"How could they possibly hear us at any time?" Anthony whispered, feeling uneasy. "Every moment? Are they listening to both Herbology and Transfiguration at the same time?"
"No, Henry, you've misunderstood," Dumbledore corrected. "If the distance is too great, they can only hear statements conveyed by magic that contain their names… Coco," he nodded gently toward the spot where Coco had disappeared, as if greeting the house-elf, "and the other house-elves at Hogwarts are very special cases."
A portrait of a former headmaster on the wall, who had been feigning sleep, suddenly opened his eyes: "I've always said we should drive all those creatures away! Their strange appearance and eerie enthusiasm disgust me!"
Anthony looked up at him in surprise.
"I don't want to remind you of the consequences of making the entire school cook for themselves, or what the wailing of over a hundred grieving house-elves sounds like, but if you've already forgotten, I can show you the records from that time," Dumbledore said calmly. "However, thank you for your efforts. You reminded every subsequent headmaster to take house-elves seriously. Henry, would you like a cup of oatmeal porridge?"
At his reminder, Anthony looked down and carefully picked up the soggy biscuit, frowning at the crumbs floating in the reddish-brown tea in the white porcelain cup.
As if uninterrupted, Dumbledore continued the previous topic with ease: "When house-elves belong to the same master, no magic prevents them from exchanging information. If you've ever visited the kitchens, you might know that Hogwarts likely has the most house-elves in all of Britain. And in my opinion, Hogwarts is also one of the places with the most secrets in Britain."
"So Dobby doesn't know I'm that dark wizard," Anthony mused. "Sir, who is the master of Hogwarts' house-elves?"
Dumbledore smiled. "It's Hogwarts itself. It's all the teachers and students of Hogwarts, Henry, though they usually see the headmaster as the representative of the school."
"You certainly are," Anthony said. "Well, I suppose this reminds me not to resign too easily. After all, they can't reveal Hogwarts' secrets to outsiders, but if I resign, I imagine that rule would no longer apply."
"Under what circumstances would you consider resigning, Henry?"
Anthony laughed. "I don't know… when Mr. Fudge becomes headmaster? If that ever happens, please be sure to let me know in advance, sir. I'll need some time to pack my suitcase."
Dumbledore shook his head indulgently. "I'm afraid I would have resigned by then too." Fawkes chirped softly from atop the cabinet.
…
Anthony descended the stairs from the headmaster's office, watching the gargoyle close before his eyes.
"Henry, you're here!" Professor Sprout said cheerfully, hurrying over. "Do you have any plans for tonight?"
"Nothing too important," Anthony recalled. "Reading, preparing a bit for tomorrow's class. Why, Pomona, does your greenhouse need another assistant?"
Professor Sprout shook her head. "Charity just received a letter from the Wizengamot."
Seeing the lively sparkle in her eyes, Anthony played along. "Has the result come out? How did her application go?"
"She's now the esteemed Special Advisor!" Professor Sprout announced proudly. "But starting tomorrow, she'll be busy with Wizengamot matters again, so Filius and I thought we'd organize a small celebration tonight—not too late, we all have classes tomorrow—in the staff room. Will you join us, Henry?"
Without hesitation, Anthony said, "Of course I will!"
…
Professor Burbage walked beside Anthony, puzzled. "What do you mean the staff room ceiling is leaking?"
"I don't know, but you absolutely mustn't miss the sight, Charity," Anthony said. "It's as if we suddenly found ourselves inside the Black Lake… chairs and tables floating and spinning in the staff room, teapots bobbing up and down… water overflowing from the cabinets, cascading down like a waterfall…"
"Goodness, the tea leaves!" Professor Burbage exclaimed, quickening her pace. "Didn't Filius do anything?"
"I'm quite certain Professor Flitwick is in the staff room right now," Anthony said honestly.
Professor Burbage said, "I hope no one tells me this is all because Professor Lockhart wanted to fix a sink—" She placed her hand on the doorknob and cautiously turned it.
Bang! Two party poppers went off. Instead of a flood of water, Professor Burbage was greeted by a flurry of confetti and streamers. She froze for a moment, then immediately turned to glare at Anthony. "Henry!"
