~ 💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 60→1ch | 100→2ch | 200→5ch ⏰ Resets Monday! Thanks!
"Oh, I have no doubt of that," Lockhart said. "But don't misunderstand me. I'm not the sort to preen over a little bit of fame. I simply delight in providing my dear readers with autographs, if it makes them happy, of course, and I never refuse the occasional request for a photograph." He glanced at the professors seated in the shabby staffroom and gave a soft chuckle. "Ah, I know what you're all thinking. It's true, I often need to carry a stack of photos on my person for such eventualities. But considering dear Dolores…"
"Minerva," Professor Burbage said abruptly, standing up without meeting anyone's eyes. "You're right, I really must go and sort out my rooms. Thank you for the biscuits and tea, Pomona." She gestured vaguely towards the group, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. "See you all later."
"See you, Charity," said Anthony, raising his teacup as Professor Burbage made a swift exit. Her voice went oddly strangled when she said "excuse me" to Lockhart, as if something had caught in her throat.
Snape stood up next. He swept a dark look around the room, gave a curt nod to those who met his gaze, and wordlessly shouldered past Lockhart, leaving as well. Just as the door closed behind him, Anthony swore he heard the faint, echoing sound of Professor Burbage's laughter drifting from the stairwell. It had an eerie, ghostly resonance to it, not unlike Moaning Myrtle's wails.
"Goodness, is it half-past three already? Time does fly," Professor Sinistra said, finishing the last caramel biscuit on the plate. "I need to, er, clean the windows of the Astronomy Tower. A dreadful shame, Gilderoy, the timing is most inconvenient. We must have tea another time."
"But of course. How could I ever refuse a lady's invitation?" Lockhart said. "As my readers so astutely note, Gilderoy Lockhart never wishes to disappoint, though I am terribly busy. Oh yes, frightfully busy. I've refused all interviews, yet my schedule remains packed. Classes to teach, books to write, kind letters from readers to answer, and of course, guiding my adorable pupils on the proper use of magic."
"Speaking of which, I really should start tidying as well," Professor Flitwick chirped, hopping down from his chair. "Pomona, you must have plenty to do in the greenhouses? Professor Anthony, would you care to accompany me to see if Madam Pince requires further assistance?"
"Merlin, yes," said Anthony, beginning to gather the plates and teacups.
Professor Sprout threw a slightly pained glance towards Lockhart at the doorway.
Lockhart's smile remained brilliant. "…and besides all that, I'm always delighted to share the little tricks I've learned on my adventures with colleagues. I recall one time… in Estonia, I believe. Yes, Estonia…"
"You stopped a dark ritual where they were burying infants as Mandrakes," Professor Sprout said. "Yes, that's the sixth time you've told us, Gilderoy."
Lockhart shook his head, his golden curls bouncing playfully on his forehead.
"No, no, Pomona," he said gently. "I don't like to boast, but my adventures in Estonia extended far beyond halting that single dark rite. I simply keep mentioning it because you never seem to grasp the necromantic metaphor inherent in the Mandrake. As I was saying, if you wish to determine whether a Mandrake has been nourished by blood…"
Professor Sprout took a deep breath. Professor Sinistra waved at her and seized the moment to slip away. Professor Flitwick and Anthony followed, reaching the staffroom door.
Professor Kettleburn thumped his walking stick hard against the floor. "What's this? Why is everyone leaving?" he grumbled. "I just came down! Now you want me to go back up? I refuse!"
"Then go for a walk outside, Silvanus," Professor McGonagall said. "Enjoy the New Year's breeze. Help Hagrid muck out the creature sheds or something."
"Fine. Fine." Professor Kettleburn tossed his wooden leg to the ground and heaved himself up with a grunt. "Nobody wants to have tea with me! Wonderful! I always did think I preferred Chimaeras to wizards anyway!"
He stomped off. Professor Flitwick and Anthony hurried after him with cries of "That wasn't our intention at all!"
Behind them, Anthony heard Professor McGonagall say, "I must prepare as well. Gilderoy, the biscuit tin is there, please help yourself. Pomona, the greenhouses?"
"Absolutely, Minerva," Professor Sprout said without hesitation.
…
That afternoon, nearly every professor was brandishing a wand for the great clean-up.
