Chapter 238. The Final Exam.
The weekend passed quietly, as usual, without incident, which pleased Severus somewhat. Then Monday arrived once more, bringing the second-to-last day of school.
The thesis defense was the final stage of N.E.W.T.s after completing all subject exams. It was typically conducted separately for seventh-years, the day before everyone boarded the Hogwarts Express. This year, however, the staff had decided to make an exception and allow students from first through sixth years to attend, so they could see for themselves what awaited them and what they should prepare for.
The thesis most often consisted of a specific magical research project or an analysis of existing work with examples and applications to a particular field. For the most part, it was not especially difficult, provided, of course, that the student hadn't slacked off for all seven years.
Such work was often included in a graduate's portfolio. When applying for a position at, say, the Ministry of Magic, it served as an additional advantage, much like an Outstanding in one's personal file, assuming the topic was chosen to match one's intended profession.
For this reason, writing the thesis usually began after the New Year holidays. Topics could be chosen by the students themselves, subject to approval by the head of house, or assigned by the school if the student had no ideas or the head of house withheld approval. Typically, everyone chose the first option, and the professors most often made concessions and helped students with their choices, so they could present themselves in the best possible light before potential employers.
The teachers, in turn, did not always work solely out of idealism, not counting the supervision salary, unlike McGonagall.
Many, thanks to such help and special patronage, cultivated connections in the Ministry of Magic, at Mungo's, and at Gringotts. Slughorn was the prime example.
Usually, to be accepted for a Potions exam, wizards waited months for a commission to assemble, for those ahead of them to pass, for those who paid to be fast-tracked, or for those with influential relatives. But thanks to his connections and his Golden Cauldron, Slughorn could resolve such issues in a couple of days.
And that was only the minimum the Head of Slytherin could do, for he had a genuine gift for finding uncut diamonds. It was precisely because of those connections that Dumbledore so often had to take the Potions Master's opinion into account.
The defense itself was scheduled for four o'clock in the afternoon, so that students could have lunch, the Ministry commission could arrive at Hogwarts and prepare, and the professors could finish their other business.
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By half past three on Monday, students had already begun gathering in the Great Hall. Two tables in the center had been pushed slightly back, and a wooden podium stood before the high table, specially prepared for the presentations.
The younger students, mainly from first through fourth years, were not particularly pleased to have been forced to attend such a dull event. But the fifth-years, and especially the sixth-years, were delighted.
After all, each of them wanted to know what awaited them in the future and what they should prepare for.
It was one thing when older siblings, parents, or friends told you about it; it was quite another to witness it firsthand. For that reason, the latter had occupied nearly all the front seats, closest to the podium.
The high table was already almost fully occupied by professors and the examination commission, which consisted of three elderly men in gray robes. They appeared only slightly younger than Dumbledore, who sat at the very center.
They resembled one another closely, like biological brothers, distinguished mainly by the badges on their chests bearing the letter 'M', silver on two of them and gold on the third.
But Severus, seated at the Slytherin table near the middle, noticed another difference: their auras.
The auras of the first two were already withering, like those of ordinary elderly wizards nearing the end of their lives. But the third man's aura blazed, as if he were not old at all but a contemporary of Slughorn.
This didn't particularly surprise Severus; he saw such a rarity in Albus nearly every day, though Dumbledore's aura blazed even brighter. Achieving such vitality wasn't difficult; one simply had to drink life-extending elixirs.
He also registered the man's strength: at the peak of the Master rank, while the other two were merely at its apex. In a year or two, then, Britain might have another Magister, though one still inferior in strength to Dumbledore and Tom. But besides him, by that time Bellatrix would most likely be able to contend with Riddle, though she would still fall far short of the headmaster. And Albus was unlikely to stand still; he would probably advance to the middle of the Magister rank within a couple of years. Whether he could then match Arnold or the leader of the Necromancer Community was another question.
As Severus kept his eyes fixed on the old man, the latter regarded the young man with mild curiosity. It was hard not to recognize the young prodigy who had saved the country in a moment of crisis, especially when the Minister of Magic himself demanded he be treated with respect and practically thrust his photograph in your face, clearly considering you a senile old fool who couldn't remember a single person.
*It's one thing to see him in a photograph, and quite another to see him in person. What an interesting young man.* The old man smirked, stroking his snow-white beard thoughtfully. He sensed something strange in Severus, though he couldn't quite identify what. And he was in no hurry to try; after all, no one was paying him for it. *Ah, if only my grandson were the same. Then I might already be resting peacefully in the afterlife, enjoying a cup of tea with milk and conversation with Merlin, instead of worrying that he'll squander the entire fortune.* And the old man sank deep into his musings, while Severus stopped reading his mind and, resting his head on the table, closed his eyes.
"Severus, I don't understand you. How can you be so calm?" Regulus asked, puzzled, glancing at the other seventh-years. Some were preparing for their presentations, reading thick books; others were nervously fidgeting with something in their hands or mumbling to themselves; and one, with folded hands, was even praying. Only Severus looked as calm as a boa constrictor, stroking Nagini's head. Because of this, the seat to his right was empty, and the Slytherin sitting behind him watched them both warily. Her coloring alone made it clear that a bite from Nagini meant certain death, most likely instantaneous. And she had quite the appearance: if you ran into something like her at night without a wand, you'd be hard-pressed not to soil yourself.