"Congratulations, Charity," Anthony said with a laugh. "See, Professor Flitwick is indeed in the staff room."
Professor Flitwick stood on a small round stool, tiptoeing as he directed streamers to spell out "Wizengamot Special Advisor" in the air. Professor Sprout watched Professor Burbage with a smile from behind a long table covered with a white cloth.
On the table in front of her were neatly arranged wine glasses, alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, delicate pastries, small servings of fruit, and a towering pile of rock cakes—Anthony hoped they weren't leftovers from the celebration of his becoming a senior member of the Muggle Studies Association.
Surprisingly, Professor Kettleburn was also there, sitting in a chair reading a book on Magical Creatures. Gripping his walking stick, he stood up nimbly and gave Professor Burbage a friendly smile. Filch sat nearby, holding Mrs. Norris, looking somewhat uncertain whether he should stay or dash out to catch a few rule-breaking students.
"I heard there was cake, so I came," Professor Kettleburn said to Professor Burbage. "I don't understand why you'd burden yourself with so many things, but thank you for the cake anyway."
"Minerva will be here soon," Professor Sprout said, handing a knife to Professor Burbage.
Only then did Anthony notice the tall cake behind Professor Sprout. The cake was shaped like a building (Anthony thought it resembled the Ministry of Magic), densely covered with chocolate signs bearing slogans like "Oppose the Muggle Protection Act," "Abolish Muggle Studies," and "Wizard Dignity Above Muggle Lives."
"That was Minerva's idea," Professor Flitwick squeaked. "Cut it, Charity."
Professor Burbage took a deep breath, held the knife steadily, and split the cream-made Ministry of Magic in half from the top. Then she carefully made a few more cuts, toppling several of the signs.
"Who wants to eat 'Pure-Blood Supremacy'?" Professor Burbage asked. "Henry?"
"That doesn't sound very appetizing," Anthony said. "But let me give it a try."
Professor Sprout took "Only the Unambitious," while Professor Kettleburn received "Would Study Muggles."
"Say something, Charity," Professor Flitwick said as he took his slice of cake. "Say something! We all know how many attempts you've made and how long you've worked for this!"
Professor Burbage turned to look at the still-substantial cake, then turned back with a smile. "Well… first, thank you all. I didn't expect you to prepare such a big surprise for me. I'm deeply moved, and I feel supported…"
Just then, from behind everyone, came a distinctively high, cheerful voice that was hard to mistake.
"Aha, so here you all are!" The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, surrounded by applause and quills—Anthony worried he might be Voldemort—Professor Lockhart, strode into the staff room cheerfully. "I was wondering where everyone had gone. Oh, a secret party! What's this for?"
The staff room fell into a brief silence.
"Charity has become a Special Advisor to the Wizengamot," Anthony replied, feeling guilty for having misjudged him earlier.
"Oh, really?" Lockhart said with an indulgent smile. "Congratulations, Professor Burbage. It is an honor, after all—though, you know, it certainly doesn't compare to winning the Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award five times." He winked at everyone, his smile growing even brighter. Anthony did his best to maintain a polite expression.
"Thank you," Professor Burbage nodded at Lockhart and continued, undisturbed. "I'm deeply moved that you went to the trouble of preparing this celebration for me—except for you, Henry, how could you come up with such a lie—mainly because you've made me feel supported, and you've strengthened my belief that what I've always stood for is right. You've made me firmly believe that wizards and Muggles can coexist peacefully…"
"Well said!" Lockhart exclaimed loudly, walking over to stand beside Professor Burbage, ignoring the annoyed glances from others in the room. "I've always believed that through our efforts, magical and non-magical people can live together in peace! If you've read my books carefully, you'll find—"
The staff room door opened once more. Professor McGonagall entered with Snape. Upon noticing Lockhart standing in the middle of the room, a flicker of anger crossed Professor McGonagall's face, while Snape seemed to grow even more impatient.
"My apologies, Professor Lockhart," Snape said smoothly, eyeing the streamers Professor Flitwick had hung in mid-air. "I never knew you were a Special Advisor to the Wizengamot. How terribly rude of me… May I ask in what field you advise? Defense Against the Dark Arts, I presume?"
