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All day long, Gilderoy Lockhart's little Cupids dashed through the corridors. They would barge into classrooms mid-lesson, shove Valentine's cards into the flustered hands of their red-faced targets, and run off again, all under the watchful eyes of professors and classmates.
"It is a shame, truly, that I see no discipline being maintained here," Anthony heard Umbridge say to Professor McGonagall after class let out.
McGonagall's reply seemed to displease her, because Umbridge immediately piped up again in that sickly-sweet, girlish tone. "I'm afraid they are simply too young, dear Professor McGonagall. Far too young to judge what is truly in their best interest."
She paused, fixing two students swapping Chocolate Frog cards with a piercing stare until they looked up, confused, and hurried away.
"This is precisely why the Ministry advises adherence to a standardized curriculum," Umbridge continued. "And, of course, we recommend reinforcing the school's existing rules. Punishing infractions. Teaching people to respect order… Then everything can run smoothly, can it not? How can students be expected to apply themselves seriously when their lessons are constantly interrupted by such… frivolities? When their heads are filled with thoughts of play and romance?"
As they spoke, they walked down the corridor toward Anthony. He hadn't decided whether to greet them or make a swift exit when he heard McGonagall reply with exquisite politeness.
"A fair point, Dolores. Though I imagine both staff and students have grown quite accustomed to having their lessons interrupted by now. After so many… investigations."
Umbridge's eyebrows shot up. Anthony had just taken a step toward them when a student barreled into him from behind.
"Sorry! Sorry!" the boy mumbled, ducking his head and charging forward.
Anthony watched, helpless, as the student fled blindly toward Umbridge and McGonagall. Right behind him, a scowling Cupid gave chase, waving a card, running like a man on a mission. Students in the corridor stopped to watch, thoroughly entertained.
"Watch where you're going, Mr. McLaggen!" Professor McGonagall said sharply.
The student glanced her way and skidded to a halt. The dwarf Cupid seized the moment, grabbing his sleeve.
"I have a musical message to deliver to Cormac McLaggen."
"Shut up!" McLaggen yelled, his face flushing deep red. He yanked his arm, trying to free his sleeve. Anthony vaguely remembered him as a third-year Gryffindor.
The dwarf ignored him and began to recite, voice firm. "You took my dearest treasure, and therefore you have taken my heart. Return it, Cormac McLaggen. As you promised three months ago, I urge you to return it."
Amidst snickers from the onlookers, the dwarf produced a harp from behind its back and croaked out a song. "Return it, return it, fifty, fifty, fifty Galleons. My fifty, fifty, fifty Galleons."
McLaggen looked like he wished the castle walls would collapse and bury him. All he could do was bow his head, mutter "I will, I will," and shove his way through the crowd, vanishing down the stairs.
Professor McGonagall stood by the wall, her expression grim. In stark contrast, Umbridge wore a look of triumphant vindication.
"Just as I said, Minerva," she cooed. "Only by rekindling a proper reverence for rules can this ancient school be pulled from its temporary chaos and restored to its proud glory…"
The dwarf untied a scroll of parchment from its belt, unfurled it, and jabbed a grimy little finger through it, adding another hole to the already tattered document.
"McLaggen…" it mumbled. "Next… oh." It stepped directly into the path of Umbridge and McGonagall. "I have another musical message. For Dolores Jane Umbridge."
The smile froze on Umbridge's face.
"You must be mistaken," she said.
The dwarf was stubborn. "It's you."
Umbridge looked down her nose at it. "Then I refuse. Save your breath." She turned her head with an air of haughty dismissal toward McGonagall. "I simply cannot fathom what Professor Lockhart was thinking, bringing a mob of these… dwarves into Hogwarts to run amok!"
"I shall speak with Gilderoy," McGonagall said, her tone cold and perfunctory.
"How kind of you, Minerva," Umbridge said. "Though I intend to speak with him personally." Chin held high, she stepped forward as if the Cupid didn't exist.
She had barely moved when the dwarf leapt up and grabbed her waistband. Umbridge staggered from the sudden tug. She looked down, disbelief etched on her features, her cheeks quivering with the onset of furious rage.
"Unhand me!" she shrieked, whipping out her wand. "How dare you touch me! I warn you, I am a Senior Undersecretary to the Minister—"
The dwarf let go of her waistband and sang, voice raspy. "Her presence makes my heart go thump-thump-thump, her voice makes me want to slump. Oh, like finding a bogey-flavored Bean, I cannot help but screech and jump."
Umbridge stared, as if unable to believe her own ears. A few students failed to suppress their laughter, hastily covering their mouths when Umbridge's gaze snapped toward them. Anthony nudged the gawking students beside him, urging them to leave before Umbridge fully processed the insult. But they were too captivated by the spectacle. No one moved.
"There is an accompanying gesture," the Cupid announced.
It stood before Umbridge, head bowed, and rummaged in its pocket for what felt like an eternity. The silence was absolute. Every student stood frozen, holding their breath, eyes darting between Umbridge, McGonagall, and Anthony. Anthony met McGonagall's gaze. Umbridge held her wand aloft, lips trembling. A hundred vile curses seemed stuck in her throat, producing only a strange, choked sound.
The dwarf finally pulled out a massive handful of rose petals from its pocket and tossed them into the air.
"Happy Valentine's Day," it grumbled. It untied the parchment scroll again and gave it a sharp poke with its little finger.
No hole. It stuck the finger in its mouth, wet it, and stabbed the parchment again. A new perforation appeared.
