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The first thing Anthony did after returning to the castle was take a bath.
His cat had initially wanted to politely rub against him, but stopped nearby, slowly arching its back and hissing at him.
"I know, I know," Anthony said helplessly. "Scouring Charms aren't omnipotent." He sniffed himself. "It's much better already. Cat, you should have seen me this morning."
He'd smelled like a mixture of redcurrant rum, dog food, and Fang's drool... or in Hagrid's words, "like Fang's tartar."
The standard bathroom in the staff quarters was a small cubicle that Anthony hadn't modified much. His room was mostly default furnishings, and his office still only had a desk, chair, and shelf. He hadn't even hung a suitable portrait or statue at the door—he'd rather carry keys around than set a password for his office.
He stared at the showerhead, thinking about yesterday's adventure. Since entering the magical world, he'd learned there were merpeople, unicorns, centaurs... but it had only been "knowledge." These thoughts were stored in his brain as information, but he'd never expected to see them with his own eyes.
It was somewhat like his attitude toward the aurora over glaciers.
He'd always lived in Britain. Because of his grandparents' health, he never traveled with classmates during holidays. After his grandparents passed away, his friends all had their own commitments, schedules never aligned, and he couldn't find travel companions. But knowing auroras existed in the world always made him happy.
These beautiful things were like distant anchors, keeping him from drifting too far in nightmares.
He left school to buy purely Muggle cooking ingredients from a supermarket. The price difference between the magical and non-magical worlds amazed him. After checking Hogsmeade village, he immediately decided to never buy any materials from magical shops, even if it meant he'd be the only one filling out expense reports in pounds.
He couldn't understand the price difference. Just separated by a brick wall, yet sunflower oil in the magical world was so expensive it was as if sunflowers were infertile there. Apparently the sun of the British Empire didn't shine on its magical portion.
He bought a huge pile of eggs, bacon, milk, flour, and from the seasonings section, oil, salt, sugar, and black pepper. These items formed a small mountain in his cart, so much so that the cashier glanced at him several times while queuing for payment.
"A grand party, sir?" the cashier asked between scanning items.
Anthony had been enviously watching him scan barcodes. His previous employer, Wheatley's Supermarket, was a traditional small retail store that still used ledgers and calculators until he left.
His admiring gaze at the scanner might have been mistaken for impatience, prompting the conversation.
"No, sir. Practical learning," Anthony replied.
This Thursday he planned to have fourth-year students try Muggle cooking.
The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class had chosen this topic. As a reward for everyone scoring full marks on two consecutive tests, Anthony let them choose the most interesting activity from a list of practical exercises.
The students were delighted when he announced the results. He'd heard some went back to consult Muggle-born classmates. The next morning at breakfast, there were unusually many owls carrying letters and publications... those teenagers hadn't cooked much either, so they simply wrote home to ask their parents.
Professor Sprout was also interested, but Wednesday was when the Bubotuber pus matured, and she'd spend the entire night harvesting and processing herbs, with no energy to cook with students at dawn. Anthony had to promise that if there were similar activities in the future, he'd definitely include her.
"But you already know how," Anthony said, puzzled. "You're not one of those wizards who solves everything with cooking spells."
"I know, but the students don't," Professor Sprout laughed. "If I can't see Severus complaining about exploded cauldrons, watching burnt pots would be quite interesting."
Anthony carefully considered the menu. He decided to start with the simplest breakfast: fried eggs and bacon. If all went well, they could try Yorkshire pudding next.
He convinced the house-elves to help temporarily transform the classroom into a restaurant kitchen—gleaming new stoves replaced the original desks, and the chalk and eraser storage became knife and dish organizers. For ventilation, the windows were enlarged at least twice.
To make these changes, Anthony had to explain at least thirty times to the elves that this was just a teaching activity. They couldn't understand why, when they'd prepared delicious food, the professor and students still insisted on doing it themselves, nor why Anthony needed to buy materials outside.
"Our eggs are very good!" Cocoa said sadly. "We picked them carefully—all eggs are over three ounces!"
"Yes, that's exactly the reason," Anthony said helplessly. "Muggles don't normally eat eggs that are all over three ounces."
Fortunately, this kitchen-like classroom won the students' favor. Everyone's first words upon opening the door were "Wow." Anthony, wearing a chef's uniform, stood at the podium piled with ingredients to welcome them.
"Take one egg," he said, stopping students who headed straight for the stoves upon entering. "We'll start with fried eggs."
Although students thought fried eggs were boring, the practical session was still full of mishaps.
"The pan bottom isn't completely coated with oil, right? No, no, Muggles don't have Scouring Charms. Use this, a wire scrubber."
"The oil temperature is too low. Heat it a bit more."
Anthony walked between the stoves. Contrary to his expectations (but exactly as Professor Sprout had predicted), all the students who burnt their pans were Hufflepuffs.
"Aren't you right next to the kitchens?" he asked, puzzled. "I thought you'd all be good at cooking."
His student raised high the hand clutching the wire scrubber and shouted, "Professor, that's a stereotype!" They'd just covered stereotypes between wizards and Muggles in the last lesson.
Anthony laughed. "All right, sorry. Strong rebuttal—one point to Hufflepuff."
Thank goodness he'd bought double the materials, or this practical might have needed to borrow eggs from the house-elves right at the start—a completely non-Muggle solution.
But the students all had great fun. They clumsily pushed spatulas, trying to shape fried eggs into various forms. Without molds, one gifted student even successfully fried a star-shaped egg.
Anthony immediately regretted awarding the point.
After classmates discovered this student's shaping talent, he kept shuttling between stoves, helping classmates fry eggs into their specified shapes. Soon Anthony's desk was filled with various shaped fried eggs—stars were most common, followed by hearts, and the more difficult ones spelled their name initials.
"What was the original idea for this one?" Anthony asked, pointing at a crooked elongated fried egg. He even thought it looked like an egg-colored slug.
"It's you, Professor," the student said sheepishly.
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