For some reason, except for Gryffindor third-years, all students performed exceptionally well on the quiz. Fourth-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs even achieved perfect scores across the board. Anthony had to promise to buy another bag of candy and distribute it next class.
Moreover, these nervous students all showed identical expressions of disbelief when receiving their papers.
Fourth-years repeatedly confirmed with him, asking if he'd mistakenly distributed third-year papers. In another third-year class, Anthony even heard a Ravenclaw muttering indignantly while rapidly checking correct answers, "The Weasley twins... really got them... fooled everyone..."
Students' accuracy far exceeded his expectations. If he weren't certain all four classes had different papers, he'd even suspect they'd shared answers privately.
"You're even more excellent than I imagined." After reviewing the papers, he tapped the podium to draw students' attention back. "I admit, I underestimated you somewhat. Ten points to each house."
Students erupted in cheers. Megan shouted while clapping, "Don't resign, Professor Anthony! You're the best!"
Anthony had to repeatedly assure them he had absolutely no plans to resign less than a month into term.
"Has any professor resigned?" He asked curiously.
Perfect scores across the class correspondingly meant less time needed to review papers. Plus students had even submitted early—before class ended, all tasks were complete, leaving plenty of time for chatting.
"Professor Quirrell." A Hufflepuff student said enthusiastically. "Oh, he didn't exactly resign. Should be on leave? Then Professor Burbage came, then you came, Professor, and Professor Quirrell returned as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Anthony calculated. "You happened to meet Professor Burbage right when you selected the course?"
"Right." Students grinned. "We're lucky—didn't have to change textbooks. Previous years all complained the textbook changes were too drastic, having to relearn everything from scratch."
Anthony made a mental note to ask Professor Burbage about Muggle Studies' examination standards when he had time.
The library archives contained some past papers. He'd examined them carefully—they weren't too disconnected from the real world. If Hogwarts students had been answering with 17th-century answers until the year before last, last year's suddenly elevated pass rate was easily understandable.
...
After class, Anthony didn't return to his office. He planned to relax in the staff room and chat with people, but was surprised to find it empty when he pushed open the door.
He sat down, randomly pulled a detailed Transfiguration text from the communal bookshelf, settled comfortably in a dark wood chair, and began browsing.
He hadn't practiced Transfiguration these past days—the necromancer's notebook contents were extremely chaotic. Experiment records, magical research, diary entries, and meaningless doodles interspersed with each other, requiring him to spend considerable time deducing the chronological order of records and organizing useful information. This work was fascinating but left his eyes extremely dry.
He decided to give himself a break. When studying necromancy, he kept recalling his nightmares. The empty office, the simple bedroom—they increasingly resembled a familiar coffin. If not for his cat still wandering the room, brushing its cool fur against his ankles, he might plunge into the abyss of hallucination at any moment.
The staff room fire swayed gently in the fireplace. Firewood crackled. Sparks spiraled and flew. On the empty armchair, shadows flickered bright and dark in the firelight. Anthony gently placed the book on his chest, nearly falling asleep.
Suddenly someone pushed open the ajar staff room door. "...Of course, look at his father! Ah, Professor Anthony."
"What's wrong?" Anthony woke. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall entered.
Professor McGonagall rarely entered the staff room. She sat at the table with a smile. "We've found our Seeker."
"Who is it?" Anthony asked curiously.
"Potter." Professor McGonagall's tone held faint pride. "I don't like to boast, but—just wait and see, Professor Anthony. When Quidditch season starts, he'll surprise everyone."
"He certainly will! Though Ravenclaw also has some good prospects. To be fair, all very good team members." Professor Flitwick said happily. "Tea, Minerva?"
"Yes, thank you." Professor McGonagall nodded, took the floating teacup, sipped, then said, "Oh, wait." She stood briskly, holding her cup and heading out. "Please enjoy your afternoon tea. I still have things to do."
"But, Minerva, just one cup of tea's time!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed. He was still adding milk to his tea, hadn't even sat down.
"Very urgent matter." Professor McGonagall said calmly. "I need to buy Potter a broom."
She left gracefully.
"She's determined to defeat Severus, isn't she?" Professor Flitwick complained.
He pulled several books from the shelf, stacked them to raise his chair, and sat beside Anthony. "Ah, Twenty-Five Common Transfigurations Explained. Excellent book. Some very unique insights on Transfiguration, like living creature transformation..." He enthusiastically discussed the book's novel exposition on Transfiguration.
Anthony chatted with him briefly before becoming distracted.
Professor Flitwick was erudite and knowledgeable, with his own understanding of various magics—unfortunately not necromancy. Anthony had been studying necromancy recently and had some speculations and results, but couldn't share them with anyone. This thirst for academic exchange nearly drove him mad.
Perhaps he should have lunch with Dumbledore, then invite him to observe a walking roast chicken. Dumbledore might like his creativity—who knew?
Yes, he'd recently discovered that a large portion of the house-elves' kitchen labor—whether steamed, boiled, fried, or roasted—could be crudely classified by necromancy as "corpses." This was truly bizarre, so he'd followed his grandfather's admonition: don't play with your food. This applied equally to seven-year-old and twenty-seven-year-old Anthony.
His cat lacked such awareness. Since discovering Anthony could make dried fish move, it ignored dried fish lying quietly in the food bowl.
But it was a cat after all. Anthony didn't plan to teach it table manners. Even if only the skeletal part was one hundred percent cat.
He suddenly wondered if he could control the cat to revert to skeletal form, or disguise it better.
Necromancy should have a branch for changing appearance. The notebook recorded how they'd summoned horse bones for transportation on mountain roads. Because sitting was uncomfortable, the mentor had made the horse bones grow false muscles and fur. They'd ridden two undead horses needing neither food nor rest all the way to the next village—no villagers noticed anything unusual. The notebook just didn't explain how this was done.
"I also remembered something I need to do." Anthony drained the last of his tea and said apologetically to Professor Flitwick. He couldn't wait to return and test his new ideas.