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At breakfast the next day, Snape could almost be described as happy. He sat triumphantly in his seat. Methodically cut the flatbread on his plate. Nodded accepting butter McGonagall passed over. His greasy black hair plastered to his face didn't move an inch.
"What happened?" Anthony asked puzzled while sitting down. Looked up at the four house hourglasses. As far as he could see, house points hadn't changed much.
"What?" Professor Burbage asked casually. Pushed a plate of roasted potatoes toward him.
Anthony's attention was immediately drawn to them. "Oh, thank you." He was truly starving.
Because he'd spent too much time with the Weasley brothers listing what qualifications they needed to prove, all three had missed dinner yesterday. Finally Anthony asked the school house-elves to send food over.
The Weasley twins wanted steak and kidney pudding with carrots. Anthony chose sandwiches and hot milk. Waking up this morning, he immediately realized that wasn't quite enough.
However, his breakfast question was quickly answered that afternoon.
All afternoon, Anthony sat in the library's public area reading a newly acquired Muggle Studies book, Jim the Cat.
This book was written by Professor Burbage's friend. Target readers were preschool children. The text roughly told of a cat named Jim who snuck out of the tent while vacationing with his wizard family. But returning, found everyone had already left. It had to try finding its way home. Along the way curiously discovered similarities and differences between Muggle life and wizards.
When two students sat huffily behind him, he'd just reached Jim the cat trying to help a sleeping old lady turn off a lamp. The illustration showed the kitten clumsily, curiously looking at the glowing lamp. Anthony touched the lamp switch. The lamp in the picture immediately went out. Jim the cat looked at the lamp in surprise. Then looked at readers outside the illustration.
"School's gone mad," a student complained.
Madam Pince looked over sternly. Anthony heard rustling behind him. This student pulled out a book. Spread out parchment. Pretended to write an essay.
His friend quietly agreed. "Isn't it. Potions class is bad enough. Defense Against the Dark Arts—"
"Can't they find anyone else to substitute?" that student said in a low voice. Flipped pages loudly. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick. I dare say any of them are no worse than Snape."
"I think Professor Sprout would be good too," the friend said hopefully. "She could teach us how to throw Fanged Geraniums at Grindylows."
"Whoever. I've never been so desperate to see Quirrell in class," the student said. "Here, Grindylow dietary habits... why do I need to know its dietary habits, like it's grabbing me to make me its chef..." He muttered while copying knowledge points onto parchment.
The friend sitting beside him also started copying. While writing, quietly asked, "Do you know what actually happened to Professor Quirrell?"
"Who knows," the student said resentfully. "Probably finally discovered his sense of smell failed. Went to St. Mungo's for treatment. Then left the whole school to Snape with his failed taste... Ha, I'm not surprised at all..."
"I heard Ernie ran into Professor Quirrell the day before yesterday," his friend told him. "He said Professor Quirrell looked terrifying. Face, body covered in scratches and bloody marks. If the smell wasn't so obvious, he almost didn't recognize him."
Only then did Anthony remember he hadn't seen Professor Quirrell for several days either.
"What did he go do?" that student asked curiously—the question in Anthony's mind.
"Don't know. But Ernie said... Ernie thinks..." the friend mysteriously lowered his voice. Anthony had to concentrate fully to hear clearly. "He might've been threatened by Snape. You know, Snape's wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for years. Besides, where in Hogwarts has the most knives?"
"Kitchen?" Then this student immediately said, "Okay, I know you're talking about potion ingredient processing... but Dumbledore's still here. You think—you don't think—Dumbledore would let Snape stew Quirrell?"
His friend said, "I'm not sure. That's Ernie's theory. But think about it—what else could injure him like that? Madam Pomfrey couldn't possibly not heal him. But who taught our class today? Snape! Not just us. All years seem to have switched to Snape."
In the staff lounge, Professor Sprout told Anthony decisively that the "Snape Slicing Quirrell Theory" was pure nonsense.
"Quirinus went exploring a Dark creature cave over the weekend. Wanted to catch some teaching specimens for students," Professor Sprout said. Took a ladyfinger from the plate. Dipped it in tea. "He told us this himself. Turned out things in that cave far exceeded his expectations. Several powerful magical creatures scratched him all over. He didn't even see clearly what they were."
"I hope he's not in mortal danger," Anthony said worriedly.
"Oh, shouldn't be," Professor Sprout said sympathetically. "He refused Poppy's help—I think he felt somewhat embarrassed—said he just needed to recuperate for a while. Poor Quirinus. He's trying hard to be a good professor."
Anthony asked, "Do you think I should visit him? I mean, we clearly live in the same corridor. I only learned today he was injured..."
"I don't know. Perhaps give him some time. Let him quietly recover from injuries," Professor Sprout said. Sipped tea. "You just getting the news is very normal, Henry. He certainly won't blame you for it. When he came back injured last Saturday, you happened to have taken students to the Muggle world."
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