While the Fire Crab happily scuttled about in the fireplace, Anthony asked Professor Kettleburn how to keep Fire Crabs in an office without turning the room into an oven—"Just a variant of the Warming Charm, Professor Anthony, plus some skill in selecting kindling"—and casually inquired how high the flame temperature could reach.
He noticed Snape glancing several times at him and the old professor in the rocking chair, as if wanting to comment on flame temperature control. But Flint was stammering about possibly playing Quidditch professionally, then mentioning several pure-blood families had extended olive branches and he might accept one family's offer, so Snape merely listened with a long face.
Professor Kettleburn enthusiastically demonstrated his technique to Anthony, inviting him to try. Anthony tentatively lit a fire, and Professor Kettleburn poked the Fire Crab in the fireplace with a poker, easily transferring the creature to Anthony's fire pile.
"Bit cold... Yes, good," the old professor said, squinting at the Fire Crab in the flames as it rapidly changed color. "Wait, too hot! Too hot!"
The moment he spoke, another Fire Crab jumped from the flames. Anthony quickly reduced the fire, afraid he'd soon breed a nest of Fire Crabs in the professor's fireplace.
Professor Kettleburn scooped out the second Fire Crab and examined it. "Not bad. Severus, do you need it?"
Snape turned his head, assessing the creature clinging to the poker. "Too small. Diagon Alley has higher quality Fire Crab blood."
"Very well," Professor Kettleburn said, tossing it into a jar. He stuffed a ball of flame inside and handed it to Anthony without ceremony. "It's yours now."
Anthony accepted the glass jar radiating slight warmth—the scrawny Fire Crab clung to the jar wall, staring blankly outside—hesitated, then kept it.
Though Professor Kettleburn seemed eager to continue, when Snape finished the career consultation, Anthony felt he must take his leave. Dinnertime approached. Students poured from their classrooms. Anthony heard the sphinx at the door asking passing students if they wanted to try some riddles, but everyone refused.
Before leaving, Anthony couldn't help leaving his coat behind—just in case Mr. Flint, whose average Charms grade was Dreadful, forgot how to pronounce "Reparo."
Though Snape thought Flint was built like a bull, hulking as a gorilla, and still didn't know how to spell "Invigoration Draught," Anthony still placed his robes by the barrel. He carried an armful of dry branches and leaves, the Fire Crab in his bag, and left Professor Kettleburn's office with Snape. Snape headed to the Great Hall for dinner, while Anthony planned to visit Hagrid's hut to teach him the fire-making technique.
Then perhaps they could have hunter's chicken stew—Professor Kettleburn's leaves included rosemary, and Hagrid kept plenty of chickens. Anthony remembered seeing the other ingredients in Hagrid's cupboard, probably just enough for them to have a few drinks.
...
"How have you been lately, Professor Snape?" Anthony asked, breaking the silence.
Snape raised an eyebrow at him, not even bothering to answer his dry pleasantry. So Anthony and Snape walked in silence again, drawing many students' furtive glances. Anthony heard a student whisper: "Snape actually made Anthony carry firewood for him."
Anthony was certain Snape heard too, because Snape's mouth twisted as if debating whether to insult the student's intelligence or dock her points, or both.
But he ultimately chose to mock Anthony. "Professor Anthony, it seems your chicks think you're a house-elf?"
Anthony said calmly: "I think they're just concerned because I'm walking with a vampire. You needn't blame them for that, Professor Snape."
Snape seemed about to comment on the dangerous identity of necromancers when an owl flew through a window, soaring over all the students' heads. Under their puzzled gazes, it landed on Snape's shoulder. Snape's expression immediately turned terrible. He untied the letter from the owl's leg, skimmed it briefly, and stuffed it in his pocket.
The owl circled him several times. When no owl treats appeared, it perched on an empty torch bracket, looking at Anthony standing nearby with round eyes.
"Well, I only have corn kernels and nuts," Anthony said.
