Professor Kettleburn wants to arrange his own exam immediately

According to Dumbledore, only Professor McGonagall and Snape among the staff clearly knew that the right-hand corridor on the third floor was merely a trap for those seeking the secret of eternal life. Even if some of the other professors had vague suspicions, the Headmaster never confirmed anything. When Quirrell's seat once again became vacant, people assumed that the miserable professor had locked himself in his office to cry again.

However, before Professor McGonagall could prepare her notification letter, Professor Kettleburn took it upon himself to visit Quirrell's office on the second floor as per their prior agreement. After waiting outside the door for half an hour with no response, the old professor grew impatient and began banging his walking stick and prosthetic limbs against the garlic portrait in frustration.

Still, the "bad boy" didn't open the door. When Professor Kettleburn, in a fit of frustration, attempted to force it open, all of his prosthetic limbs somehow got caught in the painting's frame. He tugged furiously and yelled, finally rousing Anthony from next door.

"Professor Kettleburn?" Anthony, hair disheveled and dressed in pajamas, opened the door to witness a comical sight.

The venerable, elderly Care of Magical Creatures professor, with all three of his prosthetic limbs stuck in the painting's frame, hung suspended in the corridor like a primate, his good arm clutching his cane while he struggled against the painting of garlic.

"Let me in!" Professor Kettleburn shouted. "Let me in, Quirrell, or come out yourself!"

Anthony quickly rushed forward to free the old professor. "Quirrell... well, Professor Quirrell has left."

Professor Kettleburn angrily shook his wooden prosthetic leg, which made a tooth-rattling creak.

"Left? More like ran away!" he shouted. "You keep putting me off because you don't want to give me a proper environment for my exam!"

"Exam?" Anthony asked, ushering the old professor into his office. He quickly changed out of his pajamas, then poured some tea for Professor Kettleburn while shooting a warning glance at his eager cat. The cat was eyeing Kettleburn's weathered wooden leg with far too much interest. Anthony had to admit that it did resemble the cat's favorite scratching post that Professor McGonagall had gifted him.

Professor Kettleburn collapsed into the guest chair, grabbed the tea, and continued grumbling, "My exam, the Care of Magical Creatures exam. Those animals—oh, hang on, who's this?" He suddenly noticed the ginger cat staring at him. He put down his tea and started making faces at the cat.

The cat gave him a disdainful look, then turned away disinterested. It leapt onto its cat tree and began scratching and biting its toy. The jingling sound from the toys woke up the wraith mouse that had been sleeping on the upper level. It poked its head out to investigate but quickly retreated into its nest when it saw Professor Kettleburn.

But the sharp-eyed professor had already noticed: "What is that? A mouse?" He gripped the armrest and tried to stand up for a closer look at the transparent creature.

Not wanting the sleepy mouse to deal with the overly excited professor, Anthony steered the conversation back on track: "Yes, it's a mouse. Now, about the Care of Magical Creatures exam, Professor?"

"Ah, where was I... oh yes, those magical animals," Professor Kettleburn said, his excitement returning. "I've prepared different challenges for each year group, especially for the upper years—it's all practical exams. There's one where they have to tell the difference between a sparrow and a hedgehog, and another with Crup-tailed dogs and hounds... But I need to know the timing and location of the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. What if Quirrell also decided to hold his exam near the edge of the Forbidden Forest? I can't have his students scaring off my creatures."

Anthony nodded. "That makes sense."

"I asked all the professors who need to organize practical exams, and only Professor Quirrell hasn't given me an exact exam time!" Professor Kettleburn said angrily, leaning heavily on his crutch. "So, of course, I politely sent him an owl to ask when the exam's time and place could be determined..."

Anthony couldn't help but ask, "But don't our elective courses have to be tested a little earlier than the core subjects? A week in advance every time?"

"Oh, really?" Professor Kettleburn looked a bit surprised.

"Professor Quirrell told me," Anthony replied, now wondering if Voldemort had fed him false information.

