Black Lake and the Kitchen

Anthony wasn't even sure how he had managed to get Hagrid back to his cabin. After saying goodbye, he glanced through the window and saw Fang approaching him worriedly, licking Hagrid's nose, ears, and eyes in an attempt to comfort him.

The sun had already set. Apart from a faint purple glow atop a distant mountain, the sky was a deepening blue, fading into an even darker shade. Behind him, the castle was quiet, with only a few small lights flickering in the windows.

He sat down by the Black Lake and gazed at its still surface. It was dinnertime, but he didn't feel like going back to the castle to bother Coco, nor did he want to return home just yet.

The giant squid's tentacles emerged from the water, breaking the calm. It had picked up an old, soggy shoe from somewhere and was rolling it around in its grasp, occasionally scooping up water and pouring it back into the lake as if playing with it.

Anthony watched in silence for a while, and then, for some inexplicable reason, he felt a sudden urge to feed the seagulls.

"I hope that's not your shoe, Henry," a familiar voice said from behind him.

Anthony turned in surprise to see Dumbledore standing there. He started to stand up, but Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him and instead sat down beside him.

"No, it's not," Anthony replied.

They sat in silence for a while.

"Is it yours?"

"No." Dumbledore smiled, glancing at his left foot. "Though I did lose a green shoe once and never found it again. Since then, I've been very careful to keep track of them. Shoes are cunning things—they must always be worn in pairs. Otherwise, it feels rather rude."

"What happened to the matching right shoe?" Anthony asked.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "It was confiscated, and after that, I lost track of it."

"What on earth did you do?"

"Oh, nothing too serious," Dumbledore said lightly. "I transfigured it into the shape of the Sorting Hat and swapped it with the real one from the Headmaster's office. Unfortunately, on that very day, Headmaster Dippet suddenly decided to put on the Sorting Hat—why, I still have no idea."

Anthony found it hard to picture a young Dumbledore pulling such a prank, so he could only say, "You must be joking."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Or perhaps I simply forgot where I placed the other shoe and never thought about it again. After a while, it vanished. By now, it's probably crawling with spiders and Nargles."

"Nargles?" Anthony repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmm... a very elusive magical creature that thrives in forgotten places and tends to spit when happy. It's about this big." Dumbledore gestured with his hand. "Covered in soft black fur, and it hardly ever makes a sound."

Anthony thought for a moment. "I think you're describing a Puffskein."

"Ah, but I was thinking of the opposite of a dragon," Dumbledore said, giving Anthony a knowing wink.

Anthony chuckled. "Ah, yes. Hagrid named him Norbert. We've arranged to send him to a dragon sanctuary in Romania." He shook his head. "A grumpy, fire-breathing, stumbling menace."

By the time they had been sitting by the lake for a while, night had fully fallen.

A warm light glowed from Hagrid's cabin, and the faint clinking of plates could be heard. Anthony guessed Hagrid was heating up his rock cakes.

The giant squid had vanished into the depths, taking its shoe with it. An owl flew out from the owlery and disappeared into the night, while the wind whispered through the Forbidden Forest, rustling the leaves without disturbing the stillness of the lake.

Dumbledore rose first and extended an invitation. "Come, let's head back to the castle. I believe the kitchens have some sandwiches waiting for us."

"You know, your office and bedroom don't vanish just because it's the holidays," he added with a twinkle in his eye. "Nor does the Hogwarts kitchen."

The Great Hall was dimmer than usual. The house tables were empty, and the floating candles had been extinguished. Only the torches along the walls and the small cluster of candles above the staff table still flickered, casting a warm glow.

As they passed through, they encountered Professor Flitwick and Snape, who seemed to have just finished a discussion with Madam Pomfrey outside the hospital wing.

Flitwick was walking briskly, waving his wand excitedly, while Snape followed beside him, wearing his usual frown but looking contemplative.

"Albus! Professor Anthony!" Flitwick called cheerfully, his voice high with excitement. "What a surprise!"

"Good evening, Filius," Dumbledore greeted him warmly. "Good evening, Severus. If I'm not mistaken, you're also on your way to the kitchens?"

Snape replied coolly, "No. I would much rather return to my office."

"Oh, come on, Severus!" Flitwick urged. "We still have some matters to discuss—oh, Professor Anthony, if all goes well, Mr. Davis should be able to go home next week!"

"Really? That's wonderful news!" Anthony said, genuinely pleased.

"All thanks to Poppy—she's a real genius," Flitwick beamed. "Of course, St. Mungo's helped as well... and you, Severus! Your potions expertise is unparalleled."

