Even Gilderoy Lockhart wouldn't mistake that for a fan's praise. He spun around—his robes flaring in a dashing arc—and flashed Snape a blinding smile. "Professor Snape, I understand, I really do. Such skepticism is nothing new to me. I've grown quite used to various… misunderstandings."
"Forgive me, what are you on about, Professor Lockhart?" Snape arched a brow, feigning surprise. "I was fairly certain that was a peacock. A blue one, unless I'm mistaken."
"Green peacock, actually. Far more rare. A gift from a devoted friend." Lockhart's voice boomed, but the saccharine tone never wavered. "Which is precisely why I pay no mind to the gossip—I know I have many, many devoted friends and ardent admirers standing with me."
"I believe—" Snape began.
Lockhart cut him off, unstoppable. "Now, now, dear Professor Snape, please don't be jealous! I'm sure plenty of people know you as well! Of course, of course, I can see what you're thinking—I'll admit, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League… it does take some talent, and luck… and, I'll say it, a dash of optimism and a smile that never quits." He turned to give Anthony a conspiratorial wink, teeth gleaming.
Anthony said quickly, "Of course, Professor Lockhart—this cake is rather good, isn't it?"
He shoved the 'Pure-Blood Superiority' chocolate into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then cut into a large wedge of soft cream with his fork. To his delight, the sponge layers sandwiched perfectly tart blueberries and sweet strawberries. On the other side of the table, Snape bent his head, meticulously carving the 'Muggle-Born' slice into precise, uniform squares with his knife and fork.
Professor Kettleburn shook his head, leaning on his crutch as he hobbled over to Professor Sprout to discuss some bit of news ("Have you heard about that elderwood sprouting back to life after twenty years under dragonfire? Did anyone send you a sample, Pomona?").
"Cake, of course!" Lockhart said with relish. "Though—forgive me, Henry—once you've tasted the cake at a Merlin award ceremony, I'm afraid everything else seems just a tad… rough by comparison. Not that I'm complaining, haha! If you want to be an adventurer, you learn to accept all sorts of fare."
"Er, right…" Anthony said. "I think it's fine… especially the design, really clever…" Before Lockhart could comment further, he hastily added, "Minerva's idea was brilliant!"
Mentioning Professor McGonagall seemed to work. Lockhart abandoned the cake critique and launched into a rambling monologue about Muggle-wizard relations, only stopping when Professor Burbage called Anthony over to ask if he'd mind covering two of her classes next week.
"Charity, our timetables overlap," Anthony reminded her. "What's up?"
"Just got a letter from Madam Bones. There's a trial next week." Professor Burbage gestured to an opened envelope on the table. "A dark witch who murdered five Muggles. The Wizengamot asked if I wished to attend—and of course I do. But never mind, I'll teach instead. One benefit of being a special advisor is I don't have to be there every time."
"Five?" Anthony repeated. "Why?"
"The letter didn't say," Professor Burbage said. "Though I'd be very, very surprised if her final destination isn't Azkaban. Anyway, Henry." She pushed a small sandwich towards him, leaving no room for refusal. "How are your fifth-years, hm? The O.W.L. candidates?"
Anthony sat beside her. "I'd say alright… though, Muggle Studies aside, I'm a bit worried the pressure might be getting to them. I still refuse to assign essays, but last week, two or three were sneakily writing papers for other subjects in my class."
Professor McGonagall chimed in from nearby. "Which subjects, Henry? I hope not Transfiguration."
"One for Transfiguration, one for Herbology, and one for Potions. Each looked over twelve inches long," Anthony said. "Merlin, you Heads of Houses!"
Professor Flitwick beamed, raising his goblet in a smug toast towards Anthony.
Anthony chuckled and raised his own glass in return. "And I saw someone sneaking peeks at Standard Book of Spells under the desk, Professor Flitwick."
"And no one mentioned Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Professor Burbage leaned in, using her cake plate to shield her face as she whispered.
Anthony whispered back, "No. But three students have Professor Lockhart's signature on their Muggle Studies textbooks. Gold ink. Quite pretty. Also quite noticeable."
Professor Burbage snorted into her cake.
"You could assign the occasional essay topic, Henry," Professor McGonagall suggested. "It would do them good. Helps them grasp the key points and forces a bit of revision."
"Of course, if I feel it's necessary, Minerva," Anthony said. "But honestly, unlike Transfiguration, the Muggle Studies exams really aren't that difficult."
Professor Burbage said with a mischievous smile, "That was before last year, Henry. I recently had to protest to my former colleagues, told them to stop recycling those idiotic questions. 'Please state the difference between a telephone and an elephant' was one I submitted back in my day."
"Charity!"
"What, Henry? It was just a bit of satirical humour. I never actually wanted to hear a student tell me 'telephone' has one more letter than 'elephant'. And I doubt you'd appreciate scoring answers like 'an elephant is an animal, a telephone is not'."
Anthony sighed. "Alright, Charity. Tell me the smartest question you think your former colleagues could possibly come up with."
"Hmm, good question, Henry…" Professor Burbage thought for a moment. "How about this? 'List three significant differences between Muggle life in 18th-century England and today.'"
Anthony groaned. "If you've decided to make most of the year fail, I'd appreciate a heads-up. You know what the students usually study, Charity."
"Oh, I don't know your students," Professor Burbage said. "But I take your point. That question would fail most of my lot too."
Professor Flitwick pointed out, "That sounds more like a N.E.W.T.-level question, doesn't it? You're setting a trap for yourself, Charity. You haven't even saddled Henry with the seventh-years yet."
