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Umbridge narrowed her eyes and asked in a sickly sweet voice, "Maintaining the pipes?"
Anthony hadn't yet figured out how to describe the aftermath of Moaning Myrtle's tantrum when a figure abruptly emerged from between the walls.
"Ha, listen!" Peeves sang in a mocking tone, "Her appearance makes my heart pound wildly—"
"Shut up!" Umbridge snapped.
Peeves paused, slightly startled, realizing that the person in the bathroom wasn't the weeping Myrtle. He somersaulted in the air, looking down at Anthony and Umbridge. Seeing Umbridge's expression, Peeves giggled, his dark eyes gleaming with malicious delight.
"As you wish, Booger-Flavored Every-Flavour Bean," he said. "If you want my mouth shut, Booger-Flavored Bean, I'll definitely shut it."
He closed his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and charged toward them. Umbridge's eyes bulged with rage as she waved her wand violently, creating a whooshing sound. Her movements were so exaggerated that Anthony had to step back to avoid being struck by her wand, which she wielded like a baseball bat.
A series of multicolored spells shot through Peeves's body, crashing against the bathroom walls with a clatter and making the torchlight flicker.
Peeves shouted, "Yuck, booger flavor, disgusting!" He flew two circles around Umbridge and Anthony, then leaped back into the air, sitting cross-legged and laughing heartily as Umbridge's face flushed red with anger. He drawled, "Some say she's muddle-headed, some say she's wicked-hearted—" Another spell passed through his body, "But Peeves knows best of all—"
"Enough, Peeves," Anthony said, gently tugging the back of Peeves's collar with necromancy to stop him from flying over Umbridge's head again. Umbridge was breathing heavily beside him, seemingly having exhausted all the spells she could think of for the moment.
"—She's always stubborn as a mule—" Peeves sang, scratching the back of his neck.
Before he could sing the next line, Anthony grabbed him by the collar and tossed him out of the bathroom. Peeves burst into laughter in the corridor, seemingly wanting to re-enter, but something more interesting caught his attention. He broke free from Anthony's magic and drifted away.
"Let's leave, Madam Umbridge," Anthony suggested.
Umbridge's cheek twitched. She adjusted her collar, then smoothed her sleeves forcefully before storming out of the bathroom, seemingly having completely forgotten about questioning why Anthony was in the girls' bathroom. Anthony quietly followed her out, passing his own and Lockhart's office doors, and politely escorted her to the end of the corridor.
There, they encountered a furious and panting Filch. Peeves had locked Mrs. Norris inside a suit of armor again.
…
A few days later, Anthony heard that Umbridge had demanded the heads of each house find out who was behind the "Pranking the High Inquisitor" singing valentine, but all the professors regretfully told her they couldn't.
Professor Flitwick said no one had confessed; Professor Sprout said she had asked the dwarves, but they were dutifully keeping the sender's identity anonymous; Snape pointed out that Slytherin students usually cooperated with Umbridge's investigations, hinting that she should suspect Gryffindor students—especially the famous second-year Gryffindor with black hair, green eyes, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Professor McGonagall declared that Gryffindor was actively preparing for the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff ("After Easter," Professor Sprout whispered to Anthony), and Harry trained late every day, leaving no time for literary pursuits.
Umbridge also tried investigating herself, but after Valentine's Day, her authority had greatly diminished. Many people struggled to suppress laughter the moment they saw her face, let alone Peeves, who often hovered over her head, loudly humming the tune of the dwarf singing valentine or suddenly showering her with Every-Flavour Beans. Whenever this happened, the professors seemed to vanish collectively, and no one ever stepped in to stop Peeves.
"Yes, Dolores. Peeves is indeed very annoying," Professor Flitwick agreed. "He took my hat last time. Oh, I suppose even Albus can't do much about him." He smiled, refilled his cup with sparkling pumpkin juice, took a sip, smacked his lips, and added three or four ice cubes.
Dumbledore tapped his forehead lightly. "Have I mentioned that Peeves once stole my razor? I must have left it in the boys' bathroom. The next day, I couldn't find my razor anywhere, and I heard Peeves was using a very effective razor to shave students' hair."
"What happened then?" Professor Sprout asked curiously. "Did you get it back, Albus?"
"Hmm, no," Dumbledore mused. "Later, I started growing a beard. I thought Peeves might consider shaving me as a prank." He looked down at his long, silver-white beard and shook his head. "Perhaps that was a misjudgment."
The professors laughed at his joke, but Umbridge didn't seem amused in the slightest.
"Ha, ha, very amusing," she said in an overly sweet voice. "Am I to understand—as the headmaster of Hogwarts—that you don't intend to do anything about this? Students are being tormented by a malicious poltergeist, but you give me the impression that you find it amusing?"
"You know Peeves has never truly harmed a student, Dolores. And, as Filius said, I can't do much about him either," Dumbledore said, glancing in Anthony's direction with a smile. "I suppose, as a collection of wishes, he's simply too powerful."
Umbridge feigned surprise. "How can you say that, Headmaster? Aren't you called the most powerful wizard of the age? If a headmaster can't even expel a poltergeist causing trouble in the school…"
"There are many things I am powerless to do," Dumbledore said calmly. "I've never denied that."
Umbridge said meaningfully, "Very well, I'll remember that."
Anthony saw Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout exchange a glance. The staff table fell silent for a moment, with only the buzzing chatter of students and the clatter of plates and cutlery filling the air.
