Our whole group was currently having breakfast at the Slytherin table. Tobias and I were enjoying our food as usual, while Draco, Agnes, and Theo were merely picking at their plates with one hand, clutching open textbooks convulsively in the other. It was interesting to note that all three of them had Transfiguration in front of them; clearly, they considered it their most difficult subject.
I didn't care. I knew I'd pass, and I wasn't at all worried about whether I'd get an 'O' (Outstanding). With a smile, I watched Agnes. She looked stressed, fidgeting, and it seemed she was moments away from biting her nails out of sheer nerves. Suddenly, she caught my gaze.
"What? Why are you grinning like a bloody idiot?" she growled irritably.
I smirked in amusement and just shook my head. She glared at me for a moment longer, but then she realized she had overreacted.
"Sorry," she muttered apologetically, "I'm just incredibly stressed."
"It's fine, I get it... But you're all talented and you've worked your asses off on both theory and practice all year. I don't think you should have any problem."
"We worked, yeah... but the grades during the year don't mean anything. Those are just indicative. The final exams are what decide everything. All that matters is what we show them now," Agnes snapped. "How do you not know that?"
"No idea. Where did you get that from?"
"Except for Binns, every professor has mentioned it during the year, Patrik..." Theodore smirked at me, though he still looked rather grumpy.
"Ah," I mumbled. "So maybe I'll end up with decent grades after all," I added with a grin.
"Pfft," Agnes snorted and went back to her book.
Draco didn't react to our exchange at all. It looked like his father was exceptionally demanding regarding grades—Draco was unusually pale.
As for the exams, each year had its designated day. Our exam Monday was shared with the second-years; we didn't meet directly in the classroom, but we took turns. We were starting with Transfiguration. The upper years had the day off today to gain more study time—after all, the fifth and seventh years were the most important, and the professors wanted to give them maximum peace for preparation.
Since I had learned that everything was decided by the final grade and the continuous results were only indicative, I decided I would truly make an effort with the result.
After breakfast, we sat for a while longer, but ten minutes before the start, we headed to the classroom. We stopped outside the doors; we had a few minutes to spare. We weren't alone; the corridor was full of Slytherins and Ravenclaws. I nodded a greeting to Sally, which she returned, but I noticed Agnes scowling at her. The truth was, however, that Agnes had been scowling since morning.
"Everyone, take a deep breath, hold it, and exhale. Several times in a row. Let's go," I commanded, and I began to breathe demonstratively myself. "You've worked hard all year, some ordinary exams aren't going to rattle you."
I noticed several students from both houses obeyed me and began breathing according to my instructions. Davis, Greengrass, Sallow, Sally, and even Parkinson... Only Zabini was "chilling," leaning against the wall. At least from what I managed to notice.
When the time came, the doors opened and we began to file into the classroom, where Professor McGonagall was already waiting. With a stern gaze, she checked the number of students, and when she saw we were all present, she gave the order:
"Before you lies a parchment with questions. You must answer every single one of them. You may only use the quill provided with the parchment, which has been charmed against cheating. You have thirty minutes. Prepare yourselves."
We all sat properly in our seats, and under her sharp gaze, we didn't dare start earlier without a signal. When she was satisfied, with a simple wave of her wand and a quiet, faint Depulso, she flipped the hourglass.
"Begin!"
The scratching sound was immediate as everyone lifted their quills at once. Quickly, I wrote my name and surname in the corner and began reading the questions. There were ten of them:
What is the difference between a specific and a universal transfiguration spell?
Which spell serves to reverse transfiguration, and what must be kept in mind when using it?
What is transfiguration unsuitable for?
What is the difference between single and multiple transfiguration? Give an example using the same magical power.
And so it continued, from practical questions to theoretical ones. Honestly, I made an effort and answered each one relatively comprehensively; I wasn't as brief as I usually was with my essays. The only thing that could be wrong with my test was the handwriting. I still scrawled like a cat.
I finished about ten minutes before the others—at least according to my watch. The hourglass was quite "old school," and I couldn't tell the time exactly by looking at the grains of sand... which, however, was not Professor McGonagall's problem.
