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As if the day wasn't chaotic enough, by evening, Anthony heard that quite a few people had ended up in the Hospital Wing. Among them were Cedric Diggory from fourth year, Fred and George Weasley, and even Harry Potter from second year.
"What happened?" he asked, surprised. "There wasn't a Quidditch match today."
Professor Sprout, cutting her fried fish, nodded toward the hourglasses on the wall. "A few sixth-years brewed something… a love potion, we'll call it. Regardless, it at least made the drinker obsessively enamored with sour tastes."
"Sour?" Anthony relaxed a little. "That doesn't sound too dangerous."
"No, but Poppy and Severus are both furious," Professor Sprout said airily. "Those Weasley twins ate far too many acid pops. Well beyond the safe limit. Practically burned their entire tongues and throats off. The others weren't much better… Oh, Diggory was slightly better off. He was found sitting outside his common room door, tapping the wrong barrel over and over, drinking every jet of vinegar that shot out."
Anthony couldn't help but laugh.
He'd heard about the Hufflepuff common room entrance. You had to tap a specific barrel in a specific rhythm, and the passage to the basement would open. Tap the wrong one, and you got drenched in vinegar. Sometimes, students would come to class reeking of it, complaining to their friends about Peeves messing with the barrels again.
"I wonder how long that vinegar's been sitting there," Anthony mused.
"Five years, fifty, five hundred… who knows?" Professor Sprout said with a twinkle in her eye. "It doesn't matter, so long as it didn't give Diggory food poisoning. Poppy decided to keep him overnight anyway, just to make sure the potion's effects are completely gone."
Anthony glanced up again at the House point hourglasses. Slytherin's emeralds showed a significant lead, something Anthony credited to Snape's blatant favoritism. Gryffindor followed, then Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.
"The students who made the potion… were they Ravenclaws?" Anthony asked. He vaguely remembered Ravenclaw being in second place earlier.
"Hmm… yes," Professor Sprout said. "That's why Filius isn't at the table either."
Not just Flitwick. Snape and Umbridge were also absent. Lockhart, still in his pink robes, was holding court amidst a shower of petals. Professor McGonagall's eyebrows were knit tightly together as she viciously sawed at her lamb chop.
"…The Daily Prophet keeps writing to me, asking when my new autobiography will be finished. One editor complained that ever since their report mentioned I was preparing a new book… Well, I admit it was an exclusive interview, but I don't want to sound boastful. Ever since that interview, reader letters have been flooding their offices like snow, asking about my progress. 'When can I see Gilderoy Lockhart's new book?' everyone asks. 'When can I read about his adventures at Hogwarts?' The readers simply can't wait…"
Professor McGonagall said irritably, "Is the dinner not to your liking, Gilderoy?"
"What?" Lockhart said. "Oh, don't worry, Minerva. As I wrote in Magical Me, though I've dined at the world's most famous restaurants and been invited to sample roasted dragon heart, what I cherish most are always these simple, humble meals on the road…"
His speech was interrupted by three dwarves hurrying into the Hall. After the "booger-flavored Bertie Bott's" incident swept the castle, the staff viewed these pint-sized Howlers with deep suspicion.
Even the buzz of conversation in the Great Hall dipped. Everyone watched them. Under the collective gaze, the three dwarves scanned the entrance, then marched purposefully toward the staff table. Students began whispering excitedly.
"Hey, you! Lockhart!" one dwarf barked. "Got another card for you."
"And here's one for you," said another, hopping onto the table.
Lockhart sighed theatrically, offering the students below a helpless smile.
"My, my, you exuberant children! At least let me finish my boiled peas!" he said. "Alright, no matter. Hand them over. I shall treasure them always." He pulled the cards from their envelopes, revealing covers plastered with red hearts, roses, and lipstick kisses.
Under Professor McGonagall's stern glare, Lockhart tucked the cards back into their envelopes with practiced ease. He flashed a brilliant smile. "Thank you for delivering these. I shall keep them safe."
He opened the second envelope.
"Oh, lilac! Wonderful. I've been wondering who would remember my favorite color. What a lovely surprise."
A commotion rippled through the Hufflepuff table. Several girls buried their faces in their arms, giggling and whispering under the table. The girl in the middle had flushed red all the way to the nape of her neck.
Professor Sprout glanced their way and smiled indulgently. Professor McGonagall seized the moment to finish her dinner and stood up.
"I shall read it the moment I return to my office," Lockhart said, tucking the card away. He leaned forward, peering at the dwarf still standing below the table, and winked slyly. "And the third? Don't tell me it's a singing telegram?"
"No," the gloomy little cupid said, then turned to Anthony. "You've got a card. Henry Anthony." He pulled a pale yellow, parchment-folded envelope from his pocket.
Now everyone was looking at Anthony. Professor McGonagall even paused in her exit, one hand on the back of her chair.
Anthony was completely unprepared. He hurriedly swallowed his mouthful of mushroom. "Me?" Professor Sprout chuckled beside him.
The dwarf, holding the envelope aloft, stomped onto the tabletop, shoving a juice jug aside and practically thrusting the card under Anthony's nose.
"Yeah. You."
Anthony took the letter, struggling to keep his expression neutral. "Right. Thank you."
He pinched a corner of the envelope, carefully slid it into his bag, and nodded at the dwarf as if he'd just accepted a late essay from a student.