Professor Burbage organized her own office and then helped Professor Sprout reorganize the greenhouses. Flowerpots flew from one greenhouse to another, trailing soft, dark-brown soil in their wake. With Professor McGonagall's assistance, they even relocated some of the more… temperamental plants to the base of the Whomping Willow.
Madam Pince, Professor Flitwick, and Anthony worked together to tuck the more dubious dark arts books into various corners of the Restricted Section. They had a quiet wager that Umbridge wouldn't be able to tell, among thousands of dark tomes, which were slightly irregular acquisitions, which were approved Ministry donations, and which were perfectly legitimate academic purchases for Hogwarts' research.
Anthony shared a few shelf-organizing charms he'd learned from Daniel. In return, Professor Flitwick corrected his wand grip and gifted him a very useful duplication spell. It could copy a single page or paragraph, rather than the entire book.
Snape never appeared. Professor Flitwick guessed he'd gone to Knockturn Alley again.
"I should have asked Severus to pick up some Demiguise-hide bags for me," Flitwick confided to Anthony after they'd finished the library. "The kind where only you can retrieve anything you put inside. I'd just toss my books in and be done with it."
He still had his own collection of dark books to sort, so he bid Anthony farewell. Anthony went looking for Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn, finding them near the edge of the Forbidden Forest enthusiastically hurling great haunches of meat to a herd of rumbling, ill-tempered Chimaeras. He hesitated, then turned back.
Apart from him, everyone seemed to have a task. Professor Sinistra really did clean the Astronomy Tower windows. As the sun set, the spiralling panes of glass shone like gold in the twilight.
Anthony returned to his office and took stock. There was the Bloody Baron's notebook, detailing every facet of Necromancy. A dangerous book on souls, a parting gift from the fugitive Quirinus Quirrell. Some research materials on flesh magic, mostly recommended by Dumbledore, so not a major issue. Three undead creatures: two wraiths currently asleep, and one furious, rattling skeleton. And then there was him. A dead man.
He hid the notebook and book in a drawer, covering them with Roger the Snake and a model dragon.
Then he realized there was nothing left for him to do. He poured some white wine for the Skeleton Cat, hoping for a truce. His ankles received a more thorough gnawing for his efforts. The Wraith Chicken, woken by the cat, began pecking at it impatiently.
Anthony left his office and wandered the castle. He even tried to polish a suit of armour at a corridor junction. The moment the feather duster touched it, the armour clattered violently, shaking as if it were about to fall apart.
"Oh, leave it, Henry," Professor Sprout said knowingly, walking past with two pots of snarling Venomous Tentacula. "That one's ticklish."
Making matters more difficult, the students and ghosts watched the faculty's frantic activity with avid curiosity, whispering and trying to puzzle out what was happening.
Peeves, for once ignoring Myrtle, cackled and followed Filch around, singing a song of his own invention, scattering paper shreds everywhere and gluing them to the floor with dirty water.
The Weasley twins told everyone Dumbledore had developed asthma. Some students seemed to genuinely believe it.
"I am aware that you know precisely what is about to happen," Professor McGonagall said sternly to the twins. "I expect you to behave with some decorum."
Percy stood nearby, nodding gravely, his chest puffed out as if displaying the Prefect badge on his robes as the very model of a decorous Gryffindor.
"Decorously?" Fred said. "Are we not being decorous?"
"I thought we were models of virtue," George said, feigning shock.
Professor McGonagall's face was tight. "At the very least, do not show the Ministry just how proficient our students are at rule-breaking, Messrs. Weasley!"
"Of course, we'll show the utmost respect," Fred vowed.
"We'll prepare a choral welcome for the High Inquisitor," George said. "Ah, music."
"The pinnacle of civility."
Percy's brow was deeply furrowed. "Stop fooling around, Fred, George. It isn't funny."
"What's wrong, Perce? Don't you appreciate sweet music, oh Honourable Prefect?"
"How about a line of fireworks, then?"
"No choir, no fireworks, or I'll tell Mum," Percy said. "I remember what tune you used for the school song."
…
The next day, Umbridge still hadn't arrived, leaving the near-empty castle to simmer with rumours. Though only a handful of students had stayed for Christmas, the speed of gossip seemed utterly unaffected.
By lunchtime, Anthony had heard at least three different theories.
Somehow, most believed Dumbledore was ill. Some insisted it was asthma. Others claimed he was leaving Hogwarts for a foreign convalescence due to a grave sickness, and the professors were preparing the castle for a new Headmaster.
