Anthony will also doubt himself

Anthony calmly responded, "If your goal is to cultivate predators, then who are the prey, Snape? Those who aren't exceptional enough, whose backgrounds aren't prestigious enough, or students from other houses who don't fit your predator mold?"

Snape's lips twisted into a sneer. "I couldn't care less." He abruptly turned and began cleaning his potions workbench, haphazardly tossing various ingredients back into bottles, jars, and boxes—a clear dismissal.

Anthony sighed. "I don't want to argue with you, Snape. That's not my intention. Yes, I don't understand Slytherin, and I don't know what you're facing, but at the very least," He hesitated. At the very least, shouldn't Roger Davis be focused on Quidditch practice instead of worrying about his sister's crippling anxiety? At the very least, shouldn't those who felt superior be prevented from relentlessly bullying their classmates? At the very least, shouldn't struggling students receive some attention?

He finally said, "At the very least, I can try. This is a school, not a gladiatorial arena. If they must fight in the future, I hope they can at least have some fond memories to hold onto." He spoke from the heart. "That's important for anyone."

"By all means, please do," Snape said in a flat, uninterested tone. Anthony pressed further, "Do you have enough happy memories, Snape? Is the power you derive from Slytherin enough to conjure a Patronus?" Snape whirled around, his black robes swirling dramatically with the force of his movement. His dark eyes were hollow and intense as he stared at Anthony.

"That's none of your business," he hissed. Anthony shrugged. "Just curious. You know, top graduate interviews and all that."

The Potions Master's office door flew open with a bang. Snape, teeth gritted, grabbed Anthony's arm and shoved him out. "You're far too inquisitive," Snape snarled.

Slam.

The door shut in Anthony's face. Anthony turned to a spider crawling on the wall and said simply, "Well then."

...

The castle was quiet late at night. As he ascended from the dungeons, he could even hear the gentle lapping of the Black Lake against the castle walls.

Anthony pondered. He needed more information to understand the situation.

His cat glanced lazily at him as he entered and let out a soft meow. Anthony sighed, scooped up the cat, and buried his face in its soft fur. "I seem to be making trouble for myself."

The cat, usually resistant to being held, tolerated it patiently.

Anthony lifted his head and stroked the cat's fur. "Alright, thank you." He opened a bottle of wine for the cat, a purchase from his usual pub during his Christmas break. The familiar scent filled his bedroom, almost making him feel like he was back home.

The cat jumped down, rubbing contentedly against his legs in a circle. Anthony transformed it back into its skeletal form – double-checking that he had indeed locked the door – washed up quickly, and then collapsed onto his bed.

The flame in the cat's food bowl burned steadily, like a nightlight.

...

Perhaps due to his late bedtime and excessive contemplation, Anthony woke feeling sluggish.

He had intended to spend his weekend in the library, delving deeper into flesh magic and attempting to combine it with necromancy to bring the Wrackspurt to school as soon as possible – he desperately needed a pet that wouldn't wake him up with frantic scratching.

But today, for once, he didn't feel like visiting the library.

This feeling of laziness was so unusual for Anthony that he decided, almost out of novelty, to indulge in it. After washing up, he hesitated, glanced at the weather – dreary as usual – and decided to take a walk around the castle.

"Going out?" he asked the cat.

The cat twitched its ears, rolled over, and promptly fell back asleep.

Anthony smiled, gave it a pat, then closed the door and left. In the bathroom, Moaning Myrtle was sobbing again. Nearly Headless Nick attempted to comfort her, but he was half-submerged in the wall, poised for a quick exit.

Myrtle wailed, "They – they walked right through me–"

"Yes, yes," Nearly Headless Nick said, exasperated. "It's not like we haven't experienced that before."

"Good morning, Myrtle," Anthony said, holding the door open.

"Good morning, Sir Nicholas. I hope everything is alright?"

Nick seemed delighted by his presence and greeted him enthusiastically, "Oh, good morning, Professor Anthony! Where are you off to?"

He acted as if, even if Anthony said he was going to ask Professor McGonagall to dance, Nick would want to tag along.

Anthony replied, "Just taking a stroll around the castle." He added, sensing Nick's eagerness, " Do you want to join?"

Nick responded gratefully, "Of course! I'm very familiar with Hogwarts. Myrtle, you heard me, I'm busy now–"

"And you, Myrtle, would you like to join us?" Anthony asked.

Moaning Myrtle sat on the sink, sobbing. "No – I'm never going outside again, never!"

Nearly Headless Nick explained, "She went out this morning, and a couple of students walked through her, you know, like every ghost does, and then she." He shook his head, not finishing the sentence.

"A couple of students!" Myrtle cried. "A couple of students! That's over ten! Of course it's not enough, how could it be enough? Everyone should do it! Walk right through us, it's so much fun! Line up, London Bridge is falling down, falling down!"

She sang as if Hogwarts, not London Bridge, was collapsing.

Anthony said sympathetically, "I'm sure you're upset."

 Of course!" Myrtle exclaimed, taking a deep breath before launching into another round of sobs. "But they—they—laughed at me–"

Nearly Headless Nick sighed impatiently. "They weren't laughing at you, they were just discussing the notice!"

"What notice?" Anthony asked, puzzled.

"The one about what you're studying," Nick replied. "There's a big crowd of students over there, Professor. I can take you to them." He eagerly drifted out of the bathroom.

Myrtle stopped crying and stared at Anthony.

Anthony said, "If you don't want to come, I completely understand. Perhaps we could take a walk together another night? I can ensure no students will walk through you then."

He'd catch a few more students out past curfew, if that was the case.

Myrtle whispered, "I don't want to walk with the professor."

Anthony chuckled. "Alright, but you could still go out at night and see if any of those students who upset you are out past curfew."

Myrtle imagined the scenario and giggled.

"I will," she declared. "I'll scream." She then lost herself in a fantasy of revenge and schadenfreude.

Anthony wondered if he had perhaps given her a bad idea.