The owl hooted angrily and was shooed away by Snape's wave. His brow furrowed tightly, his expression dark enough to drip water.
Anthony asked: "What's wrong?"
Snape said nothing, striding back to the staircase and descending. Probably something happened in the dungeons. Perhaps the letter notified Snape someone had stolen all his Calming Draught stock.
Anthony shrugged and didn't follow.
...
With Professor Kettleburn's method, Anthony no longer worried about Hagrid fainting from heatstroke. His future godson now resided in a large copper kettle with a burned-through bottom that clanged when shaken. Firelight occasionally shone through the bottom hole like a peculiar lamp.
Hagrid happily placed the kettle on the table, lifting the lid to peek inside every few sentences. The window finally opened. Fang poked his head through from outside, wagging his tail, trying enthusiastically to lick Hagrid's face but only managing to nudge his waist with his nose. Unable to bear the heat, he'd been tied outside the past few days, replacing Hagrid in warning those wanting to enter the Forbidden Forest.
"Oh dear, where's my teapot cozy?" Hagrid said, standing to find a suitable blanket for his little treasure. He frowned at the tea stains on the thick patchwork cozy, then decided to knit a new one with yarn.
Anthony said: "Nothing wrong with teaching it to drink tea from an early age."
"No, Henry," Hagrid said. "You're better than me at most things, but when it comes to raising dragons, you're not. You shouldn't feed a dragon tea."
"What would happen?" Anthony asked curiously.
Hagrid said seriously: "The fire it breathes will smell like burnt tea stems and might clog its nostrils. That would make most dragons self-conscious!"
"Well, sounds serious," Anthony said. "Dragon mental health and all."
...
Hagrid was happy to keep the Fire Crab in the jar, but right now he needed to focus entirely on the dragon egg and couldn't spare attention. He placed the glass jar above the fireplace, admiring it for a while.
"It can grow quite large," he said. "By hatching time, these two little ones can keep each other company."
He told Anthony Fire Crabs were very practical magical creatures. As long as they stayed in flames, those flames were hard to extinguish suddenly. Many restaurant kitchens kept several, specifically placing Fire Crabs in stoves during slow simmering, letting them crawl around inside.
They used the Fire Crab-inhabited flames to stew a pot of hunter's chicken and drank a few cups of the little dragon's future rations.
...
When Anthony returned to the castle, the sky had darkened. Deep blue sky pressed against distant mountains, layers of forest simplified to black silhouettes. Sounds of the Giant Squid playing came from the Black Lake. Some students gathered on shore, laughing and throwing bread to feed the creature.
On his way back to his office, he heard two younger students discussing and learned why Snape had left so hastily.
Mrs. Parkinson had come to school.
"I heard she gave Parkinson a terrible scolding," a girl said. "Apparently because she did something very shameful. I hope that means swearing."
Her friend said: "But Parkinson's okay. I mean, if you ignore how she always hangs around Malfoy and looks down her nose at people, she's generally acceptable."
The student said: "I don't like her tone, you know—mongrel, Mudblood, 'we pure-bloods' and such. Makes me want to roll my eyes at her."
"But you wouldn't want to curse her," the other said. "Look at Malfoy. If the 'we pure-bloods' club all went to Azkaban, currently I think Parkinson should go last."
...
By the time Anthony reached his second-floor office door, he felt he'd learned half the story through student gossip. Even though most students were in the Great Hall eating dinner at that time, such news always spread through Hogwarts as if winged. Within hours, summer winds could blow it from the dungeons to Ravenclaw Tower, quickly to Gryffindor Tower, and finally even the Owlery.
Apparently Mrs. Parkinson had corresponded with one—or several—school governors and governors' wives, then appeared in the Hogwarts Headmaster's office one beautiful afternoon. Meanwhile, Anthony had been discussing rosemary in kindling with Professor Kettleburn, and whether to add bay leaves and cinnamon. After the afternoon conversation, Mrs. Parkinson evidently hadn't received satisfactory answers from the Headmaster, so she waited outside the Slytherin Head's door for a while.
