The weekend had arrived.
Sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the Headmaster's office, spilling a warm patch of gold across the carpet.
Lynn pushed open the door at a leisurely pace, one hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding a bag of large steamed buns. He was already munching on one.
Dodo had steamed them fresh that morning. With their thin, soft skins and generous fillings, every bite was delicious.
Then he saw the paperwork.
A towering stack of documents occupied the center of the desk, positioned directly in front of Dumbledore's usual seat.
It was tall.
So tall that, from where Lynn stood, he could barely make out the edges of the uppermost sheets and the dense handwriting covering them.
His steps faltered.
For a moment, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.
He rubbed them and looked again.
The mountain of paperwork remained exactly where it was.
Lynn stood frozen in the doorway.
He had always assumed that running Hogwarts couldn't possibly involve that much daily work.
Whenever Dumbledore wasn't dealing with some major crisis, his routine seemed to consist of drinking tea, eating sweets, chatting with Fawkes, occasionally making announcements in the Great Hall, strolling through the Forbidden Forest, and attending meetings with Ministry officials.
It all looked rather leisurely.
Exactly the sort of comfortable existence Lynn had imagined a headmaster leading.
But now, staring at the documents awaiting him, he had the distinct feeling that Dumbledore had conned him.
Fifteen feet.
That was Lynn's estimate.
If he spread the paperwork out and lay down on it, he could probably use it as a mattress.
He drew a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and reached for the first document.
"Filius Flitwick wishes to expand the Dueling Club to accommodate every student at Hogwarts..."
He put it down and picked up the second.
"Pomona Sprout wishes to construct five additional greenhouses..."
His voice rose slightly.
Five greenhouses?
Three were already enough to keep her busy, and now she wanted five more?
What was she planning to grow in them?
Dragons?
He set the second application aside and picked up the third.
"Argus Filch proposes the addition of fifty new school rules..."
Fifty.
Why didn't Filch just appoint himself Headmaster and be done with it?
Lynn put that one down and moved on.
"Madam Pomfrey wishes to purchase a batch of the latest potion-preservation equipment..."
Well, that one wasn't completely unreasonable.
Proper storage equipment was a necessity. The hospital wing went through large quantities of potions every day, and without suitable preservation methods, their effectiveness would suffer considerably.
His gaze lingered on the words "latest model" before moving down to the quoted price.
It wasn't too expensive.
Still within an acceptable range.
He mentally marked the application as worth considering, set it aside, and picked up the fifth document.
"Severus Snape requests a complete set of enchanted armor and combat golems, along with one hundred pounds of potion ingredients..."
Lynn stared at the page.
Of everything he had read so far, only Professor Flitwick's proposal was inexpensive enough to approve without hesitation.
Five new greenhouses cost money.
Potion-preservation equipment cost money.
And a complete set of enchanted armor, combat golems, and one hundred pounds of potion ingredients...
Snape must have taken a solid kick to the head.
There was no other explanation for the sheer audacity of that request.
One hundred pounds!
These were bloody potion ingredients, not potatoes!
What did he need that much for?
Was he planning to brew enough potions to bathe in?
Unfortunately, someone else had managed to outdo even Snape.
Slughorn.
Not content with merely requesting potion ingredients, he had doubled the quantity.
Two hundred pounds.
A full two hundred pounds of potion ingredients!
That was enough to supply several generations of Hogwarts students.
How many students did he even have in his classes?
Oh, and there was more.
One hundred self-stirring cauldrons.
The corner of Lynn's mouth twitched.
A self-stirring cauldron typically cost thirty to forty Galleons. That single line on the application represented a minimum expenditure of three thousand Galleons.
How many years would Mr. Weasley have to work to save that much, even if he stopped eating and drinking altogether?
Clearly, this was what it meant for a veteran professor to be considerate of his students.
Lynn set Slughorn's application aside and picked up the next one.
Good grief.
Every time he thought the requests couldn't possibly become more ridiculous, someone found a way.
Charity Burbage.
Lynn remembered her.
She taught Muggle Studies—the subject that covered how Muggles lived and what they used in place of magic.
Professor Burbage was an interesting witch, brimming with enthusiasm for the Muggle world. She frequently introduced her students to all manner of Muggle inventions, including telephones, televisions, and cars.
This time, however, her request was excessive even by Lynn's standards.
The Large Electron–Positron Collider.
LEP.
Lynn stared at the letters for several seconds.
He knew a little about that particular machine.
It was an enormous, ring-shaped particle accelerator used to explore the frontiers of physics.
Its circumference was twenty-seven kilometers. It straddled the border between France and Switzerland, buried dozens of meters underground.
Its construction cost?
1.3 billion Swiss francs.