His enthusiasm was infectious, and he practically bounced as he spoke.

At the fork in the staircase leading to the kitchen and cellar, Snape hesitated for a brief moment before, under Dumbledore's expectant gaze, he gave a curt nod and strode toward the kitchen, following Professor Flitwick.

"Come on, Henry. We might be able to get more than just sandwiches," Dumbledore said with a light push on Anthony's shoulder. "I've heard a saying: two people eat better than one, and four people are better than two."

The arrival of four professors at such a late hour delighted the house-elves, who eagerly prepared an extravagant feast: roast chicken, lamb chops, mashed potatoes, roasted mushrooms, tomato and celery soup, a large basket of bread, and a generous jug of pumpkin juice.

Anthony had attempted to request just a simple tuna sandwich, but Coco, one of the elves, looked so wounded by the suggestion that he quickly relented. And so, he found himself seated with the others at a cleared table in the middle of the kitchen, listening to Professor Flitwick's animated account of Roger Davies' recovery from his injuries.

He was relieved, at least, that they weren't eating under the watchful eyes of a hundred elves. At some point, a partition had mysteriously appeared in the kitchen, creating a more private dining space. Anthony had never known such a section existed.

The elves had enthusiastically decorated the table for them, and while Dumbledore had managed to stop them at a modest white tablecloth embroidered with gold thread, he had not been able to dissuade them from adding a large vase of flowers as a centerpiece.

Halfway through the meal, Anthony and Dumbledore had fallen into a discussion about flesh magic when Professor Flitwick seemed to have a sudden flash of inspiration.

"I should have thought of this earlier!" he exclaimed, dropping his fork, his half-eaten bread, and, in the process, abandoning Snape—who had been discussing potion dosages with him. Without another word, he hurried away.

Snape put down his knife with deliberate care. "I believe I should take my leave as well. Excuse me."

"No, Severus," Dumbledore said blithely, "please have some more lamb chops. I noticed you didn't try them at all."

At that moment, as if summoned by the Headmaster's words, a fresh lamb chop appeared on Snape's plate. Snape glared at it as though he could will it out of existence.

Anthony couldn't resist commenting, "It really is delicious."

Snape's glare snapped toward him instead. Anthony shrugged. "Sorry."

Dumbledore chuckled and turned to Anthony. "So, what are your plans for the rest of the holiday?"

Anthony thought for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure... I plan to visit the Owlery tomorrow to thank a certain owl. If time allows, I might go to Romania—perhaps with Hagrid. I've also been invited to visit Mr. and Mrs. Weasley at the Burrow before the end of the holidays. Other than that, I think I'll just collapse on my sofa, read a few books, and sleep as much as possible."

Snape commented sarcastically, "A full and efficient plan."

Anthony ignored him. "Oh, by the way, I also want to feed the seagulls."

"It sounds like you're enjoying your vacation," Dumbledore said approvingly.

"And you, sir?" Anthony asked. "What are your plans for the holiday?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment. "Well, Cornelius and I have an appointment, and I also have a few meetings with Ilvermorny. Durmstrang sent an owl, but I haven't received a reply yet. Of course, I am still searching for a new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. If you happen to know someone suitable, do let me know."

Snape stabbed at his lamb chops with unnecessary force and snorted. "Just curious, Headmaster—what criteria are you using this time? I mean, Quirrell was a perfect choice."

"It wasn't all bad, Severus," Dumbledore replied lightly. "Yes, we discovered that he had... problems. And now we've confirmed that Voldemort—" Snape visibly tensed, paling slightly at the name, "—did not truly disappear eleven years ago. Doesn't this align with our suspicions?"

Snape looked as if he wanted to argue, but Dumbledore didn't give him the chance. "The better news is that Henry has confirmed that Voldemort is currently very weak. I doubt he will attempt to come near Hogwarts in the near future... We may even dare to hope that the next school year will be a peaceful one."

"The Dark Lord will not take this lightly," Snape said quietly.

"No, he won't," Dumbledore agreed. "He will be furious, and in his anger, he will expose his weaknesses." He paused, his piercing blue eyes settling on Anthony with a knowing smile. "But then again, we all do that, don't we? The other side of anger is fear..."

Anthony couldn't help but recall the most terrifying and infuriating moment since his resurrection.

The wraith rat had crawled out and taken the curse. For a fleeting moment, Anthony could no longer sense it—caught between life and death. Quirrell had called it banishment, neither here nor there.

He had thought he'd lost the rat. And, for the first time, he had feared that he too could be banished in the same way.

He scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and nodded. "Yes, sir."