Rain had been falling for days. The roads outside Hogwarts were muddy. The Great Hall floor was covered in muddy water and footprints. Filch was busier than ever, temper worse than ever, face frighteningly grim, eyes bulging all day as he studied who hadn't wiped their shoes clean before entering the castle.
Tonight was overcast again. Moon and stars gone. The sky frighteningly dark. Aside from torches on the walls, no light sources. Out of guilt for letting wandering students go, Anthony patrolled the castle, hoping to encounter whoever was audacious enough to steal books from the Restricted Section.
He didn't expect to see this scene.
A small dark figure stood on the Astronomy Tower, trembling slightly in the wind. Anthony approached and found it was a lower-year girl clutching books, staring expressionlessly at the ground.
"Why are you standing here?" Anthony asked. Seeing her flinch violently, he softened his voice. "What, forgot the password?"
The girl said, "I lost two points in Astronomy class, Professor." Her tone suggested this explained everything.
"You're upset, aren't you?" Anthony tried to understand what happened. Surely not jumping over two points?
"Just reflecting, Professor," she said. "Pansy forgot to release me."
The young Slytherin spoke calmly. The sky was too dark. At her hint, Anthony realized her legs were stuck tightly together—the Leg-Locker Curse.
He quickly removed the curse. "All right, back to your dormitory. If you need help, remember to find your Head of House... I trust he at least cares about his own house's students."
The girl paused and asked quietly, "You're not taking points, Professor?"
"You weren't wandering on purpose. Why would I take points?" Anthony said. "Come on, I'll walk you to your dormitory. If we meet other professors, I'll explain."
"That's good," the girl said with relief. Somehow, Anthony thought she sounded disappointed.
Under the torchlight, Anthony realized she was pale with cold, lips dark purple. He conjured a thick cloak—Transfiguration quite practical—and summoned a small flame, stuffed it into a stone-turned-glass jar. "Warm your hands. Remember to get Peppeup Potion from Madam Pomfrey tomorrow."
She reached out trembling to take the cloak and jar—her fingernails were also dark purple—and said politely, "Thank you, Professor Anthony."
"How long were you standing up there?" Anthony asked. He couldn't feel cold, so he'd overlooked that she might be unable to bear the wind. Perhaps he should knock on Madam Pomfrey's door right now.
"Since Astronomy class ended," she said. "About... eight o'clock?"
That was roughly five hours. Anthony said helplessly, "All right, we're going to the Hospital Wing first."
"No need, Professor. I'll just sleep in my dormitory," she refused.
Anthony asked, "What year are you?" He'd only seen this stubbornness in his adolescent students.
"Slytherin second year, Professor. Tracey Davis."
Anthony froze. "Second year?" He remembered Pansy Parkinson was first year.
"I'm half-blood, Professor," Tracey said matter-of-factly.
Anthony led her toward the Hospital Wing. "Are you related to Roger Davies?"
Tracey nodded and wrapped the cloak tighter. "My brother."
Now Anthony knew whose child she was. Roger Davies had told this story—a pure-blood wizard father who fell in love and was despised by his family, and a Muggle mother who died in childbirth.
Roger Davies had said, "My father always said St. Mungo's was much better than Muggle hospitals, but because of You-Know-Who... no, never mind, Professor. I don't remember her."
Anthony sighed quietly and knocked on Madam Pomfrey's door.
"Who?" Madam Pomfrey asked immediately. After rustling sounds, light appeared in the small room. She stood alert at the door.
"Sorry, it's me, Anthony," Anthony said. "Miss Davis may have caught a chill."
Madam Pomfrey frowned. "Miss Davis?" She took Tracey's hand, touched her forehead, and said sternly, "Why come only now? I'll get Peppeup Potion... I remember you took two bottles from me yesterday morning?"
Tracey nodded and said softly, "You have a good memory, Madam."
Madam Pomfrey looked at her searchingly, went back for a small glass bottle, and said, "Drink it. There's a bed over there. You can stay overnight. Don't wander the castle at night."
"Sorry for the trouble." Tracey sat on the bed and drank the potion in one gulp. White steam poured from her ears. Her color improved considerably.
"Thank you, Professor Anthony," Madam Pomfrey said. "Should be fine now. I'll head back."
Anthony said apologetically, "Of course. Thank you."
Just back from holiday, students hadn't suffered injuries serious enough for hospitalization. The entire Hospital Wing was empty, lights flickering, only Tracey sitting on the bed steaming. According to what Anthony saw while lesson planning, this steam would probably last several hours.
"What classes do you have tomorrow?" Anthony pulled over a chair and sat. Miss Davis probably wouldn't sleep much tonight.
Tracey lowered her head. "Herbology in the morning. Potions and History of Magic in the afternoon."
Anthony nodded. "If you can't manage, remember to ask for leave. Don't push yourself. This wasn't your fault."
Tracey looked up at him with a subtle expression but said nothing.
"Um... I hope Miss Parkinson won't do this again, but if you can't remember the countercurse for the Leg-Locker, remember to hop into the corridor. Might avoid standing on the Astronomy Tower in the wind." Anthony tried to say tactfully. Roger was a very smart student. He couldn't figure out why his sister was so rigid.
Outside the castle windows was pitch black, as if the entire school had fallen into void. Anthony walked back to his room thinking about the younger Davies's situation.
Her brother was smart, strong, cheerful and enthusiastic, quite popular among students. Ravenclaw never seemed to care whether he was half-blood, pure-blood, or Muggle-born. But Slytherin... Anthony knew Slytherin students had many conflicts with other houses, but he hadn't realized they divided themselves internally by blood status.
He needed to talk to Snape. He really needed to talk to Snape. His house was heading in a very dangerous direction.
Just as he was thinking and stepping onto the stairs, he suddenly heard hurried footsteps below.
He looked down—a Slytherin first-year, Pansy Parkinson, was rushing up from the dungeons, face full of fury.
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