Setting aside the question of whether the thing would even function in a magical environment, Lynn wasn't sure he could afford it even if he sold Hogwarts.
At the current exchange rate, 1.3 billion Swiss francs worked out to approximately £620 million.
Or 124 million Galleons.
One hundred and twenty-four million Galleons.
If that number was difficult to grasp, consider it another way.
That much money could buy more than four hundred thousand Firebolts.
Pile four hundred thousand Firebolts together, and the resulting mountain of broomsticks could bury the whole of Hogsmeade.
What exactly did Professor Burbage intend to do with this thing?
Study Muggle physics?
Then perhaps she ought to apply for a position at a Muggle university instead of submitting the bill to Hogwarts!
Lynn slapped the parchment back onto the stack with a dull thud.
For a long time, he simply stood there, staring at the paperwork in silence.
Then he turned toward the nearby armchair.
Professor McGonagall sat there with a cup of tea in front of her, her hands folded neatly over her knees and her back as straight as a ruler.
Her gaze had remained fixed on Lynn the entire time.
She had watched him work through the applications, his expression gradually shifting from bewilderment to helplessness, then from helplessness to speechless disbelief, before finally arriving at utter surrender.
The corners of her mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
A moment later, her usual composed expression returned.
"Professor..." Lynn sounded rather weak. "How does Headmaster Dumbledore usually deal with these documents?"
One of McGonagall's eyebrows rose.
"Are you certain you wish to follow Dumbledore's example?"
"Of course." Lynn nodded as though the answer were obvious. "I should learn from my predecessor."
McGonagall gave him a long look.
"Very well."
She rose from her chair and walked over to the desk.
Then, beneath Lynn's astonished gaze, she gathered up the applications he had deemed outrageous and tossed every last one into the fireplace.
With a flick of her wand, flames roared to life.
"That's how Dumbledore handles them?"
Lynn still hadn't quite caught up.
"No wonder there's always a fire burning whenever I visit his office."
McGonagall gave a noncommittal nod.
"If one confines oneself strictly to being the Headmaster of Hogwarts, it is indeed a rather leisurely position."
Lynn could hear the resignation beneath her measured tone.
One salary.
Twice the work.
Actually, no—that wasn't quite right.
Professor McGonagall was the Deputy Headmistress, the Head of Gryffindor House, and the Transfiguration professor.
Three jobs.
One salary.
And during Dumbledore's "vacation" last year, she had also taken over his duties as Headmaster.
One salary.
Four jobs.
Only her longstanding friendship with Dumbledore could explain why she tolerated it.
Anyone else would have resigned long ago.
"However, it seems I may be able to take things a little easier this year."
McGonagall looked at Lynn, a faint glimmer of expectation in her eyes.
Lynn sighed.
He had agreed to take the job, after all.
"Oh, yes. There is one more thing."
As though something had just occurred to her, McGonagall extracted a single sheet of parchment from the remaining mountain of paperwork and handed it to him.
Compared with the applications that ran to a dozen pages or more, it looked almost pitifully insubstantial.
"A student has enrolled in every available course. Ordinarily, the Headmaster's authorization is required before we can issue a Time-Turner."
Lynn accepted the document and signed it without hesitation.
"Another stubborn one," he murmured. "I wonder how long they'll last."
...
By the time evening approached, Lynn had finally finished working through the backlog.
Professor McGonagall's method had proven remarkably effective.
Every outrageous application had gone straight into the fireplace.
The reasonable ones had been signed and set aside, ready for McGonagall to put into effect the following day.
As for the requests that fell somewhere between reasonable and outrageous...
Lynn had considered them at length before reaching a decision.
Into the fireplace.
That was what Dumbledore would have done, anyway.
He stretched, his joints releasing a series of cracks, then rose from the chair and worked the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders.
Just as he was about to meet Edgar and the others for dinner in the Great Hall, someone knocked on the office door.
"Come in."
His voice was slightly hoarse.
He had probably spent too long at the desk without drinking any water.
The door opened.
The moment Professor McGonagall stepped inside, Lynn felt his future darken.
"Professor... is there more work?"
His question came out as a feeble plea.
"Strictly speaking... this is not quite work."
McGonagall approached the desk, removed something from her pocket, and placed it in front of him.
Polyjuice Potion.
Lynn's eyebrows shot up.
He looked at the potion.
Then at McGonagall.
Then back at the potion.
"With You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters becoming increasingly active this year, Dumbledore needs to be seen at Hogwarts regularly," McGonagall explained.
Lynn glanced at the potion again, his reservations plain on his face.
"Do not worry. Professor Snape did not brew this."
Apparently, McGonagall had read his concerns from his expression.
"Then I'm relieved."
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