Professor Kettleburn gazed into the distance, thinking hard. After a moment, he shook his head. "No, I don't recall such a rule… Oh, wait, yes. Practical exams do need to declare their exam content, expected duration, and location one week earlier than subjects that only have written exams. You must have misheard—the exam week is unified, but the application time is the issue."

"Great," Anthony blurted out.

He still hadn't come up with a good exam question, but it definitely wouldn't involve any more practical work. After the practical activities, Anthony felt there was no longer a need for additional hands-on supervision of students experiencing Muggle life firsthand.

Professor Kettleburn gave him a knowing look. "You haven't come up with a good test yet, have you?"

Anthony took a sip of tea, smiling sheepishly. "Not yet."

"It doesn't matter. Just reuse past questions," Professor Kettleburn leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I've never changed my written exam questions. Students call me 'Old Fool' behind my back, but, ha, don't think I don't know—they're quite happy with it..."

As a newly appointed professor, Anthony declined the offer and turned the conversation back to his elusive neighbor.

"So, you sent the owl, and then what?"

Professor Kettleburn leaned back in his chair. "Well, then, of course, I started waiting for his reply. I went to the owlery twice a day—mind you, look at me, it's not an easy task for someone my age—and finally, yesterday, I received a reply. I was in the owlery at the time, helping clean out the troughs—some clumsy idiot had dumped corn kernels into them..."

"Uh..." said the guilty party.

"Anyway, this owl flew past the window, probably saw me, and decided to lend a hand with the trough. Guess what? Quirrell's reply was tied to its leg, asking me to meet him in his office this morning for a discussion."

Anthony hesitated, "Um... How was the letter written? How do you know for sure it was from Professor Quirrell?"

Professor Kettleburn puffed out his chest proudly. "I taught him, of course—I recognize his handwriting. Besides, who else would it be from? But I was quite upset when I saw the note. Professor Anthony, you can't imagine how rude the writing was! No greeting, no signature—just a hastily scribbled note after I waited so long!"

"Ah." Anthony replied awkwardly. "That's rather unfortunate."

...

After seeing off Professor Kettleburn, Anthony, who no longer felt like sleeping, played with his two pets for a while before deciding to take a stroll to the staff lounge and start drafting his exam questions.

He bumped into Professor McGonagall there.

"Henry, I thought you might come by," she said, glancing up from the stack of papers in front of her. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you regarding your teaching practice."

"What's the matter, Minerva?" Anthony asked, opening a cabinet. "Tea?"

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "No, thank you… I noticed Mr. Davis was in the third group of your teaching practice. The zoo, right?"

"That's correct," Anthony said, already guessing where this conversation was heading.

Sure enough, Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and said, "We're concerned that he may not be able to participate due to his condition, but he seems to be looking forward to the activities... After Filius came back yesterday, he went straight to the school hospital. They told me they have some ideas and might make some progress before the holiday."

Anthony volunteered, "How about we postpone the Muggle Studies practical activities until... well, next school year? I'll communicate with the zoo." He thought for a moment, then added, "Since we're postponing the third group, we should postpone the chocolate factory trip as well. Otherwise, only six students across two grades who chose the course won't get to participate in the practical activities."

"That sounds perfect. I'll issue a school guarantee to the parents," Professor McGonagall said. "But it's not just about the zoo or the factory. You may also need to consider how to explain this to the students..."

Anthony joked, "That's easy. I'll just tell them it's because I didn't have time to make the test questions. The final exams take priority."

Even while facing a parchment filled with barely legible handwriting, Professor McGonagall couldn't help but laugh.

"It's up to you, Henry," she said. "You could also say I gave you strict orders."

At that moment, a large group of professors entered the lounge. Leading them was Professor Sprout, who was chatting with Professor Burbage. Anthony didn't notice Professor Flitwick until they entered. Trailing behind the short Head of Ravenclaw was a rather sullen Snape.

Professor Flitwick looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. He nodded at Anthony and gratefully took the teapot he offered.

"Is it true, Minerva?" Professor Sprout asked. "Quirinus? Did he really try to steal the Philosopher's Stone?"

