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"By the way, Henry, I ran into Professor Marchbanks recently," Professor Burbage said after taking a sip of tea. "She asked how this year's exam preparations were going. I told her splendidly."
Anthony said, "Thank you for the encouragement, Charity."
Griselda Marchbanks was a highly respected director of the Wizarding Examinations Authority and a Wizengamot Elder. Given Professor Burbage's lengthy titles and past experience, Anthony wasn't surprised they knew each other.
Professor Burbage continued, "I thought she looked rather pleased. She said she'd instruct the exam committee to raise the difficulty. Last year's Muggle Studies pass rate was a bit too high."
Anthony held his teacup, looking at her. He said nothing. Professor Burbage met his gaze and suddenly laughed. "I have confidence in you, Henry."
"Hmm…" Anthony said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks."
Professor Burbage said, "I thought you had confidence in your students. Didn't you predict an Exceeds Expectations or higher for almost everyone?"
Anthony complained, "You know what the past papers are like, Charity."
Professor Burbage smiled. "Yes. I do."
Anthony sighed, a little troubled, then quickly chuckled. "Alright, alright. Doesn't matter. Good thing my expectations aren't high. At least I can say the students understand Muggles better than before… That's progress, as far as I'm concerned." He set his cup back on the tree stump and focused on his cake.
Professor Sprout said, "That's certainly not a very high bar."
"Have you thought about what grades you'll allow into your N.E.W.T. class, Henry?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"No," Anthony said easily. "The N.E.W.T. class is Charity's."
"It will be yours," Professor Burbage said. "I've been saying for two years I have many non-teaching pursuits I want to focus on. Back to the N.E.W.T. class—my standard is an Outstanding. Because… well, you know what the past papers are like."
Anthony said, "Fine. What's the standard for Herbology N.E.W.T., Pomona?"
"Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations, depending on the previous year's results," Professor Sprout said, lifting the teapot lid to peer inside. "Usually it's Exceeds Expectations, but I recall one year the paper was so simple over half the candidates got an Outstanding."
Professor Burbage nodded. "I remember that year. The Herbology specialist examiners got a proper scolding from Professor Marchbanks. They didn't dare go near her office for the whole fortnight of grading." She mused, "Come to think of it, last year's Muggle Studies examiners probably got the same treatment. No wonder they sounded so grumpy in their letter."
"What about Charms?" "Exceeds Expectations is sufficient," Professor Flitwick squeaked, carefully controlling the Flame-Charm under the teapot to prevent it from igniting Greenhouse Two. "Transfiguration is also Exceeds Expectations, isn't it, Minerva?"
"Most subjects require an Exceeds Expectations," Professor McGonagall said.
Professor Sinistra said, "Astronomy is an Outstanding. Because… because…" She gestured vaguely with her free hand, then tilted her head back and drained her teacup. She slammed it down on the stump, exasperated. "Astronomy doesn't need—and can't have—students who get anything less than an O!"
"Precisely," Snape said, his voice cool.
"I'm tired of being laughed at by Centaurs," Professor Sinistra said. "Last year, during the Astronomy practical exam, they were standing right at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Oh, I never want to see—never again in my life—that expression on their faces while listening to students argue about whether Mars was in the sky."
Anthony glanced at Snape. Snape's expression clearly said, And I'm tired of students. Anthony decided not to ask about the Potions N.E.W.T. standard.
Professor Flitwick extinguished the flame as the teapot shrieked. "Speaking of, Severus, are you aware Mr. Bole wishes to use a Bubble-Head Charm to prevent knowledge from evaporating from his head?"
"No," Snape said icily. "In fact, I can scarcely contain my applause for Bole devising such a brilliant, self-sufficient plan that requires neither my intervention nor Poppy's."
"Oh, that," Professor McGonagall said. "That may have been my suggestion—if you must put it that way."
"What?"
"I saw him with his book bag over his head. So I informed him that if he continued charging down corridors like a rampaging Graphorn, I would trouble Filius to stick a Bubble-Head Charm on him," Professor McGonagall said calmly. "At least that way he could see where he was going."