"Umbridge, done… Next…" It scanned the list. "Oh. Right."
The dwarf rolled up the scroll, turned, and scurried away. Its lopsided golden wings bounced on its back with each step, slapping against the harp at its side.
Rose petals drifted through the air, swirling, slowly settling in Umbridge's mousy-brown hair. Professor McGonagall calmly brushed a stray petal from her robes.
That's when Umbridge moved.
She pointed her wand at the retreating dwarf and shrieked, "Incarcerous!"
A thick rope shot from thin air, wrapping around the dwarf and binding it tightly.
"Professor Umbridge!" "Dolores!"
Umbridge acted as if she hadn't heard Anthony or McGonagall. She merely squinted, glaring at the bound figure. The dwarf roared in anger, thrashing and writhing on the floor, spewing a torrent of impressively foul language.
"Professor Umbridge!" Anthony repeated, stepping firmly between her and the dwarf.
Professor McGonagall flicked her wand. The ropes fell away. The dwarf scrambled to its feet, furious, snatching up its bow and grabbing an arrow from the quiver. It paused for a split second, staring at the arrow's shiny red heart-shaped tip, and seemed to grow even angrier.
Umbridge was angrier still. "What do you think you're doing? Hmm? Attacking me?"
Just then, another group of students spilled down the stairs into the corridor. Their casual chatter died in their throats as they took in the scene.
"What's all this? What's happened?" A familiar, booming voice came from behind the crowd. Lockhart himself was squeezing through, still resplendent in his pink robes.
"Nothing, Gilderoy," McGonagall said.
"No. Something. Professor Lockhart, I believe," Umbridge said, each word bitten off, her fake, girlish tone completely abandoned, "that you should prohibit students from sending correspondence to staff members without express permission. It is grossly impertinent."
Lockhart looked baffled. "What on earth are you talking about, Dolores?"
Anthony tried to explain. "Professor Umbridge received a… er…"
"Oh, I see!" Lockhart exclaimed, spotting the rose petals on the floor and the heart-tipped arrow in the Cupid's hand. "Oh, dear, dear, Dolores, you must understand! A Valentine's card is nothing to be ashamed of! It's time to shed that old-fashioned prudery.
"Not that I'm criticizing you, of course. But if you'd read my Travels with Trolls, you'd know I outlined the essential qualities for an adventurer. The reason I became an adventurer of some small renown—if I may say so—aside from my resolve against the Dark and my own considerable talent, was one simple rule: I never disrespect a festival. Why, if I hadn't visited their night market, I might never have met the troll at all!
"And speaking of festivals and Valentine's Day, Dolores, you must acknowledge the importance of the card." He gave a knowing, sly smile, winking at the nearby students. "It's what everyone hopes to receive! You should be pleased! A single card is a wonderful start! Though, of course, I doubt you'll receive more than I have… Still, Minerva and Henry haven't received a single one. So you are officially the second-most popular staff member at Hogwarts, Dolores!"
He paused, clearly expecting someone to laugh. No one did. Everyone just stared. Only the dwarf continued to mutter and grumble incessantly.
"As for me, I've received sixty-seven so far. You darlings are too kind. I look forward to the moment it becomes one hundred. And, as a point of interest, the one hundredth person to send me their well-wishes will receive a special Valentine's gift—" He raised his voice dramatically. "A photograph with me!"
Amidst the whispers, Colin Creevey finally wriggled his way to the front. The first-year Gryffindor clutched his camera protectively, beaming at the students murmuring about the prize.
Anthony spoke up, shocked. "You shouldn't be encouraging students to send Valentines to professors, Professor Lockhart!"
"Don't be such a wet blanket, Henry," Lockhart said dismissively. "On a day as special as this, all affection deserves a chance to be expressed! Especially the letters from my readers…" He tilted his head at a perfect angle, flashing a handsome smile at the watching students. A few girls blushed and let out small squeals. "They are never turned away. No, I am not the sort to grow arrogant with fame. Every single reader is precious to me… When they write to me with such passion, seeking my guidance, how could I possibly refuse them…?"
Professor McGonagall said dryly, "Indeed, Gilderoy."
"Ah, yes, speaking of photographs," Lockhart said, striding forward and throwing an arm around Umbridge's shoulders, "why don't we take one together, Dolores? To commemorate us both receiving Valentine's cards?"
"No, thank you, Professor Lockhart," Umbridge said, trying to wriggle free. Next to Lockhart's radiant pink robes, her own fussy pink outfit looked strained and awkward.
Lockhart, as if suddenly deaf, clamped his other arm firmly around the still-fuming dwarf.
"Go on then, Creevey," he said, beaming his signature smile. "Do try not to make us blurry."
Colin said excitedly, "Of course, Professor Lockhart!"
"Don't—" Anthony began.
"You will not, Mr. Creevey," Professor McGonagall said swiftly.
"Oh, of course, of course, how could I forget you both, Minerva, Henry?" Lockhart said, still holding Umbridge in a vice-like grip under his arm, smiling brilliantly for Colin. "Snap away, Creevey. Minerva and Henry are waiting for their turn with me. We mustn't keep them."
Umbridge glared at Colin as he raised the camera. "If you dare—"
Click. A flash of white light. Umbridge was standing on Lockhart's foot, but it did nothing to diminish his perfect grin.
"Marvelous," he said, releasing Umbridge and the dwarf, giving Colin an approving, encouraging smile. "Do remember to send me a copy."
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