According to student descriptions, she mostly just stood there like a statue. Only Draco Malfoy received her cordial greeting, while Blaise Zabini got a nod. But the Slytherin Head was obviously busy, so Mrs. Parkinson summoned an owl—students didn't even know how she did it—and sent the esteemed Professor Snape a long letter in neat handwriting (according to students who saw her writing in the corridor).
From other students' descriptions, an owl had tried all afternoon to approach Professor Kettleburn's window but was driven away by something inside. Anthony thought this might relate to Professor Kettleburn's history: he'd once helped an unfortunate botanical garden avoid Ministry letter harassment.
Then, in various accounts, things suddenly became confusing.
In some versions, Snape appeared in the corridor, conversing pleasantly with Mrs. Parkinson (involving knowing looks spreading gossip), telling her his daughter's Potions grades were very unsatisfactory. Though only first year, he could already predict she wouldn't earn her Potions certificate.
In this story, Mrs. Parkinson was like a large Pansy Parkinson, Snape a large Draco Malfoy. Mrs. Parkinson told Snape sweetly she thought his teaching was perfectly fine, she trusted him one hundred percent, then called her daughter forward and severely scolded her.
In other versions, the story was completely different. Pansy had arrived in the corridor before Snape, squealing as she threw herself into her mother's arms. Her mother treated her like a little dog that had played outside too long and gotten muddy—angry yet helpless, full of contempt for her intelligence. She talked only with Snape who arrived later, ignoring Pansy shouting beside her.
This story's narrator stripped away probably fictional romance, describing Mrs. Parkinson and Snape's conversation as "chilly." Pansy said she'd lied, her mother said she thought Pansy was lying now, Snape said should I consult the Divination or Arithmancy professor about your family trust issues.
"Lied?" listeners asked. "About what?"
"Sounds like whether Parkinson was injured playing Quidditch," the student surrounded in the middle said. "Need you ask? Of course not, unless a Bludger flew into her dormitory at midnight and smashed her nose."
A student said cattily: "Her nose smashed might actually look better."
...
While rumors still spread wildly through school, Anthony already knew the specific process. The narrator was somewhat unexpected: Madam Pomfrey.
Tracey had come to the Hospital Wing late at night, asking if there was a special potion. Under Madam Pomfrey's questioning, Tracey told her what happened that afternoon.
The moment Mrs. Parkinson sent off the owl, Pansy—playing with owls in the Owlery—knew her mother had come. She immediately rushed to the Slytherin dungeons, telling her mother everything in the last letter was fabricated because she missed home so much, she wanted to see family.
Her mother keenly detected the unnatural part of her tone, pointing out she liked pinching her palm when lying. When Snape arrived, Mrs. Parkinson skipped past Pansy, asking Snape about Tracey Davis and whether he'd noticed the noble Parkinson family had done their part for Slytherin honor—"All in fun, of course"—yet hadn't received due respect.
Pansy insisted she had no injuries, hadn't been threatened, and wrote Tracey Davis's name only because it was the most reasonable name she could think of. She even told Mrs. Parkinson how long she'd thought about fabricating this name, her voice trembling as she spoke.
Pansy was too nervous to notice Tracey standing nearby, waiting for Mrs. Parkinson's questioning. But Pansy cried and made a scene, "completely disgracing the Parkinson family," never admitting Tracey had thrown that bottle of pus. Mrs. Parkinson felt "having such a daughter is truly irritating," so Pansy ran crying back to her dormitory, thoroughly losing face.
"She said the wrong thing," Tracey had told Madam Pomfrey. "She told her mother, yes, Davis is a mongrel, but also human."
"I think she didn't mean to say it that way initially," Madam Pomfrey told Anthony. "I know what children are like. When angry, they speak without thinking, throwing all sorts of cups at walls. But this cup really did hit Mrs. Parkinson."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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