Lockhart chuckled calmly. "You've misunderstood, Professor Snape."
He tried to place a hand on Professor Burbage's shoulder, but she subtly shifted away. Lockhart had no choice but to slip his hand into his pocket, warmly and brilliantly displaying his gleaming teeth to everyone.
"Of course, the Wizengamot did invite me once. But I said no—too much fame does me no good. Fame is a fickle friend… it loves you today and may abandon you tomorrow… Besides, I've sworn to fight the forces of dark magic, and whether I'm a Special Advisor or not doesn't affect my resolve. In fact, a position like Special Advisor, which involves dealing with tedious matters, is exactly what I strive to avoid."
"Admirable spirit," Snape said coldly. "How strange, I thought this was a celebration for someone becoming a Special Advisor. Filius, if you just wanted to practice your streamer-spelling skills, you could have spelled something else. Oh, and that cake… so easily misunderstood. My apologies."
Even though he was being criticized, Professor Flitwick looked utterly delighted. He said, "Severus, we're celebrating Charity becoming a Special Advisor to the Wizengamot."
"Is that so, but not Professor Lockhart?" Snape said. "Goodness."
For the first time, Lockhart seemed unsure what to do. His gaze swept around the staff room.
Filch was stroking Mrs. Norris, muttering to himself; Professor Kettleburn watched Lockhart with keen interest, as if expecting him to breathe fire; Professor Sprout's face was stern; Professor Flitwick smiled as he looked at Snape; Snape and Professor McGonagall stared coldly at Lockhart; finally, Anthony met Lockhart's gaze and stared back silently.
"Ahem, in any case, congratulations, Professor Burbage," Lockhart said, hastily stepping away from the cake. Snape sneered.
Anthony had never liked seeing Snape as much as he did now. Snape's sallow complexion, overly large hooked nose, and curtain-like black hair all seemed endearing at this moment. He decided that if Snape ever entered the Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award competition next year, he might even consider voting for him.
"Minerva, Severus," Professor Sprout greeted warmly. "Come have some cake."
"Of course, thank you, Pomona," Professor McGonagall said calmly, accepting the slice labeled "Inferior Bloodline" from Professor Burbage and giving her a light hug. "We're proud of you, Charity."
Snape stared at the slice labeled "Muggle-Borns Are Inferior" and silently picked up a fork.
Lockhart cut himself a slice of "Muggles Are All Fools" and walked over to Anthony. "Marvelous, isn't it? This reminds me of a Muggle village I once passed through. They were robbed by a Niffler but had no idea what had happened… I helped them set a trap and caught the Niffler. It wasn't very difficult, but they were so grateful they made a huge cake, probably as tall as a floor…"
"A Niffler?" Professor Kettleburn asked with keen interest, leaning closer. "How did you catch it?"
"Oh, it was the simplest thing," Lockhart said. "So simple, I didn't even include it in my autobiography… People would shake their heads and say, 'Look, the famous adventurer, Gilderoy Lockhart, is nothing special'—but don't worry about me, fame always comes with slander and rumors…"
"How did you catch the Niffler, Professor Lockhart?" Professor Kettleburn repeated. Professor Burbage was chatting with Filch and Professor McGonagall, but Anthony noticed Professor Sprout and Snape casting curious glances their way.
"Don't rush, I was just getting to that," Lockhart said with a brilliant smile, lowering his voice mysteriously. "I had the villagers butter corn and hang it at their doorways. I knew perfectly well that no Niffler could resist such a temptation. That night, the entire village was filled with the scent of butter. People blew out their candles and waited quietly…"
Professor Kettleburn frowned. "Buttered corn?"
"Exactly, special butter and special corn," Lockhart said. "And then you have to draw specific patterns on it… I don't want to boast, Professor Kettleburn, but I'm afraid I'm the only one in Britain who knows those patterns. But I won't keep secrets from you—I'm not that kind of person. You need to do this—first, draw a vertical line through the entire corn…"
"How curious," Snape remarked. "I thought it would be written in calligraphy with a peacock quill."
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