Like a sudden gust of wind, the calendar flipped to October. The days grew colder, heavy grey clouds pressing down on the Black Lake and the castle. A damp chill seeped through every crack in the stone. Hot chocolate and pumpkin juice replaced ice cream as the students' favorite desserts. The Quidditch pitch was battered by frequent, howling gales. The players would return from training windswept, exhausted, and foul-tempered.
On a cold, drizzly morning, the fifth-year Gryffindors had just finished a Muggle Studies class. Next on their schedule was Potions. That explained why the students were packing their bags with a collective sigh, dragging their feet as if glued to the classroom floor.
Anthony gathered his notes and textbook from the lectern. "A note, ladies and gentlemen. Our classes for the next two weeks are canceled."
"What?" a student blurted out. "Why, Professor?"
Anthony smiled. "Because another group is still waiting for their practical experience. We're going to the zoo next week."
"But Professor—" The student's protest was cut off as several classmates clapped hands over his mouth.
"Alright, since you've brought it up… exams," Anthony said, facing the class. "I considered assigning essays, ramping up the difficulty, or reminding those who drifted off about the impending tests." He saw a few students exchange guilty looks. "Then I remembered the career consultations you're about to have. How important is a Muggle Studies certificate truly for your future? Is memorizing the history of the Industrial Revolution, or reading Mr. Wilkes's descriptions of Muggle life, more important than seeing a factory with your own eyes? Than speaking with a Muggle face-to-face?"
"The certificate is still important," a student in the front row muttered.
"And I doubt anyone will lose theirs by missing four hours of my lecturing," Anthony said. "But here's an alternative. Anyone genuinely anxious about their grade can come to this classroom during our usual slots for the next two weeks. We can review the areas you feel uncertain about from our previous quizzes. Anyone with other plans, or who needs the break, is free to use the time as they wish. How does that sound?"
Aside from one student, who was visiting a chocolate factory and asked if it could be scheduled before the zoo (the answer was no), there were no further questions.
…
Among the fourth-years, exams weren't a concern. But Angelina looked worried. "Are they both on Saturdays, Professor?"
"Yes, Miss Johnson, same as last term," Anthony said. "Why?"
"Quidditch training," Fred said. "If she misses it, Oliver will chase your car on his broomstick."
"And then point at a lion to lecture Angelina about Gryffindor honour," George added.
"Oh," Anthony conceded. "My apologies, I didn't account for your training schedule. Though Mr. Diggory and Mr. Davies don't seem to have conflicts?"
Fred grinned. "Of course not. Our Captain booked the pitch months in advance. He'd sleep on it if he could."
"Poor Angelina," George sighed dramatically. "Cold, hungry, circling the sky on a rainy Saturday, watching her classmates head off to the zoo—"
"Shut it!" Angelina snapped.
"I'm afraid the practicals will have to be on weekends regardless, Miss Johnson," Anthony said. "I suggest you speak with Mr. Wood, or wait for the next opportunity."
"I'll talk to Wood, Professor," Angelina said, fists clenched.
…
A few days later, Angelina knocked victoriously on Anthony's office door. She was slightly out of breath, her braids coming loose. "Professor Anthony! I convinced Oliver!"
"Excellent, Miss Johnson," Anthony said. "I look forward to seeing you on Saturday."
"Me too!" Angelina said in a rush. "Sorry, Professor, I have to run. Defense Against the Dark Arts is about to start, but I was just so excited— oh. Professor Lockhart."
Her face turned bright red. Her voice dropped to a whisper. She stared as Lockhart emerged from the adjacent door.
Lockhart's gaze swept over them. A look of delighted surprise blossomed on his face. "Good morning, Henry! And Miss Johnson!" He strode over, peering into Anthony's office—a desk, two chairs, a cat tree—before looking down at Angelina with polite concern. "Trouble, my dear? I was under the impression our class was about to begin?"
Angelina's face somehow managed to redden further. "I'm sorry—"
"Now, now, Miss Johnson, don't you fret," Lockhart said, turning a chiding, intimate look on Anthony. "What's this, Henry? Overburdening the students? Poor marks? Goodness, in my book, Miss Johnson is one of the most promising talents."
Angelina's eyes shone at the praise. Anthony was impressed she remembered to explain. "It's not that, Professor Lockhart. I was just telling Professor Anthony I'll be attending the practical."
"Practical?"
Anthony explained. "A trip into the Muggle world to experience—"
"Tut-tut, Henry," Lockhart said, wagging a finger. "I don't mean to dampen your spirits, but you must think this through. No offense intended, but adventuring and teaching are two different beasts. Not to boast, but few can master both…"
"Professor Lockhart," Anthony interrupted. "Professor! A misunderstanding. It's not an adventure. It's an experiential trip into Muggle life."
"Oh, I know what you're thinking, Henry," Lockhart said with a knowing smile. "Don't worry, I understand. Everyone thinks, 'If only I were an adventurer like Lockhart! If only I could see the world!' But don't be fooled by how effortlessly I navigate peril. That village plagued by the Lethifold—"
"Apologies, Professor," Anthony cut in, weary. "Thank you for the concern, but we successfully organized two such trips last year."
Lockhart opened his mouth again. Anthony didn't let him. "And I believe you're about to be late, Professor. Fourth-year Defense?"