The dwarf stood before him, staring stubbornly. Anthony prayed silently he wouldn't produce a handful of rose petals. Students below snickered.
"I've received it," Anthony confirmed, his tone firmer.
The dwarf gave a grim nod, adjusted the golden wings on his back, and hopped off the table, departing.
Anthony resolved to ignore whatever looks his colleagues and students were giving him. He turned his attention, calm and deliberate, to the roasted mushrooms on his plate. After a while, the buzz of conversation in the Hall gradually rose again.
Professor McGonagall, having missed her chance for a discreet exit, had to pick up a glass of sparkling pumpkin juice. She listened as Lockhart lamented the burdens of fame while listing his admirers ("Madam Gladys Gudgeon… a most delightful woman…").
While reaching for a bread roll, Anthony checked and saw the students were no longer fixated on the staff table. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Professor Sprout said, "Henry, could you pass that juice jug, please?"
Anthony stretched to retrieve the jug, which the dwarf had kicked near the lamb chops, and handed it over.
As she took it, Professor Sprout murmured teasingly, "You look terribly serious, Henry. Is there something special about the roasted mushrooms today?"
"They're covered in glitter," Anthony said.
Professor Sprout laughed, then offered comfort. "It's quite alright, Henry. Most of the staff have been through something like this."
"During dinner? In front of the entire school?" Anthony whispered back.
"Hmm…" Professor Sprout thought for a moment. "No."
"Thank you, Pomona," Anthony said dryly.
Just then, the main course vanished—lamb chops, fried fish, mushrooms, peas, mash, stew, all gone. Plates were suddenly laden with cakes, jam tarts, and iced biscuits.
"It's a special day. And you handled it with admirable composure. Truly," Professor Sprout tried to console him. "Besides, I just heard Gilderoy say he's received ninety-three. Compared to that—"
As she spoke, another owl swooped in and dropped a pink envelope before Lockhart.
"Ninety-four," Anthony said.
Unfortunately, Lockhart heard him.
"Two hundred and five Valentine's cards today, actually," Lockhart said magnanimously. "Ninety-three from within the school—I don't wish to sound like I'm boasting, especially when others have received so few. But you see, such is the trouble that comes with excessive renown: one is either envied for one's candor or forced into false denials of the affection one receives… Truly, I've grown accustomed to these trials.
"You must remember, Henry, fame is a troublesome companion. I'm sure you'll receive more than one Valentine in your time—not two hundred, of course—so if you'll take advice from one who has been there, I must caution you not to envy me, but also, don't let a single card go to your head…"
Anthony tried to cut him off. "I'd really rather not discuss it."
"Oh, Henry, no need for such secrecy!" Lockhart's voice grew even louder. "If you knew how many reader letters I must reply to daily! It's just a Valentine's card. You needn't be so defensive with me…"
Professor McGonagall interjected, "Henry?" She had finished her pumpkin juice and seemed ready for a dignified departure once more.
"Yes, Minerva?"
"As we discussed this morning, for the career consultations, I still need the Muggle Studies marks for the fifth-years," Professor McGonagall said, her tone cool and factual. "I assume you have that information prepared?"
Anthony was absolutely certain they had discussed no such thing that morning. He stood up immediately. "Of course, Minerva. Thank you for the reminder. I'll fetch the forms for you right away."
He nodded to Professors Sprout and Lockhart—Lockhart was looking between him and McGonagall with curiosity, while Sprout gave him a knowing nod—and, skirting his chair, walked with Professor McGonagall toward the exit.
"Thank you, Minerva," Anthony muttered once they were out of immediate earshot.
"Not at all," Professor McGonagall said, her face stern as she spotted a student peering around furtively. The student instantly hid a teacup that had been trying to bite his nose. "So long as you get me that career consultation survey on time."
Anthony asked, "When?"
"Before Easter."
"No problem." Anthony hesitated at the foot of the stairs. Lockhart lived right next door to him. He could almost guarantee students would be lurking in the corridor. Based on the morning's experience, there'd likely be enchanted items reciting passionate declarations at deafening volumes, and Moaning Myrtle wailing miserably about how no one ever sent her valentines. Considering the envelope in his bag, whose sender he needed to identify, he wasn't sure he wanted to return to his office just yet.
Professor McGonagall asked, "What is it?"
"Would you mind if I came to your office now to give you the Muggle Studies marks?" Anthony said. "I think I need a quiet place to… open that letter."
Professor McGonagall's eyebrows rose. "I'd be happy to, Henry, but I have one stop to make before returning to my office."
"Where?"
"The Hospital Wing," Professor McGonagall said. "Mr. Potter should be awake by now. I doubt Poppy would mind you accompanying me." A flicker of amusement crossed her face. "After all, it's rather quiet there, too."
Anthony suddenly remembered the story Professor Sprout had told him.
"Of course, Minerva. I'll come with you," he said, somewhat incredulous. "I can't imagine why anyone would want to give Mr. Potter a love potion. He's only in second year!"
"Oh, no, not the potion," Professor McGonagall said. "Wait. Well, yes, technically a potion was involved. In any case, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger informed me they were returning from Hagrid's when a cauldron flew out of a castle window and struck Mr. Potter on the head. Knocked him out cold."
Anthony blinked. "What?"
"The cauldron contained some Draught of Living Death," Professor McGonagall added. "Poppy believes that's why Potter remained unconscious. She suggested I check in after dinner… in case Potter saw who threw it."
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