The moment Viktor's words landed, a deathly silence swallowed the classroom.
The only sound left was the faint rustle of parchment against wood.
Fifth-year fingers gripped quills so tightly their knuckles turned white. Faces twisted with a mix of dread and unease.
The grim future Viktor had just painted hung over them like a storm cloud.
Who wants to be the background extra in someone else's shining success story—the one who can't even get past the front desk?
"Of course…"
Viktor's tone shifted abruptly.
The sharp, suffocating pressure receded like a tide going out.
A warm, encouraging smile returned to his face—gentle, almost kind.
He strolled back to the centre of the lectern, posture relaxed, eyes sweeping over the row of tense little faces.
"I'm not unreasonable. Strict assessment is only a test. It's meant to awaken your real potential."
His voice lightened, taking on a teasing, almost seductive mystery.
"So, for those who show talent and real effort in this mock exam…"
He paused deliberately, pleased to see heads lifting, eyes flickering back to life.
"Anyone who scores an 'E' (Exceeds Expectations) or higher—"
He held up two fingers.
"—will earn twenty house points for your house."
A collective sharp inhale rippled through the room. Twenty points!!!
That was easily two or three normal lessons' worth from most professors.
"—and you'll also receive a special 'Open Audit Pass' that I've already cleared with Professor McGonagall."
Viktor smiled wider.
"That means, as long as schedules don't clash, you can sit in on any year's classes—including sixth-year advanced courses, and even seventh-year specialised seminars."
"Audit my lessons, or any other professor who agrees. Get a head start on higher-level magic. Build your knowledge advantage early."
Whispers started. Several Ravenclaws—and the more academically hungry students—had eyes shining like they'd just spotted a secret back door to the Restricted Section.
"And if you manage an 'O' (Outstanding)…" Viktor spread his arms, voice brimming with infectious energy.
"You get everything above—plus one private consultation session with me. Custom study plan, personal advice, whatever you need."
"Your name goes on my course's 'Outstanding Students' list. If I ever need research assistants or interesting practical project partners in the future… you'll be first in line."
A few ambitious Slytherins—and like-minded students from other houses—sat ramrod straight, chins lifting slightly as though they could already see their names engraved somewhere prestigious.
"Even those who get an 'A' (Acceptable)," Viktor's tone turned casual and pragmatic, "will walk away with a practical little gift from me. For example…"
He flicked his wrist. A sleek, leather-strapped device with delicate spring-loaded mechanics appeared in his palm.
The exact wand launcher the seventh-years had been flaunting yesterday—the one that had every younger student drooling.
"…something convenient. And just a little bit cool. And trust me, this isn't the only type."
After the terrifying stick of "your future is doomed" had been swung…
The carrot finally appeared.
And it was plump, juicy, and dangling right in front of their noses.
The atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant.
Fear and resistance didn't vanish—they just got buried under something hotter, brighter.
Competition. Desire. The electric thrill of calculated risk and reward.
The mountain of O.W.L. pressure still loomed.
But now someone had laid a golden staircase right up the side.
At the top: house points, privileged access to advanced knowledge, a professor's personal favour, and tangible, badass rewards.
"What are you waiting for?" Viktor clapped once, voice suddenly bright and cheerful—as though the man who'd just threatened them with lifelong mediocrity had been someone else entirely.
"Time is your most valuable resource. Start investing it. In one and a half hours, I'll see exactly how much effort—and talent—you're willing to put in."
He strolled to a chair by the window, sat down, crossed his legs casually, and watched the fifth-years below dive frantically for their quills.
Tom, who had looked utterly deflated when they arrived, was now completely revived.
After watching the students' faces go through that spectacular series of emotional flips, his spirits had soared.
Now he was patrolling between the desks like the world's most enthusiastic invigilator, tail flicking with glee.
Down below, the fifth-years exchanged quick glances.
Hufflepuffs looked earnestly determined, ready to give it everything.
Gryffindors cracked knuckles like they were about to storm a fortress.
Ravenclaws were already scanning the first question with hungry focus.
Slytherins narrowed their eyes, mentally weighing the exact value of each reward.
Quill tips dipped into inkwells in a sudden dense chorus.
The soft, steady scratch-scratch-scratch replaced the earlier silence.
The questions that had looked so cold and menacing at first—
Regulating incubation temperatures for Occamies, variant Shield Charm applications against Chimeras, ten distinguishing features between Confusing Concoction mushrooms and edible Glowcap fungi…
Suddenly felt like checkpoints.
Clear them, and you gained "value."
Clear them, and you escaped the fate of being background scenery.
Clear them, and you could touch those glittering prizes.
Viktor's gaze drifted across the sea of faces—frowning in concentration, scribbling furiously, lighting up when a solution clicked.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows, catching floating dust motes and glinting off fresh ink on parchment.
The stick had shaken their souls.
The carrot had hooked their ambition.
Ancient educational wisdom from the East had quietly taken root in this magical classroom once again.
And the fifth-years—willingly, eagerly—were now throwing everything they had at that shining, dangling prize.
After all, who wouldn't want to be an "Outstanding Student," sneak into a seventh-year seminar, or walk around with a wand launcher strapped to their wrist looking effortlessly cool?
Gradually, though…
The initial frantic scratch-scratch-scratch began to falter.
It slowed. Stuttered. Stopped in places.
Unlike the confident, rapid writing at the start…
About a third of the way through the first parchment, every single quill in the room hesitated.
The fifth-years stared at their papers in growing horror.
They recognised every single question.
They'd seen these topics before. They knew they had.
But right now, in their heads, the answers refused to come.
It felt exactly like running into a familiar face you haven't seen in years.
The name is right there—on the tip of your tongue.
But no matter how hard you try… it just won't come out.
So you give an awkward wave, mumble something vague, and hurry on to the next stranger-who-shouldn't-be-a-stranger.