Professor McGonagall replied gravely, "I'm afraid so, and I'm sorry."

"The Philosopher's Stone?" Anthony asked, suddenly realizing that this was the so-called "secret of immortality." There had been so many things to report to Dumbledore, and so many questions he wanted to ask, that he'd never gotten around to inquiring what exactly the secret was.

But Professor Flitwick misunderstood Anthony's confusion. He took a sip of tea, which seemed to wake him up a bit. In his sharp voice, he explained, "Yes, the Philosopher's Stone, the one created by Nicolas Flamel. It can turn objects into gold and also produce the Elixir of Life... You wouldn't believe how many people covet it. If Flamel weren't such a powerful wizard, thieves and robbers would visit his house daily. As it is, twice a week is still pretty frequent."

"Especially when you've lived for over 600 years," Anthony added in understanding.

After being deceived into buying a fake "Elixir of Life," Anthony had learned more about the legendary alchemist. He recalled, "I remember reading that he stored the Philosopher's Stone in Gringotts."

"Before the school year started—before you arrived—there was an attempted robbery at Gringotts. I'm sure you remember hearing about it," Professor Sprout said. "That was for the Philosopher's Stone. Mr. Flamel gave the Stone to Albus, and Albus stored it in Gringotts. But one day, for reasons unknown, he suddenly decided to remove it and bring it to Hogwarts. That same day, someone tried to break into the vault... Luckily, the Stone had already been moved."

Anthony started piecing it together. The professors were undoubtedly asked to help set the traps he had seen in the rooms and corridors.

Professor Burbage suddenly held her breath and asked, "And where is the Philosopher's Stone now?" Without waiting for an answer, she slapped her forehead and said, "Oh, I see, the corridor!"

"Albus asked each of us to come up with ways to guard the Philosopher's Stone," Professor McGonagall said calmly. "And yes, it's in the forbidden corridor. Coincidentally, Quirrell was involved too."

At that moment, the door to the lounge burst open with a loud bang. Professor Kettleburn limped in, waving a piece of parchment.

"Did you all see this?" he asked.

The professors quickly sent a chair flying to him, and he unceremoniously threw away his crutches, sat down, and rubbed his remaining leg.

"What happened to your leg, Sylvanus?" Professor Sprout asked with concern.

Professor Kettleburn complained, "Got a wooden splinter stuck in it... My prosthetic leg needs repairing again."

Professor Flitwick suggested, "I really think you should switch to metal prosthetics. Most alchemical products are made from metal, and it's sturdier—especially since magic doesn't work well on it. If the repair spell can't be used, metal would be more durable."

"No," Professor Kettleburn replied firmly. "I like my arms and legs to clatter, not clank."

Professor McGonagall asked, "Why are you here, Sylvanus?"

At the same time, Professor Flitwick hopped down from his chair as if he couldn't stand it any longer. He pointed his wand at Kettleburn's leg and muttered something under his breath.

"It really works!" Kettleburn said happily, adjusting his leg comfortably on the footstool. "Where did you learn that trick?"

"St. Mungo's," Flitwick replied. "I was there this morning and ran into some students I know."

"You should visit more often," Kettleburn remarked casually, then turned back to McGonagall. "I came as soon as I saw the letter you sent. Is it true?"

"About Quirrell?" McGonagall asked. "Yes, it's true."

Kettleburn beamed, "Well, that's great news! Can we cancel the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam then?"

The staff room went silent. Anthony quickly realized that it wasn't just Voldemort who had fled—it was also a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who hadn't submitted his final exam.

He glanced at the stern-looking McGonagall, then caught Professor Sprout's eye. Both of them smiled. Part of McGonagall's mind was undoubtedly opposed to canceling the exam, but another part of her clearly didn't want to step in as a temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"If you're short-staffed, I might have some time... willing to oblige, Minerva," Snape said politely. Anthony turned, surprised—Snape had been so quiet that he'd nearly forgotten he was there.

McGonagall seemed to make up her mind. "No, Severus, you've got seventh-year Potions to handle. You're already busy enough. It's time for Albus to take care of this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts situation."