"You have your final five minutes, students," she announced into the silence.
Some were calm, others frustrated. Agnes, fortunately, was finally at peace. It looked like she knew roughly everything, so I didn't have to worry about her wanting to stab me with a fork out of nerves. Sallow looked nervous, and Parkinson was tapping her foot rapidly under the table.
"That is enough, quills down," the professor commanded. She placed two books on the desk and flicked her wand. She tossed two books into the air and flicked her wand. The books transformed mid-air into simple, faceless stone figures that calmly walked around collecting the tests. Once the parchments were placed on her desk, another flick of her wand turned the figures back into books.
"Practical testing follows. A single spell and one minute of time. Enter through the doors one by one," she announced sternly. After a moment, she added: "Miss Patil, you are closest, you will go first."
Patil froze as if she were walking to her execution, but after a moment, she headed resolutely after McGonagall. When she returned a few minutes later, the others immediately swarmed her with questions, but she just shook her head—the professor had clearly forbidden her from speaking. Before the questioning could gain momentum, a voice called from inside: "Next!"
The students looked at each other indecisively, so I stood up. I wanted to get it over with.
I found myself in a spacious office. In front of me stood a table with an ordinary goblet, and McGonagall sat behind the desk. She immediately ordered me: "Mr. Rosier, transform this goblet into a snuffbox. You have one minute."
In my mind, I immediately visualized a snuffbox in silver colors with an emerald thorn pattern around the entire circumference. In the center, I placed our family crest. When the image was perfect, I uttered: "Verto!"
The goblet smoothly flattened and expanded until it became exactly the snuffbox I had planned.
McGonagall looked at me for a small moment with her mouth slightly open. However, she quickly recovered when she caught my gaze.
"I expected a specific spell, not a universal one, Mr. Rosier. Nevertheless... excellent work and great talent. I firmly believe that next year you will come to your senses and stop wasting your gifts. Your theoretical work and class participation have significant room for improvement," she praised and rebuked me at the same time with her typical scowl. Then she nodded for me to leave.
"Thank you," I replied with a smile and headed for the door.
As soon as I stepped out, everyone swarmed me with questions, but I just shrugged. Even if I told them what it was about, it wouldn't change anything—either you know the spell or you don't. Draco was already walking in determinedly, and I settled in comfortably, waiting for the others.
One by one they came out, and from their smiles, it was clear that all my friends had handled it without problems. However, anyone who expected them to be calmer after the exam would be mistaken. Agnes might have come out smiling, but it didn't last long; she immediately pulled out a spellbook and began preparing for Professor Flitwick. Once everyone from our group had been tested, we slowly moved to his classroom.
It wasn't long before our entire group from Slytherin and Ravenclaw was back in front of the doors. I noticed Davis breathing exactly according to my instructions, and she wasn't the only one. When the doors opened and the tiny Professor Flitwick appeared with a wide smile, he enthusiastically called us in:
"Enter, young wizards! The time has come to show what you have learned!"
Once again, we sat at the desks. With unconcealed enthusiasm, Flitwick repeated basically the same thing McGonagall had:
"Dear students, before you are the questions. I have charmed the quills myself against cheating, but I believe you will have no problem with the answers! You have thirty minutes. Prepare yourselves!"
When we were all ready, he gave a short nod and a wave of his wand signaled that we could begin. He uttered no incantation and there was no visible effect—not even any clocks moved. However, I felt a subtle magical breeze. I couldn't specify it exactly, so I preferred to get to work. Again, there were ten questions on the test.
How do we determine magical difficulty in spells?
Explain the emphasis on syllables in three spells of your choice.
Explain the effectiveness of the Alohomora spell—what can it open and what are its limits?
Regarding the Lumos spell—what does the color and intensity of the light depend on?
There were ten questions, and it seemed to me that this test was theoretically more demanding than Transfiguration. It had its meaning, though—if you overestimated yourself with a spell and misjudged the "magical price paid," you could die. Of course, that wasn't a threat with first-year spells, but I could vividly imagine what would happen if an average first-year without training and a strong core tried to conjure Fiendfyre.