Some said the new Head would be Cornelius Fudge. Others argued for Barty Crouch. Surprisingly, a few even believed the new Headmaster was a mermaid, which was why the greenhouses by the Black Lake were being cleared out to serve as her new office.
Then there were those convinced they were getting a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for the New Year, reportedly the werewolf who travelled with Lockhart, and the staff were tidying every nook under Lockhart's direction to help his friend settle in.
Percy Weasley tried to tell anyone who would listen that Dumbledore wasn't sick, no werewolf was coming, and the visitor was the Ministry's High Inquisitor, most likely Dolores Umbridge… but nobody believed him.
"That's boring," a Hufflepuff first-year said. "Tell us more about the mermaid! Are her teeth really that sharp?"
…
On January third, Umbridge finally arrived.
That morning, Dumbledore appeared at the High Table, beaming, and shared breakfast with the staff, much to the delight of students who thought he was ill.
"Albus, is the Ministry…" Professor McGonagall asked in a low voice.
Dumbledore raised a hand, cutting her off gently but firmly. "I must have been away from the breakfast table for too long, Minerva," he said cheerfully. "Are there some new delights this morning? Oh, peanut butter! Could someone pass the bacon?"
"Well, it looks like it really is today," Professor Burbage leaned over and whispered to Anthony. "The thought of seeing her outside the Ministry makes my skin crawl. Do you want to be the Muggle Studies professor for all years?"
"Not at the moment, thank you, Charity," Anthony said.
After breakfast, Dumbledore remained seated comfortably in his high-backed chair, chatting with Professor Flitwick as if waiting for something. Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed into a thin line. She caught Anthony's eye and gave a slight shake of her head.
Professor Sprout, who had arrived late, was still finishing her meal. Snape sat nearby, glowering as Mrs. Norris passed by his seat, heading for a milk jug. Filch scooped the cat up, eyeing the professors with a look of confusion.
Students trickling into the Hall for breakfast sensed something was afoot. They watched the staff table intently, heads bent together in hushed conversation.
Anthony was wondering if they'd be waiting until lunch when Dumbledore suddenly stood up. The movement instantly drew every eye. The Great Hall fell silent.
Professor McGonagall stood up right after him.
"Come along," Dumbledore said calmly. "It seems our guest has arrived."
One by one, the professors left their seats and followed Dumbledore out of the Great Hall. Excited whispers broke out among the students, their gazes fixed on the retreating backs.
"Professor Dumbledore," a first-year asked in an awed, trembling voice as they passed, craning his neck to look up. "What's happening?"
"We have a visitor," Dumbledore said with a smile.
"I know! It's a mermaid!" the student declared loudly.
"It's Fudge!" another shouted.
"It's Madam Dolores Umbridge!" Percy said, sounding exasperated.
"It's a flock of flying cabbages!" the Weasley twins yelled, seizing the moment.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he scanned the curious faces. "I don't recall anyone casting a Sticking Charm on the benches," he said slyly. "So why is everyone so firmly seated? I'd have thought some might fancy a stroll outside the castle."
Immediately, the sound of scraping benches filled the Hall. Every student who had stayed for Christmas crowded eagerly behind Dumbledore as he pushed open the great oak doors.
Umbridge stood outside.
She was ascending the final step, a pink suitcase floating beside her. A large, lemon-yellow bow dotted with pink spots sat atop her mousy-brown curls. Over her black robes, she wore a fluffy pink cardigan.
She reached the top step, turned her pale, toad-like face, and surveyed the gathered professors and students with her bulging eyes.
Then, a sickly-sweet, simpering smile spread across her face. "My, what a warm welcome!" she said in a high-pitched, girlish voice. "It's so lovely to be back at Hogwarts. It feels just like coming home! Think of me as family, as a friend. I'm sure we're going to have a very pleasant time together!"
"Huh," Anthony heard one of the students in front of him whisper. "She doesn't look much like a mermaid. Maybe she's the werewolf."
"But her voice is very shrill," another student said doubtfully. "Maybe she's a half-mermaid."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
📚 BOOK COMPLETED ON PATREON!📚
This story has reached its conclusion on my Patreon!
🔥 Full story available now
💎 Exclusive bonus content & early access to new books
👉 Join my Patreon community today!
✨patreon(.)com/GoldenLong
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━