… After that, the conversation quickly shifted from the foolish things anxious students did before exams, to the varied applications of the Bubble-Head Charm and its non-standard variants, then to cauldron thickness standards—Professor Burbage mentioned the Ministry seemed to be setting up an office to study cauldron manufacturing standards or something similar—and a cauldron's resistance to various charms and transfigurations.
While discussing cauldron durability, Professor McGonagall informed them Harry had left the hospital wing healthy and intact.
"And the house-elf?" Anthony asked. "Dobby?"
"He remains at the school, but unless Mr. Malfoy is attacked, we have ordered him never to use magic within Hogwarts again." Professor McGonagall gave Anthony a meaningful look. "We also ordered him to cease speaking ill of professors."
"What ill?" Professor Burbage asked sharply, also looking at Anthony.
Anthony bent to retrieve a second slice of cake. "Probably about me not having any certificates."
"Don't let Dolores hear that," Professor Sprout warned gently. "She might take it as further evidence of Albus hiring professors arbitrarily."
Anthony said vaguely, "It is."
"Nonsense," Professor Burbage said.
…
"Nonsense," Lockhart said, shaking his head. "Honestly, Henry, I'm quite accustomed to these slurs. Absolute nonsense… Ah, but fame brings not only applause, of course, but also the jealous whispers and malicious speculation lurking in the shadows. In Košice, the local dark forces spared no effort trying to tarnish my reputation…"
"What happened, Professor Lockhart?" Anthony asked between bites of a potato cake. He felt like he was trying to hold back a flood with a garden fence. Every crashing wave was topped with foam made of words like 'fame,' 'adventurer,' and 'Order of Merlin.'
Fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across the enchanted ceiling, revealing a calm, azure sky.
The weather was astonishingly good. Bright sunlight filled the cool air with a scent of pure calm. So when the cat burrowed under the covers and woke him, Anthony only muttered a complaint. He squinted at the morning light filtering past the curtains—everything in the room, the chandelier, the coat rack, the wardrobe, the cat's food bowl, the cat bed with a single rat tail dangling over the edge—all sat quietly in the drowsy, half-lit shadows. He rolled over and, for once, went back to sleep.
The consequence of rising later than usual was running into Lockhart on the way to the Great Hall and, inevitably, earning the dubious honor of sitting beside him for breakfast.
"Oh, nothing, really," Lockhart said, flashing that brilliant smile once more. "Don't think I'm complaining. As I said, I'm used to it. The Daily Owl always wants to accuse me of dalliances with enthusiastic readers. The Quibbler claims my true identity is a brain-sucking ogre who preys on fans at book signings… But do I care? I never care. People will always talk. Mark my words, should you ever become as famous as I am—don't look at me like that, Henry, alright, I know it's nigh impossible—but, should you attain even a modicum of renown, you must understand…"
Anthony nodded absently, maneuvering a sausage onto his plate to the soundtrack of Lockhart's monologue.
Suddenly, he heard Rita Skeeter's name in Lockhart's stream of words.
"I was merely surprised The Daily Prophet printed Rita's piece like that," Lockhart said. "Barnabas told me—he's the editor, a splendid fellow, honest and diligent—he once told me he believed half of Rita's reporting came from misinterpretation and the other half from delusion. But some people simply adore her malicious conjectures…"
At that moment, Professor Sprout walked briskly into the Great Hall, her robes speckled with mud and dust.
"Good morning, Henry. Good morning, Gilderoy." She sat down on Anthony's other side. "Lovely weather, isn't it? Looks like we'll have a fine harvest this year. The Mandrakes are coming along wonderfully, and the Venomous Tentacula. Though the Whomping Willow seems a bit listless…"
"Good morning, Pomona," Lockhart said. "No need to worry. Should you encounter any Herbological dilemmas, you know I'm always willing to offer guidance and assistance. As you all know, I've long been resolved to never cease my crusade against the dark, always ready to solve others' problems with my magic… That's why I pay no mind to gossip. I maintain my affability…"
Professor Sprout replied, slightly taken aback, "Of course, Gilderoy."
