Anthony had almost forgotten he had classes the next day. He woke to a gloomy sky, the room even darker. The Wraith Chicken stood by his side, head tilted, watching him. Anthony stared at its red comb, mind blank. Then it hit him. Not the weekend. He dragged himself out of bed.
He couldn't find the cat or the mouse, so he just gave the Wraith Chicken a grateful pat and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The moment he stepped inside, he heard the unmistakable, cheerful voice of Gilderoy Lockhart reminiscing about some adventure in Latvia. Lockhart was wearing shimmering yellow robes that matched his golden, wavy hair. Professor Sprout sat beside him, brow slightly furrowed, looking remarkably impatient.
"Morning, Pomona," Anthony said, taking a seat beside her—on the side away from Lockhart. "Morning, Professor Lockhart."
Professor Sprout seemed relieved. "Oh, good morning, Henry. Dreadful weather today."
Anthony glanced up at the heavy clouds. "More snow, I'm afraid. Any plans for the day, Pomona?" He pulled his chair closer to the table, scanned the spread, and loaded a few sausages onto his plate.
"Third-year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors have Herbology this morning," Professor Sprout said. "As for the afternoon, Albus and Minerva have agreed to let me use the clearing west of the Forbidden Forest for a new greenhouse. I thought I'd take a walk there, do some planning. You, Henry?"
Before Anthony could answer, Lockhart's gleaming smile cut in.
"Excellent, Pomona! If you need any advice on architectural aesthetics or practical greenhouse construction, you mustn't hesitate to ask," Lockhart said enthusiastically. "I know some splendid little charms. Not just for pest control, but to ensure more vigorous growth! Why, a housewife from Swindon once wrote me eleven letters about how much those charms helped her. You can't imagine how pleased and proud I was for her!"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Professor Sprout said, her tone cool. She turned away from him with a firm, deliberate motion as she reached for a jar of jam, facing Anthony again with a smile. "Your plans, Henry?"
"Well…" Anthony said. "I've got a fifth-year Gryffindor class this morning, though not right after breakfast. The afternoon, I'll probably head to the library. I'm meeting the clerk from Flourish and Blotts at The Leaky Cauldron this weekend. Might ask him about a few books Professor Flitwick mentioned. Speaking of which, any books you're looking for, Pomona? He told me they're very welcoming of buyers for their… less popular stock after their big clean-out…"
"Ah, unpopular stock," Lockhart said, seamlessly joining their conversation again. "Such a shame for those wizards. Fame can be so fickle—not that I'm complaining, of course! Topping the bestseller list is satisfaction enough, let alone for six months running! Flourish and Blotts tells me it's a record…"
"That's brilliant, Professor Lockhart," Anthony said, resigned.
"Yes, very happy for you, Gilderoy," Professor Sprout said, brushing him off. She focused on Anthony. "Actually, yes, Henry. Thank you for reminding me. I made a procurement list a week or two ago. I'll look for it when I'm back in my office."
Anthony nodded, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "Perfect. Just let me know before the weekend."
"I will," Professor Sprout promised, looking up to greet the approaching Severus Snape. "Good morning, Severus."
"Morning, Professor Snape," Anthony added with a nod. Even after what was clearly a sleepless night, Snape looked no different than usual. His expensive robes from the night before were gone, replaced by his usual black teaching attire.
"Morning," Snape said curtly, passing them and sitting five empty seats away on the opposite side of the staff table.
Professor Sprout leaned past Lockhart, cheerful. "We rarely see you up here for breakfast, Severus. Good news?"
"Good news? No. None whatsoever," Snape said, ladling himself a bowl of porridge. "Quite the opposite. Matters have worsened."
Professor Sprout asked with concern, "What? What's wrong?"
Lockhart interjected, "I often say one must find the positive in a negative situation. Imagine if I'd merely lamented and wept when facing the Wailing Widow! I might never have left that house—"
"The Wolfsbane Potion has been improved," Snape said darkly. "This morning's Potion Monthly."
Professor Sprout offered a sympathetic smile. "Well, Severus, I suppose that means another round of late nights testing the new formula?"
"No," Snape said, looking even more thunderous. "It means I may as well stop writing my paper. Damocles Belby and I developed nearly identical improvements."
"Oh dear," Professor Sprout said with genuine regret. "You were hoping that paper might boost your chances for the Lifetime Achievement Award this year, weren't you? Though, Damocles is the inventor… Of course he'd produce an improvement. But to independently arrive at almost the same solution is remarkable, Severus. It's just bad luck."
"Tut, I must say, if you'd all read my Wanderings with Werewolves, you'd have a much clearer understanding," Lockhart chimed in. "Not to boast, but few have gotten as close to a werewolf as I have, let alone witnessed a transformation firsthand, or grappled with one mid-change…"
Snape stared at Lockhart. The look in his eyes made Anthony briefly worry that Pettigrew wouldn't be the only corpse the house-elves had to discreetly stash away.
