Probably because he'd brought back the white wine, the ginger cat hopped down from the cat tree and followed him all the way into the bedroom, settling itself beside the food bowl. Anthony pretended not to see it. He skirted the cat bed on the floor, sat on the edge of his own bed, and began rummaging through the books he kept in his nightstand.
The cat waited for a moment, then leapt onto the nightstand. Its tail flicked back and forth as it stared at him.
Anthony tried to bargain. "How about tonight? I can turn you back into a skeleton."
The cat stared at him a while longer—hard to tell if it understood—then jumped down from the nightstand with an air of supreme disdain and headed for the door.
"Cat?" Anthony called after it. "Are we agreed?"
The ginger cat didn't look back. Its tail lashed with annoyance. From outside the room came a very loud, shattering CRASH—probably his teacup or teapot knocked to the floor. In his mind, the Wraith Chicken's temper ignited.
The Wraith Mouse scurried from the office into the bedroom. Anthony held his book and sighed, rising from the bed to peer into the office. As expected, the chicken and cat were tangled together, fighting fiercely.
…
By evening, Anthony had nearly forgotten his promise about the wine. He'd assumed the cat's earlier exit meant the deal was off. But just as he was heading to the bathroom, the cat slipped silently into the bedroom. When he came out, the ginger cat was sitting patiently before the food bowl.
"Alright, alright," Anthony said. He opened a bottle and poured the wine into the bowl. As he did, the ginger fur and long white whiskers melted away.
The Skeleton Cat buried its skull in the wine without hesitation. Soulfire bloomed across the surface of the liquid, burning in its eye sockets.
The Wraith Chicken stood nearby, watching with its head tilted in curiosity. It dipped its beak to try a peck but was driven off by an angry swipe from the skeleton.
Anthony turned off the light. A thin sliver of light spilled through a gap in the curtains, painting a bright stripe on the floor. He walked over and pulled them shut. The snow had stopped. The white ground outside glowed with moonlight in the dark.
The Wraith Mouse poked its head from his pocket, looking up at the view.
Anthony stroked its head with a finger and closed the curtains fully. The room was lit now only by the dying embers in the hearth and the steady, ethereal glow of soulfire burning upon its white wine.
The Wraith Chicken amused itself with a slow patrol of Anthony's office. As he lay in bed, he could hear the soft tap-tap-tap of its claws on the floorboards. The Wraith Mouse rustled its way into the cat bed. Anthony closed his eyes, remembering he needed to remind Hagrid to send those Chimeras away as soon as possible.
Sometime in the middle of the night, he jerked awake from a nightmare. Something hard and cold was digging into his side. He shifted his arm and felt a jumble of icy bones pressed against him.
It took Anthony a moment of groggy confusion to realize the Skeleton Cat had crawled under his blankets. Impatient, it nipped at his hand.
Anthony let out a breath. He loosely wrapped an arm around the pile of bones and fell back asleep.
…
The next morning, Anthony went to Hagrid's hut after breakfast. Hagrid was outside, clearing the path, piling snow on either side. Fang had his nose to the ground, sniffing with great enthusiasm. The moment Anthony approached, Fang's head shot up. He barked excitedly, launched himself forward, and planted his paws on Anthony's chest, licking his face.
"Good morning, Fang," Anthony said, leaning back to avoid the enthusiastic greeting. "Oh, you're in a fine mood today."
"Henry!" Hagrid said cheerfully. "Back, Fang! Back!"
Hagrid swapped his snow shovel to his other hand, grabbed Fang's collar, and lifted the huge dog away with ease.
"Was wonderin' when you'd come see me, Henry," Hagrid said.
"Fang really needs his teeth brushed," Anthony said, wiping his face. "Morning, Hagrid. Brought you some brandy from The Leaky Cauldron… and some news. Mind if we talk inside?"
His hand was already on the wooden door.
"Wait a moment—" Hagrid began.
Anthony turned his head. "What?"
Too late. The door was open. He heard a panicked yelp from inside, followed by a roar. Anthony snapped his head back around just in time to see a juvenile Chimera—lion's head, goat's body, dragon's tail—lunging for the doorway… and getting caught by Hagrid.
Anthony aborted the Stunning Spell already on his lips. Fang let out a whimper and shot away, turning from a safe distance to watch.
"That's why I said wait, Henry," Hagrid said, utterly unbothered as the Chimera scrabbled at him. He grabbed it by the scruff, lifted it effortlessly, and tossed it back into a crate.
With a metallic scrape, the snow shovel leaning against a snow pile slowly slid over and fell. Hagrid slammed the crate shut with a heavy thud. Inside, the agitated Chimera slammed against the slats, making the wood and nails groan ominously.
Anthony followed Hagrid inside, closing the door behind him.
"Which is also why I'm here, Hagrid," Anthony said. "You need to contact that dealer and send these lovely, bitey kittens on their way. Christmas is coming. Don't forget we still need to visit Norbert." He went straight to Hagrid's cupboard, fishing out two mugs.
He rinsed the mugs with water, turned to put them on the table, and suddenly noticed there was another person in the room.
Ron Weasley. He was wearing a very crude lion headpiece, dragon-hide gloves, and holding a bloody piece of meat. He stood frozen, gaping at Anthony. A patchwork quilt of Hagrid's was draped over his shoulders. In the corner, he looked like a strange, makeshift coat rack.
Almost instinctively, Anthony tucked the bottle of brandy back into Hagrid's cupboard and pulled out a box of tea instead.
"Mr. Weasley?" Anthony finally registered the panicked yelp he'd heard earlier.