She glanced at Anthony, seeking a clue, but he could only shake his head with equal bewilderment. They spent the next ten minutes listening to Lockhart expound on what a helpful, kind, optimistic, and powerful adventurer he was, until Lockhart remembered he was supposed to show Hagrid how to drive out a water demon from a well.
The moment he left, Professor Sprout asked, "What was all that about?"
"Did you get The Daily Prophet today, Pomona?" Anthony asked.
Professor Sprout said, "Oh, yes, I just haven't had time to—" She rummaged in her bag, placing several trowels and a herbology hoe on the table before pulling out a crumpled copy of The Daily Prophet. She shook off the dust, revealing Bartemius Crouch's contorted face on the front page.
"What's this?" she asked, flipping through the pages. Crushed stems and leaves periodically fell out. "Barty Crouch calls for strengthened international cooperation… Oh, Bulbadox juice is going up in price again, second time this year… Goodness!"
She let out a soft exclamation and began scanning a particular page. Anthony caught glimpses of 'Professor Lockhart' and 'Hogwarts.'
Professor Sprout angled the paper toward him. Anthony leaned in to read alongside her.
"The charming Gilderoy Lockhart, a mere twenty-nine, is already a famed adventurer and author. Furthermore, last year he accepted Albus Dumbledore's invitation to become Hogwarts' Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. His flawless smile brings warmth to all who approach him…"
Anthony said, "This looks fine."
Professor Sprout wore a peculiar expression as she read. "Keep going, Henry. Keep going."
Anthony read on, skipping the paragraphs listing Lockhart's achievements. He could recite a longer list of honors and titles himself.
"…Behind that handsome face may lurk a heart less luminous. 'I think his personality might be a bit nasty,' says Millicent Bulstrode. 'He's not like the adventurer Lockhart I imagined.' She is a lively and lovely second-year Slytherin, very willing to share details of her studies. 'In the first lesson,' she recalls, 'Professor Lockhart brought a cage of Cornish Pixies, wanting to teach us to resist these terrifying magical creatures. Those things were awful. Screaming, flying about, throwing ink bottles and parchment everywhere… Professor Lockhart taught us a charm to fight what he called the most evil creatures known to the magical world—he definitely said that—but I've forgotten it.' However, when another matter was raised (this writer happened to hear Professor Lockhart played a significant role in a rather laughable incident involving slugs), Miss Bulstrode immediately refused to say more. After persistent probing, another student, who wished to remain anonymous, finally hinted they had been ordered never to discuss the event. Some speculate Professor Lockhart played a less than glorious part, but those in the know are sworn to eternal silence. To protect the students, this writer was forced to abandon the topic. Furthermore, having a popular new colleague like Professor Lockhart seems to have made the already insular Hogwarts particularly wary. Professor Filius Flitwick, despite being Professor Lockhart's former teacher and Head of House, refuses to call him a prize pupil. He maintains a polite yet skeptical stance on Professor Lockhart's academic record and finds the series of activities the professor has organized since term began rather uninspiring. Potions Master Severus Snape suggested Dumbledore should be more cautious in his selection of Defence professors and inadvertently revealed it was Dumbledore, overriding all opposition at the start of term, who insisted on inviting Professor Lockhart, leading to his current position. While Dumbledore is a fossilized, rigid old fool, he clearly holds this dashing adventurer in special regard, undoubtedly drawing more hostility and doubt toward Professor Lockhart. It appears Professor Lockhart may be facing a challenge at Hogwarts more arduous than any of his previous adventures: people are questioning whether he is truly as powerful and helpful as he claims. Under the scrutiny of students and former teachers, is the seemingly perfect facade truly unbreakable? This writer believes readers will draw their own conclusions, but for now, we might do better to pray for the students caught in these undercurrents of dispute. (For related coverage on the proposal to downgrade Cornish Pixies from XXX to XX, see page fourteen.)"
Professor Sprout quietly set the newspaper down.
"Well," Anthony said.
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