On Saturday morning, almost every professor had gathered by the staff table in the Great Hall.
Anthony pulled out his chair. Professor Sprout was there, piling toast onto her plate with a grim expression, then scooping a massive serving of baked beans.
"Morning, Pomona," Anthony sat down. "You're heading to the Ministry too?"
"Of course." Sprout squeezed a thick blob of ketchup with excessive force. "I expect everyone will be. Charity's already gone, preparing with the rest of the Wizengamot."
Anthony frowned. "But if all the professors leave… what about Hogwarts?"
"Madam Hooch is staying. There's a Quidditch match today." Sprout gestured towards the House tables.
Wood was handing Harry a slice of toast slathered in peanut butter, talking fast. Harry chewed his breakfast, eyes locked on the Slytherin table. The rest of the Gryffindor team looked tense.
On the other side, the Slytherin players were roaring with laughter. Anthony caught snippets about Nimbus 2000s and Cleansweep Fives.
His worry spiked. "Is it Gryffindor versus Slytherin today?"
"Yes," Sprout said. "It's fine, Henry. Plenty of staff are staying."
"Like who?"
"Hagrid isn't leaving the grounds. And Filch will be here…" she counted on her fingers. "Professor Binns, Sybill, Silvanus, Aurora…"
"Er…"
"Oh, and Gilderoy is staying too."
"Professor Lockhart?" Anthony couldn't imagine him willingly missing this kind of spectacle. "He doesn't know about the trial?"
"Well… he's quite busy preparing his new book, The Joyful Hogwarts," Sprout said. "I suppose no one wanted to bother him with such trivial matters. Honestly, I haven't seen much of him lately." Her voice turned concerned. "Is he ill? Perhaps I should check on him…"
"Gilderoy is perfectly fine, Pomona. He really is writing his book," McGonagall cut in, leaning over. "I saw him yesterday. He told me there's been constant banging from the room next to his. Sounds like someone's being kidnapped. That's your room, Henry. If you don't clarify soon, I suspect you'll become the first thrilling climax of Gilderoy's adventures."
"Oh, no," Anthony groaned. "I hope he doesn't try to explore my office."
Sprout looked curious. "Why not?"
"My pets don't particularly like visitors (especially living ones) invading their territory. Things could get rather chaotic if I'm not there."
"Relax, Henry," Sprout said soothingly. "I'm sure Gilderoy wouldn't attack your pets."
Anthony hesitated. "Well… I hope not."
"Don't worry, Henry," a voice said behind them. "Gilderoy is currently investigating the Shrieking Shack." Anthony turned. Dumbledore was striding past the staff seats towards his high-backed chair.
"The Shrieking Shack?" McGonagall said. "But Remus…" She stopped.
"That is the joy of magical research. It provides more options. Often better ones," Dumbledore said lightly, taking his seat. "Incidentally, if any of you plan to visit the Shack, I believe Remus has introduced a Boggart there… Good morning, Severus."
"Headmaster," Snape said, his tone as dark as his hair. The greasy strands hung like oily curtains on either side of his face, worse than usual.
Rumour had it his temper was foul lately. Even Draco Malfoy had lost points. Malfoy hadn't mocked Harry in class for days, though Harry had lost far more points.
"Are you sleeping, Severus?" Sprout asked gently.
"No," Snape said flatly. "I am exploring the 'better options' of magical research."
Dumbledore chuckled softly, pouring another cup of pumpkin juice. Snape's voice dripped with resentment. "I didn't realize you were so at leisure, Headmaster… I assumed you would be preparing for the trial with the Wizengamot."
"Oh, no. Fawkes is in excellent spirits. I believe he will be happy to give me a lift," Dumbledore said.
"What exactly do Wizengamot members need to prepare?" Anthony asked.
"Case summaries, respectable robes, and a great deal of small talk?" Flitwick suggested.
"A great, great deal of small talk," Dumbledore confirmed.
"Charity mentioned she had prepared the case files on the Muggle bystanders killed that night," Sprout told them.
"What about you, Pomona?" Flitwick asked. "I recall you said yesterday you had preparations to make too."
"Ah, this." Sprout nudged something by her feet with her shoe. Anthony saw it now—a large, lidded wicker basket.
McGonagall looked down. "What is it?"
"Cabbage leaves and rotten tomatoes. Damaged by flesh-eating slugs," Sprout said. "Might be useful. What did you prepare, Minerva?"
"A hamster wheel," McGonagall said sternly. "In case he tries to run."
"I find it hard to imagine him fleeing with Albus present," Flitwick said. "Will Mr. Lupin be attending?"
McGonagall nodded. "Yes. We hope Remus can remind Peter not to attempt lies." A flicker of disgust crossed her face. "Aside from running, that rat is exceptionally skilled at lying."
"Do not fret, Minerva," Dumbledore said calmly. He paused, his gaze settling on Snape's rigid, falsely pleasant expression. "Severus, you wouldn't…"
"Yes," Snape said coldly. A hint of triumph flashed in his eyes as he produced a tiny glass vial. He placed it on the table with deliberate menace. "Fresh, potent Veritaserum."
Sprout gave him a reproachful look and moved the milk jug further away.
"What about you, Henry?" Sprout asked. "What did you prepare?"
Anthony hesitated, then pulled the object from his pocket.
Flitwick leaned in. "What's this?"
On the table lay a coiled, garishly coloured thing. It stared at the professors with blank, beady eyes.
"Roger the Snake," McGonagall identified.
"Yes," Anthony said. "Roger the Snake, deluxe edition… My cat is quite fond of it."
"How touching," Snape sneered. "You don't intend to frighten the rodent to death with a snake, do you, Anthony?"
Anthony shook his head. "No. I'm also a bit concerned he might not tell the truth." He glanced at McGonagall. "I thought that conversation seemed important at the time. So I recorded it."
He checked the student tables. No one was paying attention. The Quidditch players had left to change, and few other students bothered with breakfast on a cold Saturday morning. He looked at his colleagues, then grasped the snake's neck and gave it a gentle shake, like a bell.
The snake's tongue flicked out. Its head tilted. McGonagall's voice, crisp and clear, issued from it.
"Eleven years ago, James and Lily would never have been found by the Dark Lord…"
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