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Anthony arrived at the classroom a little earlier than usual, pleased to find Umbridge not waiting outside. Students trickled in, their minds elsewhere, their eyes distant, managing only a faint smile when greeting him.
As exams approached, the number of frazzled students grew. A steady stream of visitors sought out Professors Sprout and Flitwick, desperate to hear a single, "I think you'll be fine." A few utterly broken souls even knocked on Professor McGonagall's door. Lockhart was more than happy to offer "little life advice" to these lost souls, though fewer and fewer were willing to listen to him for hours. The hospital wing's cupboards were stocked with various anti-anxiety potions, useless placebos, and bottles of "Baruffio's Brain Elixir" awaiting ingredient verification. Snape had thrown a fit in Potions because a large batch of rabbit feet had mysteriously vanished from the shared ingredient cabinet, only to reappear in students' bags, pockets, and pencil cases.
Professors had stopped assigning new essays or homework, but Anthony still saw plenty of students secretly flipping through Herbology or History of Magic textbooks under their desks during his class. Others had a spare piece of parchment hidden beneath their Muggle Studies notes, hastily scribbling down the cultivation conditions for Dancing Toadstools or the location of some year's International Confederation of Wizards meeting. While working on practice questions, a few students in the corner whispered quizzes on Charms theory to each other. Some answers were so bad Anthony had to resist the urge to correct them.
"Could you please shut up?" Claire Tilley snapped, whipping around in her seat.
She was one of this year's fifth-year Hufflepuffs. Anthony had heard that Professor Trelawney advised her to "beware tan-coloured quills." Since then, she'd been plagued by the colours of her own and her classmates' stationery, constantly on edge.
Ian Williams shrugged and mumbled a "sorry," shoving a thick Charms notebook back into his bag.
Midge patted Claire's arm reassuringly. Claire took a deep breath and shot Ian an irritated look. "Some of us actually want to learn Muggle Studies in Muggle Studies class."
"Thank you, Miss Tilley," Anthony said. "And thank you for cooperating, Mr. Williams. We'll go over the test in five minutes."
Five minutes later, Anthony began explaining which chapters the questions were related to and what topics the examiners seemed to favour. That's when Claire suddenly burst into tears.
Midge, sitting beside her, noticed immediately and pulled Claire into a hug. Anthony was startled. He hurried over and quietly asked what was wrong. Students who had been revising other subjects looked up, craning their necks to see. A few even stood, chairs scraping across the floor.
"Too much pressure, Professor," Midge whispered to Anthony, still patting Claire. "We had Charms revision this morning. Professor Flitwick wasn't too pleased with us."
Claire's practice test was spread on the desk. She had slashed a huge green 'T' across it with such force that the paper had torn, revealing the smooth, dark brown wood beneath.
"I'm never going to pass!" Claire sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry, Professor Anthony. I really am. I've messed it all up! I can't learn this stuff… I love Muggle Studies… but I'll never get a passing grade!"
"I wouldn't be so sure, Miss Tilley." Anthony slid the paper out from under her arm—Claire let out another miserable sob—and examined her heavily corrected answers. "Forgot the coin denominations, not a big deal… The conversions are right, even Gringotts goblins wouldn't argue… Trains and the Underground aren't the same, but you weren't far off… The bus section is excellent…" He put the paper down. "I don't see why you'd fail."
"Really?"
"I have no reason to lie," Anthony said.
He glanced around. Ian was nervously fiddling with a corner of his own test, rolling and flattening it repeatedly. His deskmate was still reading Achievements in Charming under the table, seemingly indifferent to anything but the theory of the Silencing Charm. A few students watched Claire with sympathetic, mournful looks. Others seemed impatient.
"Don't look so glum, everyone." Anthony looked out the window and smiled. "Alright. I suppose changing the lesson plan once won't hurt. Everyone, pack your things. That includes you, Mr. Snowpeal."
The student in the corner jerked his head up from a lavishly illustrated, three-inch-thick Herbology notebook. He looked at Anthony, then at his classmates who were already packing, then at the clock.
Anthony shook his head, amused, and gestured for him not to panic. He motioned for him to sweep the mountain of stuff off his desk into his bag, just like everyone else.
Once everything was stuffed away—ink bottles, quills, parchment, Potions notes, Herbology specimens, suspicious tan powder, Roger Snake, a hedgehog somehow smuggled out for Transfiguration practice, half a slice of toast for the hedgehog, amulets tangled with hair, Lockhart's personally signed words of encouragement, and so on—Anthony packed up his own lesson notes.
