Flint in the barrel

Anthony was rescuing his teacup from the Monster Book of Monsters' bite when Hagrid announced he was going to find suitable packaging for it.

The Monster Book had initially tried to challenge Fire Dragon Temperature: From Cold-Blooded to Burnt (which had a striking warning on its spine: "Handle with care, do not shake violently"), but the Hungarian Horntail peaks on the cover were dangerously low in the corner of the book, and between its exposed teeth, Anthony could just make out the flicker of flames ready to burst forth.

Anthony quickly wedged his teacup between the large pages of the Monster Book to pry them apart. This move only seemed to intensify the book's interest in him—he could now feel the pressure building on his bones as the book's "teeth" crunched against his hand.

"I suggest you at least tie it up," Anthony said, eyeing the Christmas wrapping paper Hagrid was holding up. Anthony also had some leftover colored paper and ribbons from last term. He yanked his hand free with some effort. "I doubt Professor Kettleburn would appreciate having his wooden leg shortened—especially not as a retirement gift."

Hagrid waved him off. "Yer exaggeratin', Henry." He confidently stuck his finger into the book's pages, only to find the book acting like a puppy, playfully trying to bite him, but lacking real teeth. 

Hagrid chuckled, "Look at this," before slamming the book shut. "Haha, tryin' to prove you've got a bit o' strength, eh?" He then placed the Monster Book under his bed and pressed down on it firmly. "Great! This'll be a right surprise for Professor Kettleburn."

Anthony smirked, "You might as well give him your dragon egg too. I guarantee he'd be thrilled."

"That won't work," Hagrid muttered, shaking his head. "This one's mine." He removed his oversized coat from the fireplace, revealing the blackened, soot-covered object nestled among the firewood. The egg now looked more like a large boulder than a dragon egg.

Anthony frowned, concerned. "Are you sure this is a dragon egg, Hagrid?"

"Course it is," Hagrid replied, patting a stack of books that stood high beside his bed.

The pile teetered with his movement, then came crashing to the floor. The Fireproof Properties of Dragon's Nose even tumbled into the fireplace. "Oh no!" Hagrid yelped, scrambling to pull the book out. At that moment, the dragon egg shook, releasing a small spark as the sudden rush of cold air met the heat. The spark ignited the book, and within seconds, both Hagrid and Anthony watched as The Fireproof Properties was reduced to flying black ash.

"Well," Anthony sighed, "I guess that was a dragon egg."

"Yep, Norwegian Ridgeback," Hagrid said proudly. "Very rare."

Anthony reminded Hagrid that, since there was a professor proficient in magical creatures living at the school, he needed to hide his dragon egg better to ensure that no one else discovered it.

Under Anthony's questioning, Hagrid reluctantly admitted that he hadn't been entirely truthful with Anthony before. He also confessed that he still hadn't told Dumbledore about the dragon egg in his room.

Hagrid said sheepishly, "I... I don't dare, Henry. Dumbledore's a great man. He gave Aragog a home, but he'll definitely make me give away the dragon egg—" Anthony opened his mouth to say, "That's not so bad," but quickly swallowed the words when he saw Hagrid's expression. "And... and he'll be really disappointed in me. Very, very disappointed!"

Anthony had a feeling that Dumbledore already knew. Since Hagrid hadn't woken up to find a ticket pinned to his fireplace, Anthony figured the headmaster wouldn't mind too much if the gamekeeper indulged in a small breeding hobby.

"But, Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures practical final is scheduled to take place right next to the Forbidden Forest this year," Anthony reminded him. "Professor Kettleburn is bound to come by."

"Great Gorgon, can't they change the location?" Hagrid said anxiously. He stared down at the dragon egg again, his bright black eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. After a moment of thought, he suddenly turned to Anthony with an intense look.

Seeing Hagrid's eyes, Anthony felt a sense of impending doom.

"No, Hagrid," he warned.

But Hagrid, undeterred, said, "Can I borrow your fireplace, Henry?"

"No."

"Please, for your godson? He'll enjoy a bit of brandy just like you."

