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Anthony asked, "Are you feeling all right, Mr. Longbottom?" He felt Neville suddenly looked even more uncomfortable.
"Yes, I'm fine," Neville murmured. "I'm fine."
"If anything hurts, tell Madam Pomfrey immediately," Anthony instructed. "Don't tough it out. If you develop other problems from toughing it out, Madam Pomfrey will be even angrier."
Neville nodded. "I know, Professor."
"Oh, by the way, Professor Anthony, could I trouble you to come to my office for a chat?" Professor McGonagall said suddenly. "Rest well, Longbottom. Don't worry about coursework for now. Monday's Transfiguration essay can be submitted later."
Neville's face went pale. Anthony thought he'd probably completely forgotten about the essay.
"Of course, Professor McGonagall." He stood and followed Professor McGonagall to the door. "In any case, very glad to see you alive, Mr. Longbottom. Goodbye." He held the cat's paw and waved it at Neville.
Neville smiled slightly and pulled a hand from under the hospital blanket, waving at the cat. "See you later."
Most students in the corridor didn't yet know what had happened, casually greeting Anthony and Professor McGonagall as they passed.
Upper-year students had bought various small items from Hogsmeade, distributing them to envious younger students. They enjoyed this sunny weekend, sharing sweets and secrets, borrowing friends' essays, young faces brimming with joy and troubles unique to youth.
Professor McGonagall led Anthony to her office, gesturing at the seat before the desk. "Sit anywhere, Professor Anthony."
She waved her wand, conjuring a cat tree for the cat, with jingling cat toys hanging from the frame. Anthony placed the cat on it, and it immediately played with great delight.
The door closed gently. She sat in her most familiar seat, suddenly looking somewhat weary.
"What is it, Professor McGonagall?" Anthony asked.
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together. "The Headmaster hopes we won't mention this matter further. Severus is handling the Slytherin side. I'll explain to Longbottom's grandmother..."
Anthony looked at her. His expression must have been quite obvious, because Professor McGonagall sighed.
"I know, Henry," she suddenly used his first name. "But this is also to protect you. Although Hagrid dispersed the surrounding students, when you saved Longbottom, half the Black Lake was glowing—inevitably some people noticed."
Anthony shook his head. "Just tell them I used a super-powered Lumos, aiming to illuminate Longbottom's form."
Professor McGonagall said, "Yes, that's indeed what we plan to say. But the intense Dark Magic aura at the time—wizards familiar with Dark Magic should have noticed... not to mention Albus, even Quirinus was alarmed and came out to see what happened."
"Professor Quirrell?"
"Setting aside his classes, he does have a knack for dealing with Dark Magic," Professor McGonagall said approvingly. "He was complaining to me about Severus always being hostile toward him, then he suddenly stopped and ran out of the castle... I didn't even realize what had happened. Severus didn't seem to sense it either..."
Anthony asked without much hope, "Is there a Dark Magic version of Lumos in the magical world?"
"Yes, none better than necromantic magic," Professor McGonagall said. "So Severus suggested we say your super-powered Lumos disturbed a magical creature beneath the Black Lake."
"What creature?" Anthony asked.
Professor McGonagall nodded. "Unknown magical creature. Hogwarts is an ancient magical school, full of secrets buried in historical dust. If anyone is truly that curious, they're welcome to explore the Black Lake themselves... at least that's what Severus suggested."
"Excellent."
Professor McGonagall said, "In any case, that's our story. But if someone determined to investigate this matter, it has holes. And the agreement the Headmaster reached with the Ministry included not letting the public know there's a necromancer outside Azkaban."
She looked at Anthony apologetically. "I know this is very unfair to you. I don't like it either, but it has some logic. As for Malfoy's handling." She paused. "This matter is very... complicated."
"I noticed," Anthony said with slight sarcasm. He'd found it unbelievable in the Headmaster's office, so he'd left after the punishment was decided.
Professor McGonagall lowered her head. "I fully accept your reproach."
Anthony took a deep breath. "Thank goodness Longbottom survived."
"Yes," Professor McGonagall said. "I dare not imagine if Alice's son had died... for such an absurd reason..."
"This isn't an absurd reason," Anthony said seriously. "I've wanted to ask for a while—why is the hatred between Gryffindor and Slytherin so deep?"
"Because of that person," Professor McGonagall said gravely. "Because of blood purity ideology, because of war, because their parents have blood feuds."
"And the school still decided to put them in classes together."
Professor McGonagall said, "Precisely. Avoiding each other does no good. We need them to communicate... even if in the form of fighting. Henry, wizards aren't like Muggles. You could say wizards are more savage, but a large part of school teaching activities is teaching students how to fight."
"I'm very glad Charity and you came," she said. "Many people can't realize that Muggle Studies is actually quite an important course. It teaches students to understand others. To be curious about people different from themselves, and ultimately realize the differences aren't that great—Henry, understanding is a form of kindness."
Anthony talked with Professor McGonagall for a long time. The act of pulling Neville from the lake seemed to have earned him considerable trust. As someone who'd lived through it, Professor McGonagall described the terrifying scenes when Voldemort ravaged Britain's magical community.
Before he left, she generously gave him the cat tree. "I know what kind of frames and toys are most interesting. Have the house-elves move it to your office—several times now, I've inadvertently heard them complain your room is too empty, with nothing worth cleaning."
"Take it back?" Anthony consulted the cat's opinion.
The cat curled in his arms with half-closed eyes, purring contentedly.
"Then thank you, Minerva."
Professor McGonagall observed his cat with interest. "Speaking of which, does it shed?"
"No," Anthony shook his head. "If it shed, the house-elves might have more work."
He stepped out of Professor McGonagall's office, looking at the sun that hadn't yet set, and exhaled. The sunset's golden light reflected on ice and snow, cold as a blade's edge.
"Professor Anthony!" a student called in the corridor. "There's Yorkshire pudding for dinner tonight!"
Anthony smiled. "Really? How does it compare to yours?"
"I think mine tastes better," the student said confidently. "Just wait—when I go home for Christmas, I'll really show off."
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