"Ron an' the others sometimes help me feed the Chimeras," Hagrid explained happily.
"Wait, Hagrid." Anthony needed confirmation. "Just Mr. Weasley? No one else? When I arrived, you and Fang were both outside."
"Harry's got Quidditch practice this mornin'," Hagrid said. "Otherwise he'd usually be here too. Sometimes Hermione comes, but…" He glanced at Ron, whose face flushed. Hagrid leaned toward Anthony, trying and failing to whisper, "They had a row."
Ron's face turned a deeper red, this time from anger. "It wasn't a row, Hagrid! Hermione just won't admit she's wrong—she's being impossible! She keeps trying to convince Sirius to free that house-elf of his. Goes on about how only 'decadent, stubborn Slytherins' keep house-elves enslaved. I told her house-elves need masters and work, and she blew up at me!"
"Oh, dear," Hagrid said. "No need to argue over that sort of thing. You're friends."
Ron fumed. "She said I was 'stubborn, lazy, and lacking empathy,' and that wanting a house-elf to take care of things was no better than the Slytherins."
Hagrid said kindly, "I know. Hermione mentioned it last time she was here to feed them."
"Miss Granger was feeding Chimeras alone, too?" Anthony said, disbelief sharpening his tone. "Hagrid, you cannot leave a student alone in a room full of Chimeras! Of course, before that, you shouldn't let students handle Chimeras at all, or be illegally breeding them—but this is beyond dangerous!"
Hagrid mumbled, "They're not grown yet… Besides, they only attack humans…"
Anthony shot another glance at Ron's pathetic, lion-imitating getup—wait, was that meant to be a Chimera disguise?—and said firmly, "No, Hagrid. This is too much. You have to send them all away. I don't care to whom—the dealer, Professor Kettleburn, some Chimera expert—but they need to be gone from here before they cause a real disaster."
He knew Hagrid sometimes had Harry, Ron, and Hermione help feed the creatures—he'd even done it himself a few times. But on those occasions, the students had always been with Hagrid. Given Hagrid could easily restrain any enraged Chimera, feeding a XXXXX-class beast under his supervision wasn't quite as insane. Letting a student do it alone was a whole different level of madness.
Hagrid opened his mouth to argue. Anthony cut him off. "Madam Umbridge will be arriving as High Inquisitor soon. Hagrid, I promise you will not enjoy dealing with her. You especially won't want her discovering the… lively biodiversity here. I'm sorry, Hagrid, but I have no desire to visit you in Azkaban."
Hagrid slumped. "Oh, alright… They were a bit of fun…"
Anthony offered some consolation. "But once you return them to the dealer, you'll get that Graphorn hide. A proper Christmas gift for Norbert."
"Yeah, you're right, Henry." Hagrid let out a heavy breath, as if steeling himself. "I'll contact him this afternoon."
From the corner of his eye, Anthony saw the lion head in the corner dip sharply. Ron was clearly relieved, too.
"This morning," Anthony corrected. "We can go to the Owlery together right after."
…
The Owlery was its usual chaotic self. Feathers drifted everywhere. The floor was littered with owl pellets and feathers of all lengths. Owls flew in constantly through the high, square stone windows, landing on perches to preen their feathers or shake out their wings before taking a drink.
The moment Anthony and Hagrid stepped inside, every owl swiveled its head to look at them.
"Got a letter to send!" Hagrid announced loudly, waving an envelope. He fished a few dead mice from his pocket.
Several owls immediately swooped down, landing on his extended arm. They leaned in to study the name on the envelope.
"Right. I don't know where he lives," Hagrid told them as they continued their inspection. After a moment, one gave a soft hoot. The others took flight, returning to their perches.
Hagrid handed the dead mice to the owl remaining on his arm. "Brilliant. Thank you." He watched, utterly unperturbed, as the barn owl tried to swallow the first mouse whole. The mouse's long tail twitched once at the edge of the beak before vanishing entirely.
Anthony leaned against a support beam by the door, watching Hagrid hand over the second mouse. He wondered if he should start carrying dead mice for the owls, or if an owl might appreciate one of the cat's Rainbow Fish Jerky.
Just then, an owl swooped in through a window. It landed on a perch beside him, took a drink, pecked at some pellets—seemed like it had just finished a long delivery. The owl studied Hagrid's envelope and mice for a moment, then turned its head and spotted Anthony.
Anthony watched as the owl hopped sideways, putting distance between them.
"What?" he asked quietly. "You're the one who delivered my letter to Charlie, aren't you? I thought we made peace over the bacon?"
The owl gave a reproachful hoot, glaring at him with clear annoyance. It glanced back at Hagrid, who was now offering a third dead mouse to the insatiable barn owl.
"I'll bring you mice next time," Anthony promised.
The owl continued to fix him with its large, round eyes.
"Three," Anthony offered.
The owl clicked its beak. Tap-tap-tap.
"Four?" Anthony tried. "Five?"
The clicking stopped.
"Fine. Five mice, if you think you can fit them all," Anthony said, somewhat concerned.
The owl seemed satisfied at last. It closed its eyes slightly, settling in to rest. Hagrid finished tying his letter to the barn owl's leg and sent it off through the window.
"All sent, Henry," Hagrid said, leaning on the windowsill to watch it fly away. "Let's go."
"Right," Anthony said, pushing himself upright. Then he remembered something and turned back to the owl beside him. "Want to try a Rainbow Fish Jerky?"
He took the owl's silent, swift flight to the highest perch on the opposite side of the room as a definitive 'no.' Anthony decided he'd bring six mice next time.
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