"No. Absolutely not." Anthony said firmly. But seeing the light of hope fade from Hagrid's eyes, he sighed and added, "Unless you get the headmaster's permission."

Hagrid slumped, looking defeated. "I'll think of somethin' else," he muttered.

After sitting together in awkward silence for a while, Anthony couldn't bear it any longer. He offered, "I can ask Professor Kettleburn if there's a way to make the dragon egg less... noticeable. He won't suspect me of wanting to raise a dragon."

Hagrid looked up, his face lighting up with gratitude. "That's brilliant, Henry! Do you mind if I name your godson after you?"

"Please don't do that," Anthony said sincerely.

…

Professor Kettleburn's office was on the fourth floor. Even without Nearly Headless Nick's help, Anthony easily located the Care of Magical Creatures professor's office as soon as he entered the corridor. A stone sphinx stood beside the door, its eyes following Anthony from a distance.

As Anthony approached, he saw a line of large letters carved on the wooden door next to the Sphinx: "The answer is ONE HUNDRED!" The words "ONE HUNDRED" were crudely daubed in red paint, with several underlines beneath them for emphasis.

While Anthony examined the door, the Sphinx opened its mouth and asked in a low, rumbling voice: "I am both certain and unknown. Some seek refuge in me out of fear, others fear me. What am I, hidden in the shadows, to whom all paths lead?"

Anthony stood there, thinking for a moment.

"Uh, is it... a hundred?" he guessed hesitantly.

The Sphinx sighed in frustration. "Why does everyone say that? No, it's not."

"You just changed the question," Anthony pointed out. "So, for the second question, the answer is... because the door next to you says so."

The stone statue turned its eyes, trying to see the door behind it. Anthony helpfully read aloud, "The answer is one hundred."

"The answer is that you shouldn't take shortcuts!" the Sphinx growled. "Answer my riddle, or you'll be in pieces."

At that moment, the door behind the Sphinx trembled, and a loud bang echoed through the hallway. Anthony could faintly hear Professor Kettleburn shouting something inside.

Out of sheer curiosity, Anthony said to the Sphinx, "I choose to be in pieces."

"Oh, fine. Come on in, Splinter," grumbled the Sphinx. The door swung open.

…

Behind the door, Anthony was met with an unexpected scene. Professor Kettleburn was holding up a dead animal, practically shoving it under Snape's nose, while shouting something incomprehensible. Snape stood there, his expression locked in a deep frown as he faced the irate professor.

"With all due respect, it's just a common rat," said Snape, his voice cold and indifferent.

Kettleburn, looking as if someone had insulted his prized possession, bellowed, "JUST a rat?!" He glanced toward the open door, noticing Anthony. "Come in, Professor Anthony!" Kettleburn hopped to Anthony's side, grabbed his arm, and slammed the door behind them. "Come in, and be a fair witness. His—" he pointed angrily at Snape, "—his student trampled a motley rat to death in class! Shouldn't I punish him with solitary confinement?"

Anthony blinked, taking in the bizarre scene. Kettleburn was fuming, while Snape stood stoically, his face as pale as ever, looking every bit like a vampire from a gothic novel.

"Uh... I suppose that sounds fair?" Anthony said cautiously, unsure of what he had just walked into.

Snape, without missing a beat, replied, "I'm merely asking you to reduce the duration of the confinement, Professor Kettleburn. Surely, that's not unreasonable?"

Kettleburn, still holding the dead rat aloft, retorted, "He's not going anywhere now!"

Anthony, growing more confused, glanced between the two professors. "Why not, Professor Kettleburn?"

Kettleburn fixed his gaze on a corner of the room. "Because that student was bitten by a motley rat!"

Anthony only then noticed a barrel in the corner. Slytherin's Quidditch captain, Marcus Flint, was huddled in it, his face red, surrounded by steam. When Flint saw Anthony looking over, he slumped deeper into the bucket, causing water to overflow and trickle along the cracks in the wooden floor of Professor Kettleburn's office to some unknown destination.

