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When Sirius carried Anthony back to the campsite, they were both extremely grateful they hadn't packed up the tent. His shattered right arm made it temporarily impossible for Sirius to use a wand properly. And while Anthony still possessed a flexible right hand, that hand—unfortunately—was no longer connected to his arm, making it almost impossible to form the standard wand-holding posture.
Sirius dropped the bag onto the table, opened it, and let Anthony spill out. He pulled out a chair and sank into it heavily. The Wraith Chicken tilted its head, observing for a moment, then hopped onto the table. It grabbed the bottom of the bag with its beak, shook it vigorously, and helped Anthony escape faster.
Anthony tried to sense the positions of his various parts, attempting to reassemble himself. But every time he tried to move a leg or shift his torso, another piece of him would roll onto the floor. At first, the Skeleton Cat found this interesting enough to bat a few pieces that had rolled under the cabinet back toward the table. But it soon grew bored, curling up in the shadows and watching the whole scene with detached indifference.
"You've made a mess of the dining area, Henry," Sirius commented after a while.
"I'll clean it up," Anthony assured him. "My Scourgify is quite proficient."
He struggled on with his task.
Sirius stood up. "No. I can't watch this. It's too disturbing." He picked Anthony's forearm off the floor, placed it back on the table, and walked out of the room.
Anthony vaguely heard Sirius turn on the radio, followed by the rush of a faucet turning on. He'd never quite figured out the tent's plumbing system. Sirius obviously wasn't paying any water bills, and the tent wasn't connected to any sewer lines or lakes… Anthony's thoughts drifted as he let Necromancy flow between his hand and arm, stitching them together… It was more likely there was no real plumbing at all. Those faucets were probably just alchemical devices embedded in the tent walls, producing an effect similar to an Aguamenti charm…
Sirius walked back in and took his seat. He seemed to have washed his face quickly and looked more alert.
"Harry isn't responding," Sirius said abruptly. "What would students be doing at this hour? A Quidditch match?"
"Probably not," Anthony mused. "At least, not a Gryffindor match. I believe Gryffindor already beat the other three houses and secured the Quidditch Cup early—"
"Oh, right!" Sirius said. "Harry mentioned it to me. Today's the celebration match!"
"Celebration match?" Anthony asked curiously, as his detached hand dragged his forearm closer for him to check if he'd put it on backwards.
"Celebrating that Umbridge woman leaving the school," Sirius shrugged. "Slytherin obviously isn't participating, but the other three houses are keen. Finals are over, the Cup's decided. They've got nothing better to do."
"But you said Mr. Potter was calling for you earlier," Anthony said. "Besides, Quidditch matches are usually held in the morning. It should be over by now. Why don't you try again?"
"Later," Sirius shook his head. "Quidditch games can last all day." He relaxed, leaning back in his chair and lifting his right arm to examine it.
"The few matches I saw ended fairly quickly," Anthony said. "Sometimes because the Seeker caught the Snitch fast, other times because of an accident on the pitch. Need a hand?"
"I know the bone-mending charm, but you need a professional like Madam Pomfrey to guarantee it sets properly…" Sirius glanced up at Anthony. "I'm guessing neither of us is in top casting form right now."
"I can try in a bit," Anthony said, attaching his upper arm to his torso. "What happens if it doesn't set properly?"
Sirius recalled, "They break it and set it again."
"Never mind, then," Anthony said decisively.
"You could try immobilizing my arm first," Sirius encouraged. "The charm's Ferula. If you can splint it straight, the bone-mending charm has a better chance of success." He tried to move his arm and winced, his face contorting in pain.
"A pity," Anthony said. "I'm only good at setting bones on the dead."
Sirius gave him another once-over. "Well, you don't seem particularly good at setting your own."
"This is a special circumstance," Anthony said. "That was the Killing Curse, after all."
He lay scattered across the table, calmly reassembling himself. The Killing Curse had definitely caused some minor disruption. Normally, he could rely on an instinctual pull to piece things together—fragments, body parts. But now, that subtle resonance between his parts felt weakened. Like old magnets, they could only cling loosely, feebly, to a refrigerator door.
A while later, he suddenly realized the room had grown too quiet. Anthony turned his head—which was currently resting on its side next to the salt shaker—and saw Sirius staring at the ceiling.
"What is it?" Anthony asked.
"What did it feel like?" Sirius asked quietly.
"Hm?"
"Nothing," Sirius said quickly, sitting up straight. "Can I help, Henry? Lend you a hand or something—"
"It was fast. Felt like nothing," Anthony said.
Sirius froze.
"Really," Anthony smiled, hoping that in his current state, the expression wasn't too horrifying. "Actually, could you grab that kneecap for me?"
…
Anthony stood before the bathroom mirror. It took him a while to finally balance his head properly on his neck.
"I regret not buying that talking mirror," Sirius said.
"A wise decision," Anthony said, wobbling his head a little. "Especially after the tent was damaged so easily. I think you should be more cautious about the practical utility of magical items."
"At least the full emergency medical kit was useful," Sirius said with a hint of pride. He stretched his arm, then flexed it with ease.
"It was useful—once you remembered you'd bought it."
"Don't be a downer, Henry. After facing Voldemort and seeing my companion fall to pieces, I think I can be forgiven for not immediately recalling every single thing I've bought."
"You're leaving out the part where you were talking to a disembodied head," Anthony pointed out. "Fine. Fair point."
"Speaking of which, where did Voldemort go?"
"He mentioned a new vessel… preparations made when forging the first anchor… It sounded like he wasn't satisfied with the body we encountered," Anthony recalled. As his body became whole, his mind seemed to sharpen as well (Sirius had dryly remarked that it "made sense"). "But he didn't say where his new body was. Just gave something to that snake for safekeeping and said he'd be back."