"Now," he said, turning to the students staring at him. He pulled the classroom door open. "We sneak out."
"What?" asked Anne Scott, a fifth-year Ravenclaw.
"We sneak out," Anthony repeated. He peered into the corridor. No Filch. No Umbridge. "Looks clear. Let's go."
…
The students settled on the grass, still looking dazed. Bright sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, warming their heads, faces, and confused expressions. A few chickadees hopped along the branches above them, then darted away. The mild May wind from the greening Scottish hills swept over the shimmering Black Lake, making their robes flutter slightly.
"What are we doing, Professor Anthony?" Claire asked. Her eyes were a bit red and swollen, but she seemed more alert.
"We're solving a very important problem for the Muggle Studies exam," Anthony announced. "How to relieve anxiety."
"A Calming Draught," a student beside him blurted out nervously. "Order, ratios, stirring, watch the temperature, moonstone must be ground to powder, or the cauldron's ruined. White steam rises—"
"Silver-white steam," another student corrected.
"And pay attention to clockwise versus counterclockwise," Anne added, sounding interested. "Who made up that rhyme?"
"Dunno. Saw it on the common room wall."
"That's brilliant."
"Brilliant indeed," Anthony agreed. "But I'm not talking about these complex, delicate bits of Potions knowledge. What I want to tell you all is that exams—at least the Muggle Studies exam—probably aren't as important as many of you think."
"Are you… comforting us about failing in advance, Professor Anthony?" Ian asked miserably. "This early?"
"No. I'm quite confident you'll all pass." Anthony opened his bag and pulled out a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, tearing it open. "Provided, of course, no one suddenly decides to give up or does something silly—like cheat. But I have equal confidence you won't do that." He popped a bean into his mouth and passed the pack to the student next to him.
"But Professor Anthony, the exams are that important," Claire said, her voice trembling again. "If I don't get the certificate, I'll never find a job…"
The nearby bush rustled. A squirrel, under the students' watchful eyes, darted out, snatched a fallen bean, scrambled up a tree trunk, and vanished into the shadows of leaves and branches.
"I'd say it depends on what job you want, Miss Tilley. Of course, having more certificates means more choices, but they absolutely don't decide what your future will look like." Anthony saw someone open their mouth to speak. "For example, I hear the Muggle Liaison Office's recruitment pamphlet asks for a Muggle Studies certificate. But they've hired plenty of Muggle-born witches and wizards who never even took the class. Take me, for instance—"
The student closed their mouth, their eyes lighting up with curiosity and anticipation.
"I think many of you know I didn't receive my magical education at Hogwarts," Anthony said. "So yes, I don't have a single certificate. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed either. What I want to say is—well, Professor Trelawney might disagree—the future is hard to predict."
"If someone had told me ten years ago that I'd be teaching at a magical school, with a subject about telling wizards how Muggles live… I'd have said they had quite the imagination. But here I am, sitting on the lawn eating Every Flavour Beans,"—he got a muddy one and swallowed it with minimal chewing—"with a group of clever, friendly students."
A few people smiled at his words.
Anthony chose his next words carefully. "I won't say exams like this have no effect on your future. That would be a lie. But they're not the only thing that affects it."
"At the very least, in my Muggle Studies class, exam results are one of the least important things, right up there with owl treats and coloured bubble ink. Rather than making you feel anxious and frustrated when you see a test paper, I'd much rather you kept your goodwill and curiosity about the Muggle world. Whether it's a zoo or a pet rescue, a botanical garden or a chocolate factory… I hope you had fun in Muggle Studies."
"We did have fun," Midge said. "Oh, Professor Anthony, I took Ekaterina the Third to visit that pet rescue over Christmas. We happened to catch it when it was open. Ms. Howard said my cat was very healthy. And she'd gained just over three pounds."
"Splendid," Anthony said. He sometimes saw Midge's tortoiseshell cat around the castle. In his opinion, that cat had eaten at least a dozen mice, several plates of sausages, and countless bowls of cat food. And it had definitely gained at least four pounds.
He looked around at the students again. "Lastly, while I've never taken these exams, I've been through plenty of others. And I've always had decent luck guessing what's on the test. So, relax. You'll all be fine. I swear it on… coconut ice."
That got everyone laughing.
Anthony grinned too. "Alright, class dismissed. There's a bag of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum here you can take back. Try to be happy. Get more sun."
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