A salamander hissed, dodging the spreading water, and leaped into Professor Kettleburn's fireplace. Similar to Hagrid's hut, there was a fire burning, but the office still maintained a comfortable temperature.

It took Anthony some time to understand, from Professor Kettleburn's excited recounting, what had happened. During yesterday's Care of Magical Creatures class, Flint had provoked the motley rat and been severely bitten. Enraged, Flint had then trampled the creature to death. But it was no ordinary bite. To sum it up, if Flint decided to play Quidditch right now, his broom would likely catch fire from the sparks he occasionally produced, turning it into a flaming bundle of firewood.

According to Professor Kettleburn, this fiery condition would last for about two days, and he decided Flint needed nothing more than a bucket of water to "strengthen his memory." That's why Anthony found a large, wrinkled Flint sitting in a bucket.

"But I have a career counseling appointment with Mr. Flint today," Snape said grimly. "Unless, Professor Kettleburn, you'd prefer I hold it here?"

Before Snape could finish, Professor Kettleburn interrupted.

"Of course, why not?" the old professor said cheerfully, hopping over to Flint's side on one leg. He pulled up a chair for himself, planted one of his prosthetic limbs on the ground, and draped a wizard's robe over it as a makeshift privacy curtain.

"Please," he said, gesturing theatrically, even tugging at Snape's robe to suggest he take a seat. Only then did Anthony notice that Professor Kettleburn's other prosthetic leg was standing by Flint's barrel with another set of wizard's robes hanging on it, blocking the view from the door. Anthony had somehow missed this odd setup before.

Flint whispered, "No, Professor Snape."

But Snape, with his characteristic lack of patience, replied, "I don't have another two hours to spare for you, Mr. Flint. I suggest we begin now. What do you want to do in the future?"

Flint looked like he wanted to sink into the bucket and disappear entirely. Anthony guessed that being observed in a barrel by three professors wasn't exactly a confidence-boosting experience, especially for a self-conscious teenager like Flint.

"Perhaps we could wait until Mr. Flint is... dried off a bit?" Anthony suggested, earning a grateful glance from Flint. "Professor Kettleburn, could Mr. Flint step out for a moment?"

"What?" Professor Kettleburn asked, then, realizing the situation, laughed heartily. "I'm ninety-eight years old! I've spent eighty of those years observing all kinds of magical creatures. You get used to seeing them do anything in the water. I've seen it all!" He knocked his wooden leg with his good arm. "And you'd better learn some wisdom from this, Mr. Flint. Creatures act out of defense, not malice. You need to show them mercy."

Anthony interjected, "I believe Mr. Flint has already learned that lesson, haven't you?"

But Professor Kettleburn shook his head. "Not quite," he said, tapping the motley rat that lay on the table. "Unless you'd like to show Professors Snape and Anthony how you plan to burn down the school grounds again, I'd advise against it. I guarantee that if you stand up, yesterday's events will repeat themselves, and this time, I won't stop it."

Snape added dryly, "Stay in the bucket, Flint. I promise, you resemble any other specimen, just less valuable."

Anthony couldn't help but glance at Snape. He hadn't realized that Snape might actually have a collection of human specimens, which, in this context, made him sound even more like a vampire.

"What was that, Severus?" Professor Kettleburn cried, offended.

But Snape ignored him, focusing on Flint. "So, what do you want to do in the future, Mr. Flint?"

Flint repeated, "What do I want to do?"

Snape sighed impatiently. "If you're asking me, Mr. Flint, I'd suggest becoming a parrot."

Professor Kettleburn, seizing the moment, exclaimed, "Ah, Animagus! Your head of house thinks you should explore your talent in transfiguration!"

Flint hesitated, looking confused. "Well..."

Snape sneered, "Allow me to correct my memory if I'm wrong. Mr. Flint, your average grade in Potions is an A, in Transfiguration it's a P, Herbology is a P, Defense Against the Dark Arts is a T, Astronomy is a D, History of Magic is an E—though that's only because Professor Binns mistook you for Miss Foggy—and Care of Magical Creatures is an A."

"Now it's a P," Professor Kettleburn interrupted.

...

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