"By the way, Headmaster," Umbridge looked up from a slice of apple pie and said sweetly, "I think you've forgotten something."
Dumbledore asked, "What is it?"
"The authority to deduct house points," Umbridge said. "You know, as the High Inquisitor, I should have the same authority as the teaching staff…"
"Oh, that," Dumbledore said, as if suddenly remembering.
He pressed his fingertips together and looked up at the enchanted ceiling, watching the shifting clouds. Umbridge cleared her throat a few times before he seemed to snap back to attention and withdrew his gaze. "I'm sorry, Dolores, but I'm afraid this is another thing I'm powerless to do."
Umbridge narrowed her eyes, her voice growing even sweeter. "You're powerless, Headmaster?"
"I'm sorry, Dolores," Dumbledore repeated with a somewhat helpless smile. "Hogwarts is an ancient magical castle, and old things often have their own temper. Even as headmaster, I'm afraid I can't force the castle to change its mind."
…
Unable to vent her anger on the students, Umbridge grew increasingly sharp in the professors' classes. She threw tricky questions at both professors and students, much like how students had thrown dung bombs into her office on a weekend morning. Filch assured Umbridge he would catch the culprits, only to find that the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan had airtight alibis.
He paced the third-floor corridor, clutching Mrs. Norris, shoulders hunched, sniffing like an old, useless hound stubbornly circling a tree stump. It wasn't until Roger Davies and Emery Smeek, reeking of foul odors, told him Peeves had broken the bathroom toilets and pipes again that he reluctantly abandoned his pointless pacing. Cursing under his breath, he hurried in the direction they pointed, swearing he would catch Peeves this time.
While Umbridge dealt with the dung bombs, the Valentine's Day uproar seemed to gradually subside—or so it seemed. Until that owl flew into the Great Hall.
That morning, Anthony was spreading butter on his bread while chatting with Professor McGonagall about last year's graduates' employment prospects. Lockhart was telling Snape how skilled he was at Potions—but not to worry, his true passion was still fighting dark magic and adventuring, so with enough effort, Snape still had a chance to win the Potions Association's Lifetime Achievement Award, and so on. Umbridge was instructing Filch about something, and Filch nodded repeatedly, his face full of agreement and respect. Owls flew in and out of the windows, dropping newspapers and letters beside students' cups or deftly snatching strips of bacon or half-sausages from their plates.
It was then that the owl flew in. It was a majestic barn owl that circled the Great Hall once before flying straight toward Lockhart. It dropped a thick, heavy package onto the table with a thud, startling several professors from their breakfast.
"Ah, I thought it should be arriving around this time," Lockhart said cheerfully, tearing open the package with a rustle. Anthony watched curiously.
A rolled-up magazine fell out of the package. Even from several seats away, Anthony could immediately spot Lockhart's gleaming signature smile on the cover. Lockhart flipped through the magazine, examined it for a while, and shook his head. "Oh dear, oh dear, I explicitly told them not to arrange it this way! And here—I said I preferred the other version of the photo."
He continued muttering loudly to himself—while Snape watched coldly—until Professor McGonagall finally had enough.
"What is that, Gilderoy?" she interrupted.
Lockhart looked somewhat surprised.
"Oh, this?" He held up the magazine casually. "I've been urged thousands of times by thousands of people who want to read my second autobiography as soon as possible… about my adventures and life at Hogwarts. 'Good Gilderoy, just tell us a bit about your experiences,' they begged me. 'You must have had many interesting experiences at Hogwarts!' So I told myself, how could I disappoint these readers…"
Snape said simply to Professor McGonagall, "Witch Weekly."
"It's a sample issue of Witch Weekly," Lockhart said. "I've published a portion of what will appear in The Joyful Hogwarts… Of course," he winked knowingly at the other professors, "you're all in it too. No need to thank me too much, because as I mentioned in my first autobiography—Magical Me—I've always believed companions are an indispensable part of any adventure. When I traveled with the hag…"
"We'll read it, Gilderoy," Professor McGonagall said coolly.
"Of course you will, Minerva," Lockhart lowered his voice intimately. "But listen, don't get too carried away with the joy of seeing your name in print. Fame, dear Minerva, is a fickle friend. If you were as famous as I am, you'd understand—it brings you ecstasy one moment and plunges you into despair the next… Alas, everyone says one should face it with humility, but how many can truly achieve that, like me?"
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips tightly together, resolutely cutting into her potato pancake.
To prevent her plate from shattering, Anthony said, "Absolutely right, Professor Lockhart. Would you like—er—some apple pie?"
"Of course," Lockhart beamed, accepting the apple pie Anthony handed him while passing Witch Weekly over. Anthony took the magazine, puzzled, and glanced down. Lockhart smiled brilliantly at him from the cover.
He looked up, and the living Lockhart was smiling too.
"Very clever trick, Henry," he winked at Anthony. "Trading apple pie for a magazine… I know you want to read it. It's yours now. Although I'd say there are a few things they could have done better, but that might just be because my standards are too high. For most people…"
Under Professor McGonagall's gaze, Anthony opened the magazine. Then he and McGonagall looked up and exchanged a glance.
At the top of the page, in elegant cursive script, was written: Singing with Cupid. On the opposite page, a radiant Lockhart stood with a dwarf dressed as Cupid, while Umbridge stood on his other side, looking furious and glaring at the camera.
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