"Professor Snape?" Anthony interrupted, raising his voice over Lockhart. "Any books you need from Flourish and Blotts? I'm meeting their clerk this weekend. He's happy to bring along some… less popular titles."
Lockhart beamed. "Though, you're unlikely to find my name among the unpopular ones. Professor Snape, if you wish to purchase a copy of Wanderings with Werewolves—though I'd be happy to gift you one—I believe all collector's editions are sold out, but the paperbacks should still be flowing from the publisher. So, I'm afraid if you want a copy for your collection, you'll have to put in a bit of effort… But isn't that half the fun? As the saying goes, no pain, no gain." He winked at Snape.
"Professor Anthony," Snape said.
"Yes?" Anthony replied.
"My profound thanks. I am in need of some actually useful books," Snape said, his voice icy. "I believe most of them would qualify as 'unpopular stock.' From my observation, many foolish wizards lack the appreciation for works requiring refined comprehension and intellect, preferring instead to chase after reams of paper stuffed with idiocy and drivel…" His lip twisted. "…mere paper."
"Er… Right," Anthony said. "Just get me the list before the weekend."
…
When Anthony entered his classroom, he was surprised by the subdued atmosphere. His Gryffindor class was usually his most lively. Apart from the hottest days of summer, he'd never seen them slump so listlessly behind their desks.
"What's wrong?" Anthony asked, placing the usual coconut ice on the lectern. "Something happened? You all look miserable."
A student in the front row sighed gloomily. "It's fine, Professor Anthony. Let's just see what the Muggles are up to today."
"Really?" Anthony said, scanning the room. "Alright. Today we'll review Muggle transportation and touch on some Muggle geography."
…
He stopped halfway through. The students would mumble "aeroplane" when he asked "What's a Muggle flying machine?", but he'd bet half of them were miles away.
"Seriously, what's going on?" Anthony asked, stepping down from the lectern. "You all seem distracted. What was your last class?"
"Charms," a student answered. "With Slytherin." She spat the last word, and Anthony could guess the rest.
He was right. Like a broken dam, a flood of complaints followed. The Slytherins had floated desks and chairs right over their heads during charm review. Then "accidentally" let them drop.
They hadn't taken it lying down, of course. During an Aguamenti practice, they'd drenched the Slytherins. A few had even offered to help "clean up" the spilled ink with a Scourgify charm. But as Anthony had read, Scourgify wasn't a spell to be aimed carelessly at a person.
For example, aiming at a hand might be fine. But if your aim "slipped" and you hit someone's mouth—from the description, it sounded like a Slytherin—bubbles would foam out, sealing it shut.
"Professor Flitwick was furious," the Gryffindor said. "He took thirty points from each house. Made us write 'I am a fifth-year student, not a Cornish Pixie' twenty times."
"Hmm…" Anthony said, easily picturing the tiny professor bouncing on his toes, trying to stop the chaos. "Well, you really shouldn't be dueling in Charms class. Not that you should be dueling after class either."
"Yeah, we should've saved it for Defence Against the Dark Arts," he heard a student mutter to his deskmate, face buried in his arms. "Hard to believe I'm missing Quirrell. At least he didn't turn down every request for practical dueling."
Anthony remembered Sirius Black's incredulous expression when Dumbledore revealed their last Defence professor had been Voldemort. He wondered what these students would think of that news.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Anthony clapped his hands, drawing their attention back. "Sorry to hear about your rough Charms lesson, but I think it's time to revisit the Muggles. After—" he checked the time "—ten solid minutes of complaining, I trust you all feel a bit better?"
The students, having thoroughly vented about Slytherins, looked at each other and grinned.
"Yes, Professor Anthony," one said. "Can we get back to the story about the ship now?"
…
"Yes, very good. I'm pleased you remember Muggles are happy not only with steel in the sky, but steel floating on water. Anyone remember what this part is called?"
"Engine?" a student said, flipping through notes.
"Correct! Excellent." Anthony nodded approvingly and held up another picture. "And this?"
"A propeller?"
"Brilliant! Looks like I don't need to spend much time here." The student who answered looked a bit sheepish. "I went to the practical session, Professor. I saw what it looks like."
Another student chimed in, "But I've never been on a steamship, Professor Anthony. Can we go on one for the next practical?"
Anthony considered this. "You've never been on any boat?" Given the trip to Azkaban was by a small wooden vessel, he'd assumed boats were common for wizards.
"I have, just not a steamship," the student clarified. "Never tried floating on a really big piece of metal."
"I'll think about it," Anthony nodded. Then, as the class started to cheer, it hit him. "But this is your O.W.L. year. Professor Burbage warned me recently. With the exam being this straightforward, if I dare let anyone below an 'O' into the N.E.W.T. class, she'll challenge me to a duel." He looked at their wide-eyed faces. "I'm not saying no. The woman has too many titles."
From the corner, a student said with sudden determination, "Alright. I'll try harder."
Anthony smiled. "Thank you."
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