly. Pettigrew broke down completely—he must have thought our final decision was to uphold the original sentence. I wish! When the Dementor grabbed his arm, he was still shaking with his eyes squeezed shut. By the time they lifted him, he'd gone completely limp. But I have to say, those black-cloaked things are thoroughly unpleasant."
Professor Sprout confirmed, "They brought Dementors into the Ministry?"
"Yes, as if the Ministry's own self-important idiots weren't bad enough," Professor Burbage grumbled, picking up her hot tea again.
"Charity!" Professor Sprout said disapprovingly. "Mind your language."
"What?" Professor Burbage said. "Aren't they?"
Professor Sprout hesitated. Professor Burbage finally laughed, eating the last piece of cake. "Alright, I should be going. I've still got lessons to prepare. Thank you for the cake and biscuits, Pomona. They were wonderful."
"I should be off as well," Professor McGonagall said. "I have quite a stack of reports waiting on my desk."
Snape stood up too. Under the gazes of Anthony and Professor Sprout, he offered a brief explanation. "Potions."
"Wait, I'll walk with you," Anthony said, finishing the last of his lukewarm tea and standing. Professor Sprout didn't say anything, but she was already waving her wand to clear the table.
…
Clatter. The last little silver spoon flew into the cabinet. The drawer slammed shut. Professor McGonagall pulled the door open, and the cold air from outside rushed in. The warm, damp greenhouse air clinging to them instantly turned into a sharp, biting chill.
Snape followed Professor McGonagall out in silence, then Professor Burbage. Anthony stepped out. Professor Sprout bent to lock the door. She turned, met Anthony's eyes, and finally let a trace of unhappiness show.
"It may not be exactly what we first wanted, but it's not a bad outcome," Anthony comforted. "The wrong has been righted. The betrayer is punished. If this were a story, I'd say the ending is acceptable."
"Yes, I know. It's just thinking he got to live happily for so long after that betrayal…" Professor Sprout said, tucking her key ring back into her pocket. "Come on, Henry."
…
Students were still having a lively snowball fight, their happy shouts carried by the howling wind.
Professor Burbage and Professor McGonagall walked at the front, talking seriously. Snape looked sullen, his thoughts impossible to guess. Professor Sprout and Anthony brought up the rear, half-heartedly chatting about the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh and Mr. Lind.
"Minerva! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Professor Flitwick's cheerful, squeaky voice suddenly cut through.
He nimbly hopped over a withered rose bush and joined their group. "I've spent all day studying this… Minerva, it's a mature product! A very mature piece of merchandise! You really should see it!"
He waved the long, floppy, multicolored Roger Snake excitedly, then finally noticed the serious, somber mood among the professors.
"What's happened? Something the matter?" Professor Flitwick asked, lowering Roger Snake.
…
After bidding his colleagues farewell, Anthony was not sure what to do next. He hesitated in the entrance hall for a moment. The sight of a few students with smoking ears passing by made up his mind; he would check the hospital wing.
Just as Snape had said, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were indeed there. Madam Pomfrey had placed Sirius in the bed at the very back, in the deepest corner, and blocked it off with thick, long curtains. Beyond the bed was a circle of warning charms. If any overly curious student stepped within three or four feet, Madam Pomfrey would know instantly and angrily order them out.
Usually, no student dared disobey her.
But the situation before Anthony now was decidedly unusual.
"You shouldn't be here!" Harry said, frowning. "No one should be in the ward without Madam Pomfrey's permission! How did you even get in?"
Colin's eyes were wide with excitement. "I saw you come in, so I followed! Oh, you know what's in there, don't you?" He stood on tiptoe, trying to peer past the curtains. "What is it, a ghoul? Did you catch it, Harry? Did you catch a ghoul like Professor Lockhart? Can I take a picture? I've never seen a ghoul!"
Ron and Hermione stood beside Harry, forming a solid wall against Colin's eager gaze.
"This isn't a joke, Colin!" Harry said, annoyed. "Why don't you go find something else to do? Go read a book in the library or something?"
"I've finished all my homework!" Colin squeaked, still craning his neck. "Can you take a picture with it? Like when you hold up a fish you've caught!"
"It's not a ghoul I caught," Harry said, sounding thoroughly exasperated now. He blew out a breath, trying to be reasonable. "I don't have time right now, alright, Colin? Maybe we can… er…"
"Can I have a signed photo of you?" Colin asked. "Will you sign a photo?"
Harry looked reluctant, but Anthony suspected he was about to agree anyway. Anthony stepped further into the room, intending to stop this absurd exchange.
"Hey, listen. If you don't clear off right now, I'll thump you," Ron said flatly. His height was useful here. "I've got five older brothers. Believe me, I'm good at fighting." He added, "And I'm especially good at smashing cameras."