I almost shuddered at the thought of Rowling's original, where every other student mastered Confringo or Reducto, and psychopaths like Crabbe or Goyle conjured devastating satanic fire. To imagine what every other pyromaniac in town could do... thank God that in this reality, it wasn't that simple.
I got a bit lost in thought, but I quickly scrawled out the answers in my "cat-like" handwriting. Again, I made an effort and again I finished with time to spare. This time, however, I was thinking about what they taught us regarding the estimation of power needed for a specific spell.
Suddenly, Flitwick spoke: "Finished, dear students, quills down!" He waved his wand and all the tests flew to him and folded into a neat pile. I was sure it was a non-verbal Accio mastered to the extreme. With a spoken incantation, I could summon several objects, but I wouldn't be able to manage such a precise timing sequence with that many items even if my life depended on it. Two or three things maybe... but this? He must have trained it to perfection over the years.
Since I knew we would go according to proximity to the door, I stood right by it. Flitwick smiled at me, showing his pointed teeth, and called out: "Mr. Rosier first!"
I followed him inside. A feather was prepared on the table. Flitwick walked to the desk, and to sit down, he had to hop slightly. It brought a smile to my face that I didn't try to hide. I believed he valued honesty just as much as the goblins at Gringotts. In return, he smiled too.
"First, demonstrate Lumos and its counter-spell, then Wingardium on the feather. The third spell is up to you, but it must belong to my magical class."
"Lumos!" I conjured the light, which, however, shone with a pleasant greenish color. When he nodded to me with a smile, I extinguished it: "Nox!". This was followed by "Wingardium Leviosa!", as I described a perfect circle with the feather in the air.
Finally came the third spell. I held out my palm in front of me and by sheer force of will, fire ignited on it. Flitwick clapped enthusiastically: "Bravo, Mr. Rosier, bravo!" He paused and continued: "You have immense talent... if only your work on the essays matched it!" He shook his head. "But I suppose you have your reasons."
"Thank you," I nodded gratefully. Flitwick was definitely my favorite teacher. He didn't judge; he understood and supported. As a part-goblin, he had experienced the cruelty of others himself, and perhaps that was why he was the kindest professor at the school.
The professor signaled for me to leave, which I obeyed, but I turned back at the door.
"Professor, I heard you were a dueling champion," I began. With a smile, he motioned for me to continue. "I'm interested in dueling, and it occurred to me whether you would open a dueling club at Hogwarts."
"Are you interested in competing, or do you just want to measure strength with students for fun?" he asked with interest and a spark in his eyes.
"Both, Professor," I replied honestly.
"Hmm, a dueling club is opened according to student interest. For the last three years, there hasn't been enough, so our club, Crossed Wands, has remained closed. However, if enough interested people were found next year, we would certainly open it," Flitwick explained. "As for competitive dueling, I'm a bit out of the scene, as I last fought professionally twenty years ago. I do maintain a general overview, though. Outside of England and Ireland, dueling is still extremely popular, on par with Quidditch." He paused for a moment and added without a smile: "There are also plenty of sponsors for pure-blood wizards."
"Sponsors don't interest me. I just want to fight," I replied and shrugged.
"In that case, we need to gather at least thirty people to open the club," he answered me amusedly with a sharp smile. "In competitive dueling, there are categories for under seventeen and over seventeen. You would therefore have tough competition in the form of more powerful older students."
"That only pleases me, Professor," I paused. "What if I motivated the interested parties a bit?"
"Hmm?" he gestured for me to continue.
"For example, a thousand galleons for the winner of the Hogwarts dueling tournament."
Flitwick nodded with an almost dangerous smile. "I am not against it. Gold convinces many, Mr. Rosier."
"Then I'll get the people and promote it so we have that club," I promised.
"Good, and now give space to the others so we can get these exams over with," he nodded for me to leave and I finally stepped out. Immediately outside the door, a nervous and quite pale Draco was waiting for me. I had been inside much longer than usual.
He looked at me nervously, as did the others, but before he could ask anything, Flitwick spoke and was already calling the next one.