…
Anthony later heard that Wood had roared at Angelina, and Angelina had roared right back. According to eyewitnesses, it was "like two dragons fighting." And according to Hagrid—who claimed this was how he'd known Norbert was a boy—the female dragon was noticeably more volatile and aggressive.
Furthermore, Anthony heard that Dragon-Angelina had also turned her fire on the Weasley twins. Because when she entered the Defense classroom with Professor Lockhart, a paper airplane had smacked her square in the face. The students, finding the room empty, had decided to wait five minutes before declaring class canceled. Angelina had opened the door at minute four.
"You know Albus has his Albacore Club scheduled for a practical next Saturday as well?" Professor Sprout asked.
"No, I didn't," Anthony said, surprised. "What are they practicing?"
"Albus proposed letting the students attempt to converse with the merpeople before the lake freezes over," Sprout said. "Frankly, I don't know why the merfolk agreed. Biscuit or cake?"
"Biscuit. Butter, please. Perfect, thank you, Pomona. Isn't it too cold for the lake this time of year?"
"Of course he's having the merpeople come up to the surface," Sprout said, as if it were obvious. "Though Albus did ask me for some Gillyweed. Probably for anyone willing to dive down and see their village."
Anthony wasn't sure whether to question "Gillyweed" or "village" first. But Sprout had already glanced at him, smiling and shaking her head fondly at his weak Herbology foundation. "Gillyweed is a plant that allows one to grow gills and webbed feet. Lets you move freely underwater."
Anthony privately wondered what Muggle medicine would make of that. It sounded exactly like the circus stories from his childhood: the person in the vase, the two-headed man, mermaids and gilled men—things that would make a Muggle doctor frown.
"I'm afraid I won't get to see it," Anthony said regretfully. "Merlin, I'd love to see a mermaid." Seeing Sprout's smile, he added, "I know they're not like the ones in Muggle tales. And you must admit, Pomona, you don't see a hall full of students practicing their screeching every day."
"The Albacore Club isn't that large anymore," Sprout told him. "I think there are only seventy or eighty members now."
"That's still many more than a single year of my students," Anthony said. "But… why? I thought people would stay for the prestige of 'lessons from Dumbledore himself'?"
"I can't speak for other Houses," Sprout mused, "but I know many Hufflepuffs dropped out when they reached grammar. I hear Mermish has seven tenses, seven cases, and frequently inflects words based on the freshness of fish. Albus apparently brought in some rotting fish for a demonstration."
"Oh…"
"Pomona learned a phrase of Mermish from Mr. Diggory," Professor Flitwick chimed in as he passed by.
"Filius!" Sprout exclaimed.
"Any tea without cinnamon, Pomona?" Flitwick asked, hopping onto a chair to peer into the cupboard. He glanced back at Anthony. "Ask her. She's been dying to practice."
Anthony leaned in, intrigued. "What did you learn, Pomona?"
"It's not strictly proper Mermish," Sprout said, a little self-conscious. "I haven't actually tried speaking it to a merperson yet."
"You know I'm utterly ignorant of Mermish, and I won't be there on Saturday," Anthony said with a smile. "Please, Pomona. I'm terribly curious."
Sprout set her cup down and cleared her throat. Flitwick hopped off the chair with a teabag, watching from a distance.
Then Sprout began to emit a shrill, piercing, unearthly noise.
Anthony couldn't help but tighten his grip on his cup, leaning back slightly as Sprout closed her eyes in concentration, producing sounds no human throat should make. He vowed then and there to ask Dumbledore for a demonstration.
Sprout stopped, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes expectantly. "Well, Henry?"
"Extremely impressive," Anthony said. "What does it mean, Pomona?"
"'Might I please have some of your kelp?'" Sprout translated. "The very high note at the end is 'thank you,' but I suspect my pronunciation is off. Cedric cracked on that part when he demonstrated."
…
Anthony spent time finalizing arrangements with the car rental service. He then presented his Ministry-approved Portkey permit to Professor Flitwick, who charmingly transformed an ordinary chair into their key.
Even without consulting Muggle weather forecasts, astrology, or divination, everyone could tell Saturday wouldn't be a pleasant day.
Angelina worried it wouldn't be worth the argument with Wood. Fred and George consoled her. If she hadn't gotten Saturday's training canceled, they'd be returning to the castle soaked, frozen, hair plastered to their scalps like a flock of miserable, stupid owls.
Hagrid voiced his own concerns about the weather.
"Animals don't like the rain, eh?" he asked, securing more rope around his chicken coop. "Might've been better to just take them to that factory, Henry. Factories don't get moody and hide when it rains, right?"
"I've already confirmed with the chocolate factory manager," Anthony said, handing Hagrid a wooden pole. "Don't worry, Hagrid. The students will have fun regardless. The zoo has indoor sections, and we're taking a car. That alone will make their day."
"Zoo," Hagrid repeated thoughtfully. "Interesting. If we could have a magical zoo…"
"No dragons, Hagrid," Anthony warned.
───── ⊹ ⊹ ─────
📖Read up to (100+ ) advanced chapters on Patre\on
🔍 Search:p a t r e o n.com/GoldenLong
───── ⊹ ⊹ ─────