Anthony finished his pumpkin juice, returned to his office to play with the cat for a while, then had to go supervise Pansy's detention.
Today was a rare clear day. Stars shone in the night. Silver moonlight quietly enveloped Hogwarts. Anthony stood below the tower waiting and faintly heard Professor Sinistra announce class dismissed. Soon footsteps and conversation echoed in the corridor. He moved aside and heard Malfoy say, "She's so annoying."
The two large boys often following him agreed. "Yeah."
"Like that Anthony can do anything to her. Embarrassing. Not thinking about her family..." Malfoy said. "But my father told me not to act rashly... Anthony seems to have some secret. Someone very powerful wants to protect him." He suddenly ordered, "Hear that? Don't act rashly!"
"Yes, Draco," both said.
Malfoy nodded with satisfaction and said thoughtfully, "I'm curious what that secret is. My father said he doesn't know either—or maybe he won't tell me."
They passed Anthony and walked straight away.
Some Slytherin students saw Anthony. Their relaxed smiles suddenly froze. They cautiously greeted Anthony, immediately lowered their heads and hurried away, as if any later he'd become a dragon chasing them to burn their robes.
When students mostly left, Anthony climbed the spiral staircase to the Astronomy Tower. He encountered Professor Sinistra in the corridor. She held her textbook and nodded quite naturally. "Parkinson's still up there."
"All right, thank you, Professor," Anthony said. Then as they passed, he heard a very quiet "well done."
He almost thought he'd misheard, stopped and turned. Professor Sinistra had already walked briskly away.
Pansy Parkinson stood on the Astronomy Tower. Cold wind made her robes snap. Stars hung high above. Tonight was colder than when Tracey Davis was trapped by the Leg-Locker Curse, but also brighter.
Anthony nodded. "Good evening, Miss Parkinson."
Pansy said through gritted teeth, "Good evening, Professor." Anthony glanced at her and confirmed her gritted teeth weren't from anger, just to keep shivers from leaking into her voice.
"Originally I meant windows below the tower, but sweeping the Astronomy Tower top works too," Anthony said. "Would you rather clean windows or sweep?"
Pansy's expression told Anthony she wanted neither, but she said without hesitation, "Sweep, Professor."
Anthony nodded and transfigured a branch blown from somewhere—possibly the Whomping Willow itself—into a broom. He handed it to Pansy, who was struggling not to let her teeth chatter.
Pansy seemed relieved instead. She took the broom and started sweeping beneath her and Anthony's feet.
She kept smearing the broom left and right on the ground, just waved it casually, as if the broom would eat the leaves, twigs, owl feathers and dust itself. Anthony, leaning by the door, had to remind her, "Sweeping them into a corner pile would be simpler."
Pansy said matter-of-factly, "I don't know how."
He could tell.
Anthony took the broom from her hand, demonstrated sweeping, and handed it back. "Try again?"
Pansy waved it casually again and said, "I don't know how."
"All right," Anthony said regretfully. "Then let's clean windows. I trust you have experience with that."
He hadn't expected Pansy's already frozen pale face could go another shade whiter. This bloodless first-year almost immediately replied, "Sorry, Professor Anthony. I'll learn."
She swept vigorously. The broom scraped the ground with scratching sounds. Rather than sweeping, she was brushing the Astronomy Tower's teeth.
Anthony watched for a while and suddenly asked, "Why do you hate cleaning windows so much?"
Pansy didn't answer. The broom's scraping sounds weakened.
"Last detention made you very uncomfortable? No." Anthony studied her expression, guessing. "You don't like windows? No. You particularly hate cleaning Astronomy Tower windows?"
Pansy's face went deathly pale, lips pressed tight, as if a terrifying monster appeared before her and she didn't know if it had noticed her.
"If I just said something that frightened you, I apologize," Anthony said gently. "Are you afraid of heights, Parkinson?"
Tears suddenly fell from Pansy's eyes. This cold, frightened child trembled and glared at him. "I'm not afraid of heights!"
"Being afraid of heights isn't bad," Anthony said. "Of course, I'm not saying it's good, but there are many things neither good nor bad. Fear of heights is one."
Pansy quickly wiped her eyes and said through gritted teeth, "I'm—not—afraid—of—heights."
"All right, Miss Parkinson," Anthony said.
Pansy cried harder and harder until she couldn't tell if her trembling was from cold or from crying breathlessly.
Anthony sighed quietly, stepped forward and took the broom from her hand, then crouched down. "Parkinson, it's all right."
"You don't understand anything!" Pansy cried. "You—you—Muggle-lover! I shouldn't—I can't—I'm not afraid of heights!"
"Why?" Anthony asked, puzzled. "Everyone has fears. Being afraid is a normal emotion."
Pansy took a deep breath. "I should worry about disgracing my family name. I should worry about others corrupting Slytherin's atmosphere. I should worry about not finding a suitable husband. I should worry about family continuation." She spoke, emotions suddenly collapsing again. "Not—not—fear heights! I—Draco—always loved Quidditch!"
"Good God," Anthony said quietly. "All right, all right. Everyone has fears. I promise you, your parents, everyone in your family, all your housemates, school staff—everyone fears some... less dignified things."
Pansy sobbed. "I'm acting like—like a weak Muggle!"
"Because you're not so different from them, Parkinson," Anthony said seriously. "Humans have shared certain emotions since birth. Not just determined by our souls, but by our flesh and blood. You're not alone fighting fear—we're all doing it."
He looked at the Slytherin first-year crying red-faced before him and felt somewhat relieved.
She wasn't beyond saving. She hadn't been completely converted into a so-called "Slytherin"—she could still cry.
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