Eventually, everyone took their turn like on a conveyor belt. So far, all the questions and the practical part were a total breeze and everyone in my circle looked fine. Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed okay...
Exams in Defense Against the Dark Arts with Quirrell followed.
***
It was currently lunch. Everyone was finished with their exams and was finally relaxed and happy. I no longer had to worry about Agnes stabbing me; she was happily stuffing herself with pancakes and didn't care at all that she had dipped her robe sleeve into maple syrup. Either she didn't notice, or she just didn't care.
The others were eating with gusto as well. The exams were fine. The only subject I personally had a problem with was History of Magic with Binns—there I had to rely on Occlumency. The advantage of my "training" in his classes was that I perceived things passively, so I could return to the memories of his monotonous lectures without a problem. It took me longer, but I managed to write everything necessary within half an hour.
As for Potions, we had the practical part all at once. We brewed a Cure for Boils, so it wasn't a problem, but I was still sure that several students had surpassed me in precision.
When we finished eating, we sat in peace for a while longer until the silence was broken by Agnes: "Training?"
"No," I shook my head. "I need to go to the common room for a moment."
"What for?" Draco joined in.
"Come with me and you'll see," I shrugged and got up to leave. The others followed me with curious looks.
"Underworld," I spoke the password and we entered the Slytherin common room. It was half-empty, but I was sure that whatever I said in front of this amount of people, the whole of Hogwarts would know by evening. The older students mostly ignored me and were studying hard. I walked up the stairs to look down at them from a height and cleared my throat loudly: "Ahem, ahem!"
At that moment, many people looked at me. For a second, I felt like that pink toad from the Ministry, but I had no choice. I didn't want to risk the Sonorus spell bursting my vocal cords if I messed it up.
"I spoke with Professor Flitwick today!" I shouted into the room, though some were looking at me with annoyance. "Next year, Professor Flitwick is opening the Crossed Wands dueling club if enough people gather." I paused for a moment and then, with a provocative smile, threw down the gauntlet: "Of course, I know there are a lot of cowardly pussies here, so as a Rosier, I've decided to motivate all the duelists a bit. A tournament will be organized for club participants, where the winner will receive a thousand galleons out of my own pocket!" I promised with a wide grin.
Of course, I intended to win that money myself. My insult will motivate some, money will motivate others, but the main thing was that this news would spread through the castle faster than the coronavirus.
Immediately, a chatter arose in the room, but I ignored the voices and headed out, pulling Agnes and the others away from the common room.
"We can go train now," I said with a broad smile. "By the way, Agnes, you have maple syrup on your sleeve."
She looked surprised at her left sleeve, which was clean. However, when she noticed the right one, she cursed properly: "Fuck's sake!"
Half of her right sleeve was soaked with syrup. It was almost funny that she hadn't noticed it at all until now.
Accompanied by our laughter, which echoed through the corridors, we headed to the Room of Requirement to get some serious work done. Judging by Agnes's swearing, I concluded that I probably have a rather bad influence on her, which only amusedly confirmed to me that she was my best friend.
***
Author's note:
If magic in this world worked exactly like in the original canon—with no magical cores, no varying difficulty, and every average student casting lethal curses without effort—any psychopath could easily burn down entire cities with Fiendfyre. It would be way too simple to conjure hellfire, Disapparate immediately, and repeat it thirty times a day until every major city was turned to ash.
Also, in my opinion, Professor Flitwick is the absolute GOAT of all the Hogwarts professors in canon.
So, now we know what's coming next year! ;)
***
Step into the Restricted Section
The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
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Upcoming Chapters – Already Written(15):
56. The Boy Who Sponsored
57. The End of the Year
58. VR: The Warrior of Durmstrang
59. The Mind of a Rosier
60. The Lioness and the Black Blood
61. A Rosier, Not a Goyle
62. The Babel Charm and the Emperor's Dagger
63. Business and Bloodshed
64. Cruelty for Cruelty
65. Adopted by Fate
66. The Scent of Darkness
67. Socks, Sandals, and Sorcery
68. From Peaks to Plates
69. Ashes of Justice
70. The Scent of Despair
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