"When?" Sirius asked. "Are we supposed to just wait in this forest forever?"
"We should focus on getting word to Professor Dumbledore," Anthony said. "By the way, have you ever heard of a 'Horcrux'?"
"Horcrux?" Sirius frowned. "Horcrux… No, never. Did Voldemort mention that word?"
Anthony nodded. For a moment, they stood in silence, each pondering Voldemort's possible hiding spots. Part of Anthony hoped Voldemort's new body was far from Hogwarts. Another part couldn't help but imagine the convenience if that vessel he was so confident in was sitting right in the Headmaster's office. Given that Dumbledore had tried to set a trap for Voldemort at Hogwarts, Anthony didn't think the latter idea was completely absurd.
The clock in the dining room chimed.
"Well, dinner time," Anthony said. "I think we still have some bacon. Pasta tonight?"
"Brilliant."
…
Bacon sizzled in the frying pan, filling the kitchen with a rich, savory aroma. Sirius hummed a tune, tossing a large handful of pasta into a pot of boiling water before tilting the salt cellar and pouring in a generous amount.
"…awoke this morning at St. Mungo's and is reported to be in stable condition. According to Mr. Scrimgeour, the severe poisoning resulted from mistakenly drinking a cup of tea containing Doxycide and is unrelated to the various conspiracy theories previously speculated by the public. Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour, urges the public to trust the Ministry, while also reminding witches and wizards to be mindful of food safety…"
"Scrimgeour?" Anthony asked, startled.
"Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Barty Crouch, believes this should not hinder Britain's magical community from engaging with other nations…"
Sirius turned and tapped the tuning knob with his wand. The radio's volume wobbled, then cleared up again. "…Thank you for joining us on 'Breaking News,' Professor Lockhart! I can't wait for your new book, Gilderoy—and a reminder to our printers to prepare more paper in advance to avoid the embarrassing situation we had with Voyages with Vampires. This will undoubtedly be another bestseller. The only question is whether it can surpass the legendary sales records you yourself have set…"
Sirius tapped the radio again.
"Next up is 'Amazing Owls'! Want to understand your magical companion better? Want to know how to better care for your pet? Today we have The Old Owl from Diagon Alley, an owl enthusiast tired of people's incorrect feeding habits and a trusted owl expert. He'll introduce us to three foods beneficial for an owl's eyesight…"
CRACK!
The sound of Apparition drowned out the owl food recommendations. Anthony's hand jerked, and he almost threw the frying pan at the bald head of the house-elf who had just appeared.
"Professor Anthony!" the house-elf cried tearfully, with immense relief. "Dobby has found you, Professor Anthony!"
"Dobby?" Sirius asked suspiciously, his wand pointed at the elf. "Aren't you a Malfoy elf? What does Malfoy want with Henry?"
"Oh, no, sir! Dobby came to find Professor Anthony himself… Dobby wanted to find Professor Dumbledore, but Professor Dumbledore is inside Hogwarts, and Dobby cannot enter Hogwarts…"
Anthony set the pan aside. "What do you need, Dobby?"
"Dobby needs Professor Anthony to save Mr. Potter!" Dobby cried out. "Harry Potter is in danger!"
"What?" Sirius demanded sharply. "Where's Harry?"
"Harry Potter is at… oh, bad Dobby! Very bad, bad Dobby!" Dobby lunged toward Anthony, slamming his thin, veiny ears against the hot stovetop.
Anthony immediately grabbed him by the waist and pulled him away. "Dobby, stop! I think you've punished yourself enough!"
Sirius rushed into the bedroom, shouting into the two-way mirror, "Harry! Harry! Can you hear me, Harry?"
"It's all right, Dobby. We'll take this slow," Anthony said, helping the elf sit by the sink. "I think you know where Mr. Potter is." He held Dobby's gaze. The tennis-ball-sized eyes squeezed shut hard, then opened, looking at him with desperate hope.
"I think Potter is still in Britain." Shut. Open.
"I think Potter is not with Professor Dumbledore." Shut. Open.
"Potter… is not with Voldemort." The bulging eyes filled with tears. They didn't shut.
"He's not at Hogwarts?" Anthony frowned.
Dobby shrieked, "Dobby cannot say! Dobby cannot betray the secret!" His body rocked back and forth nervously by the sink, making the faucet rattle.
"Shh, it's okay. These are all my guesses. You're not saying anything. Try this one: Potter is not with any professor." Shut. Open.
"Potter is in a place with Muggle-Repelling Charms." Dobby squeezed his eyes shut hard.
"Potter is in Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, or Knockturn Alley." Wide, staring eyes.
"Potter is at St. Mungo's." Wide eyes.
Anthony hesitated for a few seconds. "I think Potter is on private property." The eyes didn't close. Anthony breathed a small sigh of relief.
"Sirius!" Anthony called. "Besides Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and Knockturn Alley, what other non-private locations have Muggle-Repelling Charms?"
"Azkaban!" Sirius answered instantly, rushing back into the kitchen and gripping Dobby's bony shoulders. "Is Harry in Azkaban?"
"He can't answer you directly!" Anthony said. "Dobby, Sirius thinks Mr. Potter is in Azkaban."
Dobby's eyes widened so much Anthony worried they might pop out of his head.
"How long is this going to take!" Sirius said irritably. "I'll get the bike—you can play riddles with this elf the whole way there."
"House-elf magic is different, Sirius—Dobby can Apparate us there directly," Anthony said. "What other places are there? Not a school, not a street, not a hospital, not a prison… Oh." He turned to the violently shaking elf. "The Ministry."
Dobby let out a choked sob and slammed his eyes shut tight.
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