"Fine, fine. I'll write to them, ask them to sprinkle a few stupid questions among the clever ones," Professor Burbage surrendered. "Something like, 'The image above is a lighter. Please spell "lighter" accurately and legibly—no fancy scripts, thank you—and briefly describe its uses in Muggle life and the impact of its invention on Muggle society.'"
Anthony smiled. "That would be perfect. Thank you, Charity."
"It's for my own sake too," Professor Burbage said, handing Anthony another plate of cake. "Once you take over the seventh-years…"
Anthony accepted the cake and joked, "I'll send you a hundred Howlers and have them shriek over the Wizengamot chamber."
"That won't work, Henry," Professor McGonagall said. "Charity has become quite adept at handling Howlers recently."
Professor Flitwick suggested, "Ask Professor Lockhart to write your Howlers."
Professor McGonagall added, "Have Albus do it."
"Stop it, all of you," Professor Burbage said, but she was smiling. "You're making me look forward to the day their voices do echo over the Wizengamot. It would be hilarious."
Since everyone had classes the next day, the party wrapped up by nine.
Professor Lockhart was attempting to convince Professor Kettleburn about a species of Niffler in some African corner that supposedly feasted on buttered corn. Their argument was so loud it followed them out of the staffroom, drowning out even the clunk-thump of Kettleburn's crutch and wooden leg against the floor.
Anthony bid goodnight to Professors Burbage, McGonagall, and Sprout (who were allegedly off to a 'ladies' gathering'), helped Professor Flitwick gather up stray streamers, divided the remaining cake with Filch (who stared at a blob of cream on the table for a long time, seemingly debating whether to wipe it off with his sleeve), and finally went to close the staffroom windows.
He leaned half out of the frame, reaching for the slightly chipped window pane. A cool night breeze brushed his forehead. The air was crisp and clean. He saw the Black Lake shimmering with silver-tipped waves and, glancing up, found the night sky already dense with stars.
Behind him, through the closed staffroom door, Filch's triumphant voice drifted faintly. "…Mrs. Norris… caught out of bed… points… detention…"
Anthony shut the window. The staffroom was bright, soft armchairs left askew, the tables cleared and clean.
Stepping into the corridor, he found Filch clutching Mrs. Norris, deep in conversation with Snape.
In the flickering torchlight, Snape's impassive face looked more ominous than Filch's spittle-flecked excitement, and Mrs. Norris's matted fur outdid them both.
"Goodnight, Mr. Filch, Professor Snape," Anthony nodded to them. "Goodnight, Mrs. Norris."
"Goodnight, Professor Anthony," Snape said cautiously.
Mrs. Norris glared balefully at Anthony, then suddenly flattened her ears and let out a harsh, grating yowl. Anthony turned to see his own cat padding slowly down the corridor towards them, tail held high, its ginger fur looking wonderfully warm in the firelight.
All three men watched its slow approach.
"That's my cat," Anthony introduced it. "Hey, you looking for me?"
The ginger cat sauntered up to Anthony, crouched, and leaped—Anthony instinctively caught it—and then began a low, rumbling growl in his arms, directed at Mrs. Norris. Anthony tightened his grip in surprise.
Filch mumbled a hasty farewell and scurried off.
"Another pet, I presume?" Snape said, his voice icy. The cat twisted in Anthony's arms to look at him. Snape looked down, meeting its gaze, his expression inscrutable.
"Yes," Anthony said with a sigh. "Come on, Snape, you've seen it. It's been at Hogwarts since last year."
"I recall it distinctly," Snape said slowly.
Anthony knew he was referring to last term. In that room reeking of troll, Snape and McGonagall had found dust and blood everywhere, a troll on the floor, and Anthony exhausted, clutching a cat and a rat.
"Speaking of which, Snape," Anthony said, "I must point out that incident proves I'm a good person. My cat scratched Quirrell, which I think proves it's a good cat. My pets and I have an excellent reputation here at Hogwarts."
Snape glanced at the cat, his expression the polar opposite of agreement. The cat studied him in turn, as if measuring where best to add a new scratch to his hooked nose.
"Alright, Cat, listen up," Anthony said. "If you don't like other… well, anything, the correct procedure is usually to walk away."
He looked up. "Now, Professor Snape, I'll be going," Anthony said. "Have a wonderful evening."
"Were you really out looking for me?" Anthony murmured to the cat as he walked. "Did something happen?"
The cat twitched an ear and settled comfortably in his arms.
He found out what had happened soon enough. The corridor outside his office echoed with sounds from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—the enthusiastic, booming voice of a grown man, punctuated by Myrtle's high-pitched, admiring squeals. Either Lockhart had sent Myrtle a Howler, or he was telling her a bedtime story… or an afterlife story.
Anthony went into his office. Within five minutes, he was marveling at how Lockhart's booming voice could overpower even Myrtle's usual sobs. His rat had buried itself deep in the cat bed, radiating waves of pure irritation.
So Anthony opened his door again and stood hesitating in the corridor until Myrtle suddenly burst into full-blown wails. He watched as water began to seep out from under the bathroom door.
A moment later, Lockhart strode out, flashed Anthony a polished smile, opened his own office door, and slammed it shut. Unlike Quirrell's garlic portrait, Lockhart had installed an ornate, carved wooden door.
Anthony was wading towards the bathroom entrance when Nearly Headless Nick drifted straight through the wall.
"Oh, just as I expected. I knew this would happen," Nick said. "The moment I saw Professor Lockhart, I knew."
"Knew what?" Anthony asked, puzzled.
"That Myrtle would start crying again," Nick said. As if on cue, the sobs from the bathroom grew louder.
───── ⊹ ⊹ ─────
📖Read up to (100+ ) advanced chapters on Patre\on
🔍 Search:p a t r e o n.com/GoldenLong
───── ⊹ ⊹ ─────