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Exams were supposed to begin on the first of June this year. But Umbridge had been – in Professor Kettleburn's words – sniffing around, digging around, and stirring the pot at Hogwarts, throwing all the teaching schedules into varying degrees of disarray. The professors had unanimously agreed to push the exams back to the end of June. This meant that while students in other years were still strolling in the warm sunshine, the fifth and seventh years were the first to face their crucible.
The specific exam schedule arrived one morning. The Ministry owls carrying letters from the Examinations Authority blended in with the flocks delivering packages and the morning post. But their synchronized descent onto every professor's table still drew some student attention, especially when one tried to drink from Dumbledore's goblet and ended up tumbling into Professor McGonagall's porridge.
The first exam, Charms Theory, was scheduled for Monday morning. Muggle Studies was set for Friday afternoon, two o'clock straight through to five-thirty.
For Anthony, the arrangement wasn't ideal. Students were prone to dozing off during afternoon exams, and the entire week's worth of accumulated frustration and bad temper would be carried straight into his exam hall. Still, he was satisfied with one thing: Friday morning's subject was Ancient Runes, not the predicted History of Magic. If students had to discuss the Industrial Revolution right after finishing an essay on the Eighteenth-Century Goblin Rebellions, their answers might have become… unnecessarily interesting.
"Charms is always the first every year," Professor Flitwick said, setting his schedule aside with visible contentment. "I do like that. Poppy, would you be free to invigilate Charms Theory?"
"Which day is that?" Professor Sprout asked. "Oh, no. That's the day the Devil's Snare is set to flower. I need to be there to make sure they don't strangle each other."
Lockhart said, "If I might…"
"I'll do it, Filius," Professor McGonagall said. "Poppy, are you free for Transfiguration?" She seemed unaware she'd cut Lockhart off.
"Perfectly," Professor Sprout said. "As for Herbology…"
Lockhart began, "I think that…"
"Filius?" Professor Sprout asked brightly.
"Happy to oblige, Poppy, happy to oblige," Professor Flitwick chirped.
They were still sorting out invigilators long after breakfast. In the end, for the remaining core subjects, Potions went to Professor Kettleburn, Astronomy to Professor Burbage, History of Magic to Professor Sinistra, and—astonishingly, on Lockhart's own suggestion—Defense Against the Dark Arts was assigned to Anthony.
"After all, having read so many of my works, he has a basic understanding of how to handle dark creatures!" Lockhart announced, beaming, an arm slung around Anthony's shoulders as they navigated the parting crowd of curious students. "In fact, I'm amazed some of you still haven't grasped the proper method for breaking a vampire's curse! You'll find all the details in Voyages with Vampires…"
For reasons everyone knew—and very, very good reasons they were—neither Snape nor Lockhart were assigned any invigilation duties.
Lockhart had eventually conceded that his dazzling charisma on the exam floor might prove too distracting for the students. Snape, for his part, seemed smug about his exemption, only offering a sneering scoff when Professor McGonagall agreed to Anthony invigilating the D.A.D.A. exam. Given that was his default setting, the other professors paid him no mind. Anthony sensibly thought Snape wouldn't have been any more pleased if the discussion had landed him in the Potions exam hall instead.
…
The examiners arrived at Hogwarts the day before the Charms O.W.L.
They came during dinner. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall met them, discussing how the Great Hall would be set up for the exams and other topics as they walked.
Anthony, like the other professors, stayed put at the High Table. He chewed his lamb chop, drank his pumpkin juice, and pretended not to notice the voices from the Entrance Hall, Professor McGonagall's abrupt departure, or the fact that her bun today was wound tighter, more severe than usual.
Umbridge left briefly too, but returned quickly, her expression sour. Near the end of dinner, the examiners passed by the Great Hall doors again. One of them waved Professor Burbage over. Umbridge's face darkened further.
Anthony might have been staring a bit too obviously. Professor Flitwick, sitting beside him, leaned in and whispered rapidly as he placed a roll on his plate, "The one speaking with Charity is Professor Tofty."
Anthony stole another glance. Professor Tofty was a small, elderly wizard, slightly stooped, his wispy white hair glinting gold in the torchlight.
"Brilliant duelist. I studied many of his strategies when I first started competitive dueling," Professor Flitwick said with respect. "Some I still teach—the Ear-Squinching Hex is far more useful than people realize… Ah, and the one speaking now is Griselda Marchbanks. Head of the Examinations Authority. Charity's old superior."
Professor Marchbanks asked something. Professor Burbage smiled, leaning forward slightly to answer. Marchbanks didn't seem satisfied, shaking her head, but the others around them laughed.
Dumbledore said something else, light and easy, and the laughter grew. Professor Marchbanks nodded, said a final few words to Professor Burbage, and left with Dumbledore. Professor Tofty, at the rear of the group, walked out deep in animated conversation with Professor McGonagall, gesturing at a corner statue.
Once the last examiner vanished from the doorway, Professor Burbage returned to the High Table.
"It won't be easy this year," she murmured as she passed Anthony's seat.
Anthony considered it. "Because of the Muggle Protection Act?"
Professor Burbage took her seat without answering.
Anthony craned his neck. He saw the smile on her lips. He relaxed a fraction. If the Muggle Studies paper was tougher because of the Act, it probably wouldn't focus on long-dead Muggles.