"Hm? What is there to worry about?" Severus looked at him, genuinely puzzled. "We're not going to war."
"Even so…" He sighed. "Fine. Honestly, I can't believe you're already finishing Hogwarts." With a note of sadness in his voice, Black glanced at Layla, who was seated in front of him reading a parchment. "And what am I going to do here for another whole year…"
"Study."
"That's obvious. I'm talking about something else."
"Study," Severus repeated with a slight smile. "And you have plenty of friends among the other Slytherins. You won't feel lost." He patted Regulus on the shoulder and, after a moment's thought, grinned and winked, lowering his voice. "And don't worry, I did promise to play matchmaker, so no one will steal her away. Besides, who doesn't dream of having a son-in-law from the House of Black—one of the noblest families?"
His words embarrassed Regulus slightly, but by now the young man had grown accustomed to Severus's teasing and reacted far more calmly.
"By the way, what about our lessons? You're leaving the country in September, aren't you?" He decided to change the subject; conversations like this, right in front of Greengrass, still made him a bit self-conscious.
"My house-elf will help you." Severus caught sight of the aristocrat's face turning pink behind her parchment, and his grin widened, but he decided to keep that small detail to himself. Noticing the frown on Regulus's face, he added, "And don't look at me like that. This little one could give even Dumbledore a run for his money, and he'd twist Voldie into a pretzel."
"Severus, how many times have I told you — don't call him that."
"I'll call him whatever I like. I have neither sympathy nor respect for that nonentity. Quite the opposite." For a moment, his eyes darkened and became faintly frightening, making Regulus deeply uncomfortable. The tension in the air could have been cut with a knife, but —
"Hm? What are you two talking about?" came Layla's curious voice, making Regulus flinch and turn his attention to her.
"We were talking about… the exam." Meeting her gaze, he offered an awkward smile, but it was unnatural and forced, which of course didn't escape her notice. She decided, however, to pretend she hadn't seen anything, so as not to embarrass him further. She also made a mental note to ask about it later, when they were alone.
"Is that so…"
"Exactly," Severus agreed. "He was asking why I'm not nervous."
"Well, with your topic, you don't need to worry. Even if you said nothing at all, your research and results would be more than enough to earn the diploma. I'm a little envious, honestly."
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For the next twenty minutes, as the Great Hall gradually filled with students from every house, Severus continued talking with Regulus, though they discussed other subjects. Layla only occasionally joined their conversation, focusing most of her attention on the parchment containing her speech and presentation outline.
Severus himself made a point of not bringing up Tom again. He planned to deal with that matter during the holidays, and he knew how to work on people quite well. The fact that he had already managed to knock quite a bit of blood-purity nonsense out of Regulus's head, and to get Bellatrix to treat him and Muggles far better, spoke volumes.
They didn't have to wait long for the proceedings to begin. When the last grain of sand in the hourglass on the professors' table slipped through the narrow glass neck, small bells rang, followed by a cough, and then the Headmaster spoke.
"I would like to congratulate all our seventh-years who have reached the final stage of the exam. But this is no reason to relax. One of the most difficult parts of the N.E.W.T.s is about to begin, though there's no need to worry. I am certain that each of you will succeed, and that you will all defend your work and earn a worthy grade." He looked toward each table with an encouraging smile. "But before we begin, I would like to introduce the members of the examination commission from the Ministry of Magic: Faris Stump and Douglas Stump, of the Department of Magical Education." He indicated the two old men with silver badges, who nodded slightly. "Also, Thomas Lynch, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is attending today's exam as a member of the commission." At the mention of his name, the eyes of many seventh-years who had long wished to work at the Ministry lit up. "I see no point in introducing our teachers, as each of you already knows them well, as do the commission members." A closed parchment appeared in Dumbledore's hand. He opened it, and was momentarily surprised to see the first name, one he had planned to place last, but… "Very well, I will not draw out my remarks. Let us proceed to the defense. Mr. Prince, please." He gestured toward the podium.
Severus, who had planned to nap for the next couple of hours, was somewhat surprised to be called first; he had expected to be placed last, for the sake of spectacle and suspense. But he rose calmly from the table and approached the wooden podium under the gaze of everyone in the hall.
"Begin. We are listening." Albus nodded slightly, sat down at the table, and folded his hands before him, his expression unchanged.
"Very well. First, I would like to address the examining committee. The topic of my thesis is Dragon Pox. The relevance of this subject is obvious: beyond being nearly one hundred percent lethal without prompt treatment, it spreads easily through the air, as demonstrated by the incident in Calston." At the mention of that name, Thomas's face pinched slightly, as if he had just bitten into a very sour lemon. "An infected wizard arrived at a Muggle celebration and, within a few hours, spread the disease to nearly every wizard and Muggle present. Had the Aurors not arrived in time, it would likely have spread further and could easily have become a full-blown epidemic. For that reason, last year I began working on Gunhilda of Gorsemoor's anti-dragon pox serum and succeeded in improving it, increasing the chance of full recovery to ninety-nine percent. But first, let us begin with the theoretical portion: what kind of disease this is and what it entails."
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