It actually worked. Colin hesitated, then hugged his camera and scampered off.
"Ron!" Hermione cried.
Ron grinned. "Just scaring him."
"Especially good at smashing cameras," Harry repeated, smiling too.
As Colin passed Anthony by the door, he squeaked, "Good afternoon, Professor Anthony!" and squeezed past his leg.
Three pairs of eyes in the ward immediately looked over. Anthony nodded in greeting. Hermione suddenly looked a bit guilty—they were here without permission too.
"Just decided to check in on my way past," Anthony said. "How is Mr. Black recovering?"
Whoosh. The bed curtain was pulled aside. Hermione stepped away—she'd been holding the curtain shut.
Sirius's face appeared, looking much healthier. His complexion was no longer waxen. The hollows in his cheeks had filled out. A cheerful fire danced behind his bright, keen eyes.
"Quite popular, eh, Harry?" Sirius teased, his bright eyes flicking to Anthony's face. "By the way, Professor Anthony, please don't call me Mr. Black. I dislike the name. Just Sirius."
"Alright, Sirius," Anthony said. "Then call me Henry. I must say, you look much better."
"I'm not sick at all!" Sirius said. "Why does no one believe me when I tell them? Who knows my own body better than me?"
His voice sounded stronger, healthier too, compared to when Anthony last saw him.
Anthony smiled. "But Madam Pomfrey is the one who decides everything. If she agrees, I promise no one will stop you from taking a stroll in the snow."
"It's snowing?" Sirius asked, his gaze drifting toward the window. "I'm not even allowed near the windows. This isn't care for a patient; it's another prison. Just slightly better than Azkaban."
"Professor McGonagall said it's too risky for anyone to see you until the papers report your exoneration," Hermione said. "That was the agreement from the start, remember?"
"Yeah, or else I'd be enjoying VIP care at St. Mungo's, not rotting here," Sirius grumbled.
Harry asked, "Would that be better?"
Sirius looked at him. "I doubt it." His eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before returning to Anthony. "Remus told me you're the one who brought the rat to him."
Anthony shook his head. "Don't mention it. Speaking of when you can appear in public, I happen to have some news. Sirius, you should receive your formal exoneration next Monday."
"Next Monday? Brilliant!" Sirius said eagerly. "What broom did you say the Slytherin team was using again?"
"My Nimbus 2000 is fine, Professor McGonagall gave it to me," Harry said quickly. "And we beat Slytherin without better brooms anyway."
"One can never have too many brooms," Sirius disagreed. "Or do you want a new Nimbus 2000 as a backup?"
Bedtime Story #5
A quick note: The difference between side stories and bedtime stories is that side stories share the same timeline as the main fic. Bedtime stories are more like "no-consequences vignettes." Their timeline doesn't necessarily align with the main story.
Simply put, these bedtime stories are hastily written for last-minute updates, not directly tied to the outline, and the timeline jumps around… And because they're bedtime stories, I am trying to end them with sleep or night!
Snape moved through the corridor without a sound.
This was his third patrol this week. Pomona seemed to have heard about his patrol frequency and had asked with concern today if he'd brewed any Draught of Living Death. But Snape could swear that if it weren't for Dumbledore's request, he'd rather, as the students said, hide away in his cold, dark dungeon rooms and drink human blood (it's a metaphor, Pomona) than waste time meaninglessly wandering the castle at night.
Snape spotted several students sneaking, trying to slip into the kitchens. He narrowed his eyes, identifying them. One Ravenclaw. Three Gryffindors.
Excellent. He strode over.
He docked five points from each and sent them all back to their dormitories. The students cast regretful looks at the painting concealing the kitchen entrance and left, stomachs growling.
"If it were Professor Anthony, he wouldn't have taken points…" one Gryffindor muttered, thinking himself quiet.
"Professor Quirrell too," his friend said. "I ran into him last time. He looked more surprised and scared than I was."
Anthony and Quirrell. Snape brooded over the two names in his head. The two reasons for his patrols.
When he'd complained that Potter (the younger one) was as arrogant and undisciplined as his father, the esteemed Headmaster had merely instructed him to keep an eye on Quirrell and Anthony, as if they were somehow responsible for Potter's impudence.
Well. The Headmaster meant more important things, of course. They needed to figure out what the Dark Lord was doing, how much power he'd regained, what his plans were regarding the Philosopher's Stone… And when looking at those questions, the most suspicious were the Dark Wizard who'd emerged from Azkaban (Dumbledore had even used the term "Necromancer") and the newly-stuttering professor who'd reappeared acting strangely.
They certainly wouldn't be foolish enough to probe the Stone's secrets during the day. Snape hoped they wouldn't, or else old Crabbe would no longer be the most foolish among the Dark Lord's followers, which was just too depressing to contemplate. So someone had to monitor their movements in the castle at night.
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