His students' weakest areas were Muggle history, followed by Muggle technology. But if the exam covered contemporary British Muggle daily life… he even fancied their chances. Well. Fancied was the word.
…
With the fifth and seventh years in exams, the Great Hall was sealed by magic, only opening for meals. The students understood the gravity. Even with no classes, they made a point of avoiding that corridor when wandering. Only the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan claimed they'd hidden a few Screaming Pumpkins in the Hall's corners, but every house-elf assured the professors the Gryffindors were just trying to stir up trouble. The Hall was spotless, not a single pumpkin tendril in sight, and Hogwarts had no other screaming plants besides Mandrakes.
The examiners appeared by the great oak doors just before each exam began and left the castle mere minutes after it ended, sometimes carrying a crate of parchment filled with desperate answers, sometimes laden with tea and pastries the house-elves had labored over.
Before the Muggle Studies exam, Anthony deliberately walked back toward the Great Hall entrance. From a distance, he saw students milling about near the doors. Some stood against the walls, muttering at notebooks in the torchlight. Others huddled in low, urgent conversation with friends.
"Professor Anthony!" Ian shot up from the stairs. A cascade of empty Chocolate Frog wrappers tumbled from his robes.
Anthony quickened his pace. "Afternoon, Mr. Williams." He stopped at the foot of the stairs. A few crumpled wrappers rolled to his feet. He bent to pick them up. The cards inside were all gone.
Ian scrambled to stuff the wrappers into his pockets. "Professor, why are you—I mean, are we—er. Is everything alright?"
Anthony smiled. "That's what I wanted to ask you, Mr. Williams. Is everything alright?"
"Couldn't be worse. I mean, how much worse can it get? It's fine, Professor."
Several students had noticed Anthony now. A few of the more outgoing ones drifted over. "Professor, is something wrong?" Others lurking nearby watched them covertly.
Anthony realized he might have just ratcheted up the pressure for these fifth-years. Professors didn't usually appear before their own exam subjects.
"Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine." He waved a reassuring hand at the gathered students. "I was just… heading to Hogsmeade. Saw you all gathered here."
"Oh," a student said, sounding disappointed. "I thought you were going to tell us something."
"Like what?" Anthony asked, curious.
Cormac, a Gryffindor, ventured cautiously, "Like… the answers."
Anne, a Ravenclaw, suggested more rationally, "Like important topics."
Ian, a Hufflepuff, looked at Anthony with hope. "Like the exam's been canceled."
"Like you're all gonna fail! Ha! Sniveling, tantrums, broken arms, hospital wing!"
"Piss off, Peeves!"
Peeves cackled, pulled a face, and vanished with a sound like a colossal fart.
"Alright," Anthony said, looking at his first batch of students facing these exams. "I will tell you something. Muggles know—I know—a spell to help bring luck before a test. Everyone, gather round."
The students shuffled closer.
"The incantation is this: 'It's incredible how good I feel today.'" Anthony nodded. "Bit long, I know. You don't need to say it out loud. Just repeat it in your head. I feel really good today. And you truly believe it will happen, like you believe in any spell before you cast it. My mind is clear. I'm calm. I'm ready for any question. Then the magic works. You find it's actually true."
The students stared at him.
"Any questions?"
Anne asked, disappointed, "No review of key points, Professor Anthony?"
"No. Because that's what we've been doing all this time. Every topic I think you should know has been repeated over and over in class. Knowing you all, I think what you need most right now is to stay calm and focused. Any other questions?"
"Will you be teaching N.E.W.T. level next year?" a student from the outer ring called. "Sixth year?"
"Barring unforeseen circumstances, Professor Burbage will continue with the seventh years." She could provide them with a wealth of internship opportunities. "But given her other commitments, I'll likely handle the sixth-year class. Anything else?"
"What's the minimum grade to continue?"
"'Acceptable' is acceptable," Anthony said. "We can discuss other standards with good reason, but I don't think that grade should be a barrier for any of you. Right. I won't take up more of your time. Go back to what you were doing. One last time. You all feel really good today."
He smiled, shooing them away, and headed for the doors, pretending he really was going to Hogsmeade.
"Professor Anthony?" a student called hesitantly from the doorway.
"Yes?"
"Just… wanted you to know. If, even if, we don't do well. It doesn't mean you taught badly." The student was deadly serious. "You're not worse than Professor Burbage."
Anthony blinked. He laughed. "I know."
"We'll try our best, Professor," another student chimed in.
"I know," Anthony repeated. "And I think I did alright, because you've all made me incredibly proud. It's not about the grades. Every Muggle who met you during the practical sessions thought you were clever, kind, brilliant students. You passed the Muggle test long before the wizarding one."
The two students exchanged glances. A voice piped up beside them. "So… is there a reward, Professor Anthony?"
Anthony looked. It was Midgen.
Midgen looked a bit guilty. "I can still promise an 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher, Professor."
"What are you proposing, Miss Midgen?" Anthony asked, amused.
"The practical sessions!" Midgen said instantly. "Can we do another one, Professor Anthony?"
"I'll give it serious thought," Anthony said.
Midgen pressed on, hopeful. "Then… can I pet your cat after the exam, Professor Anthony?"
"I'd love to say yes, but I'm afraid the cat's answer would be no. A million times no." Anthony chuckled. "You can ask him later. For now, focus on the exam." He gestured behind them. The doors to the Great Hall were slowly swinging open.
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