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Anthony watched Harry and Ron rush after Hermione, then turned and headed upstairs. He carefully avoided the water trickling down the base of the wall—Myrtle was in her usual fine mood—and returned to his office.
No classes this morning. Anthony flipped through his lesson plans, reviewed the sample questions Professor Burbage had given him, and spent a while sorting through the results of his students' past quizzes. On his way to the library, he ran into Umbridge. He refused her request to observe his class with barely a moment's thought. Judging by the syrupy smile on the Senior Undersecretary's face, his next teaching evaluation would be interesting.
"I feel I must remind you, Professor Anthony," Umbridge simpered, "Educational Decree Twenty-Five grants you no right to refuse inspection. You surely wouldn't wish to be seen as deliberately flouting a Ministry decree? Unless, of course, you intend to teach content unsuitable for inspection…"
"Of course not, Madam Umbridge."
"Excellent!" she chirped. "Then it's settled! Two o'clock this afternoon—"
"Er…" Anthony said.
Umbridge tilted her head. "Yes?"
"Apologies," Anthony explained, "but this afternoon is just a revision session for the fifth-years. Nothing new or particularly noteworthy for you to observe."
A smile stretched across Umbridge's face. "Oh, don't fret, Professor Anthony. The O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are the most critical examinations in a witch or wizard's life. They are the ultimate test of whether students have received a proper, sufficient education. Revision classes demonstrate whether the professor understands precisely what knowledge they ought to impart… Though, of course, the Ministry is currently reviewing a series of updated, professionally-curated syllabi. Once published, I'm sure professors will be delighted to find them most helpful in selecting appropriate teaching methods and content…"
"You see, Madam Umbridge, that's precisely why."
Umbridge stared at him blankly, seemingly not following.
"That's why," Anthony said, smiling. "I believe students shouldn't be disturbed with… extraneous matters while they should be focusing intently on their O.W.L.s."
"Goodness, Professor Anthony, there's no need for concern," Umbridge said in a girlish voice. "Simply conduct your class as usual. Pretend I'm not there."
"That would be rather difficult," Anthony said honestly. "Let me put it this way: even if I could pretend you weren't there—" Umbridge's eyebrows shot up, "—the students would struggle to ignore you. They're trying to focus on their first major examinations. I'd rather not have their concentration broken by an unnecessary inspection."
Umbridge's eyebrows now threatened to vanish into her green-bow-adorned hair. Anthony added placatingly, "It's nothing personal, Madam Umbridge. If it were—say—Professor Lockhart, or Professor Snape, or even Professor Dumbledore who wanted to drop in on my fifth-year class without good reason, I'd refuse them too."
"I may not have made myself clear," Umbridge said, her voice sickly sweet. "An inspection by the Senior Undersecretary is not optional. This was merely a courteous notification, Professor Anthony. I shall see you this afternoon."
Anthony glanced around. The corridor was empty. Most students were in class. The few who weren't had no reason to loiter near the library entrance—and even if they did, he suspected they'd duck away at the sight of Umbridge.
"I admit, I'm not skilled at dealing with unwelcome guests, Madam Umbridge," he said quietly. "But I do have methods to… encourage them to leave."
Umbridge stared.
Anthony prompted, "I've heard the Muggle-Repelling Charm has a… progenitor." He resisted the urge to wink like Lockhart.
He watched as a blank stare gave way to dawning comprehension, then to a sudden, stark pallor on Umbridge's face. She clearly remembered their first meeting. That pallor was swiftly replaced by a furious, mottled purple. "How dare you—"
"You're welcome to attend my class tomorrow morning," Anthony said quickly. "We'll be covering how Muggles use running water and purification systems. I find it quite interesting, personally."
Umbridge's lips worked, as if she were chewing something repeatedly but refused to spit it out. Finally, she said, "Well. Very well. Very well."
…
After Umbridge stormed off down the corridor, Anthony dropped off his books with Madam Pince at the library and returned to his office.
He was mildly concerned he'd overstepped. But the students already had enough on their plates without adding the petty burdens of adult bureaucracy. Besides, Professor Burbage had already complained to him about the impertinent questions Umbridge asked during her inspection.
"She said that, as my friend—ha! Friend! I've never heard a more preposterous lie—as my friend, she wished to kindly remind me that, in the current climate, quoting, 'there is little need to understand creatures who don't even believe in magic.'" Professor Burbage had huffed. "You should have seen the skeptical look on her face when she asked the students what they'd learned! I bet it's because I contradicted her at the Ministry just the other day!"
Anthony shook his head, clearing Burbage's rapid-fire complaints from his mind, and returned to his lesson prep.
He'd already run two revision sessions. Most students now had a firm grasp on modern Muggle clothing and public transport ("Fare evasion is common? Correct, two points to Ravenclaw, but don't do it—I'm awarding points for your knowledge, not the practice.") and British Muggle currency ("I hear they're considering fines. Could be a few pounds, could be hundreds… Who remembers the conversion rate to Galleons?").
He flicked his wand. A stack of parchment bearing past exam papers fluttered into the air, folding and sorting themselves to display all questions related to those topics. It was a little charm Daniel had taught him, originally used in bookshops to help vague customers find books on specific subjects.
Daniel said it had once been a required spell in Charms at Hogwarts. Anthony initially didn't understand why such a useful charm no longer appeared in The Standard Book of Spells, but he quickly realized how many students would use it instead of their own brains for essay research—not that they used their brains much for that now anyway.
Daniel's explanation, however, was different. People soon discovered its primary use became searching the vast library archives for… less than literary vocabulary, allowing students to trade silent insults behind the librarian's back.
Anthony suspected the charm was invented during a long, frustrating night of flipping pages, by some gifted wizard faced with a literature review. For its inventor, and for Miranda Goshawk, author of The Standard Book of Spells, discovering the creative applications people found for spells was probably as startling as an eighteenth-century Muggle Studies scholar discovering their textbook was still in use two centuries later.
The Wizarding Examinations Authority's Muggle Studies panel must have grown increasingly frustrated over the years, eventually deciding to tailor questions to student ability rather than Muggle society.
The year after "Discuss the advantages of paper currency over coinage, and briefly explain why British wizards do not use paper money," the question became "List the types and denominations of currency currently used by British Muggles, and describe their conversion." Then, "Convert five pounds to a roughly equivalent amount of wizarding currency, and briefly compare their purchasing power in daily life." Then, "Explain why Irish Leprechaun gold scammers find it difficult to target Muggles." Finally, it devolved into "Who is the person pictured on the front of British Muggle currency (see image below)?"
Anthony let the long parchment roll unfurl a little further. It draped over the edge of his desk and spilled onto the floor with a soft thump. The accompanying image was a photograph of a ten-pound note. The Queen gazed out from the portrait at the young witches and wizards who likely didn't recognize her. On one side of the image, a hand had been hastily—and very deliberately—placed over the "EIIR" initials beside the portrait. Anthony doubted many students would grasp the hint.
His cat slunk low to the ground, crept forward, then pounced, launching itself at a dangling, gently swaying strip of parchment. The attack broke Anthony's train of thought. He laughed, bent down, scooped the cat onto his lap, and rescued the parchment from its claws.
"I need those for this afternoon," he said, scratching behind the cat's ears. "Speaking of which… do you think this parchment is actually made from sheepskin? Where do wizards keep all their sheep?"
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