One and a half hours of exam time.
Forty minutes in, the scratching of quills on parchment had almost completely stopped across the classroom.
Viktor watched the fifth-years—furiously scratching their heads, flipping pages back and forth in desperate hope that an answer might magically appear from an earlier question—and gave a satisfied nod.
Looked like the questions he'd carefully selected (and subtly tweaked) from real past O.W.L. papers over the last decade were doing their job perfectly.
Everything he'd told them earlier had been dramatically phrased, sure—but it wasn't wrong.
Just like he'd said: for these kids, O.W.L.s really were the wizarding equivalent of the gaokao.
Only after hitting the required marks could they access the NEWT-level advanced classes in sixth and seventh year.
Fall short? Those doors slammed shut. No second chances.
And the real N.E.W.T.s? Forget about it.
But here at Hogwarts—maybe because it's boarding school and there are no parents breathing down necks, maybe because the kids themselves haven't woken up to it, maybe because of the whole school atmosphere—Viktor simply could not fathom how these fifth-years were treating the most important exam of their school lives with such casual indifference.
To him, it was incomprehensible.
This was basically the Chinese zhongkao + gaokao combo. How could anyone treat it so lightly?
Which was exactly why they were now staring at this specially curated nightmare of a paper.
Given their current attitude toward O.W.L.s
and Professor Kettleburn's long-standing habit of treating theory as an afterthought…
Viktor was willing to bet most of them were looking at straight Ps (Poor) and Ds (Dreadful).
A handful might scrape an Acceptable.
But thanks to his deep inheritance from generations of Chinese teachers, he could guarantee:
every question—even the modified ones—came straight from the DNA of real O.W.L. exams.
Ten more minutes passed. By now almost everyone had given up.
Some stared blankly at the vast white expanses on their parchments.
Others traded helpless, commiserating glances with neighbours.
Only a tiny handful of the genuinely strong students were still fighting—but even their quills had been still for a long time.
Viktor knew it was time.
He stood, clapped his hands once to pull every eye to him, and spoke.
"Well… looks like most of you have stopped writing. I assume that means you're finished. Shall we end the exam now?"
At his words, relieved breaths whooshed out from every corner (except for the few still chewing on a last stubborn question).
Papers flew backward row by row at top speed until a neat stack landed on the lectern in front of him.
Viktor didn't say anything to the bowed-head student who'd delivered them—just waved him back to his seat and started marking.
The fifth-years immediately broke into hushed, frantic discussion.
"How'd you do? Besides multiple choice and fill-in, those big questions—I swear I've seen them before, but I couldn't write a word."
"Same. Are those actually real past O.W.L. questions?"
"Yeah—the third-to-last big one, I kinda remember it. But the professor changed some conditions."
"So… if we took the real O.W.L.s right now, we'd just be sitting there staring blankly too?"
That one quiet sentence from a Ravenclaw girl killed every whisper in the room.
Every mouth snapped shut.
Then, almost in unison, they pulled out the textbooks Viktor had made them put away at the start of class… and actually started reading.
Down below: silence and sudden diligence.
Up front: Viktor was marking with visible enjoyment.
Marking these felt exactly like a maths or physics teacher back home grading exams.
Multiple choice? One tick. Flip the page. Blank ocean. Scribble a mark. Done.
The whole stack—fifty minutes of student agony—took him fifteen minutes to finish.
Papers neatly tapped straight on the desk.
Every head snapped up, eyes fixed on the thick pile in his hands—expressions a complicated mix of dread, guilt, hope, resignation.
"Classmates… regarding this exam's results, I am truly heartbroken!"
Viktor's face was the picture of pained disappointment as he held up the stack.
"In the entire class… only six of you managed to pass!"
Heads bowed in collective shame.
"Jessie, Valette, Nepel, Mona, Jack, Lake—please come up to collect the rewards you've earned."
The six named students didn't look triumphant.
They shuffled to the front, heads down, picked one small gadget each from the pile Viktor had laid out (without much enthusiasm), took their marked papers, and returned to their seats in silence.
"As for everyone else… I think you already know your own results. I won't read them aloud one by one."
With a casual flick of his wand, the thick stack separated into individual sheets and flew back to their owners like obedient birds.
"Now—let's go over the paper together. Question 1: 1987 O.W.L. Exam, Question 7. Original wording…"
The room fell deathly quiet again. Only Viktor's calm lecture voice and the renewed scratching of quills.
He kept his tone even, but every word landed clearly.
"Final big question. Original: 'Briefly describe the most recent major amendment to the "Fantastic Beasts Control Ordinance" by the Ministry of Magic in 1985, and explain its impact on breeding and trade-related activities after each revision.'"
He paused, letting that sink in, then continued.
"My version: 'Suppose in 1982 you were granted temporary breeding permission for a juvenile Bagshot Leopard cub under the regulations at that time. Analyze: After the 1985 amendment, what new legal risks does your continued breeding face? To remain fully compliant, what additional conditions must you now satisfy?'"
He tapped the blackboard lightly with his wand. Side-by-side comparison appeared in glowing script: original vs. modified.
Faces below went even paler.
Most of them couldn't even recall the original amendment's content—let alone apply it to a concrete scenario.
Viktor finished writing the key analysis points, then straightened.
He looked out over the sea of young faces—some crushed, some suddenly enlightened, some still lost.
Wherever his gaze landed, backs straightened instinctively.
Quills hovered over notebooks with new focus. Eyes carried the sharp clarity of someone who'd just been slapped awake.
A few were still frantically adding notes, comparing their papers to the board.
Viktor was quietly satisfied. Pain is often the beginning of real change.
He cleared his throat.
The room went still.
"Paper discussion over."
His voice stayed level.
"I know—looking at those huge blank spaces on your parchment, facing questions that felt so familiar yet impossible to answer—it hurts."
"You feel like everything you've learned so far was wasted. Like O.W.L.s is an unclimbable mountain. Right?"
A few heads nodded unconsciously, then quickly ducked again.
"That feeling is normal."
Viktor stepped down from the platform, walking slowly between the aisles. His boots echoed in the quiet.
"If everyone had breezed through today's test, I'd be the one worried—worried that the past few years of Magical Creature Protection classes have been too 'protective,' leaving you unable to face real challenges."
He stopped in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back.
"But classmates—listen to me."
His gaze sharpened, yet carried real encouragement.
"Right now, you still have exactly nine months until O.W.L.s.
Two hundred and seventy days."
With a graceful flick of his wand, brilliant golden light shot from the tip and coalesced above the blackboard into a huge, pulsing countdown:
[270 DAYS]
The light wasn't blinding, but impossible to ignore—like a silent alarm clock hanging in everyone's field of vision.
"Look at that number."
Viktor pointed. His voice rose with calm, unshakable certainty.
"Two hundred and seventy days isn't for panicking or regretting.
It's for catching up. Making up ground. Surpassing where you are right now."
"Nine months is enough time to turn fuzzy knowledge into crystal clarity, to drill weak question types until they're second nature, to connect scattered facts into a solid net."
His tone built, carrying the full energy of a third-year homeroom teacher firing up the class before the college entrance exam.
"Yes—our foundation right now may be weaker than we'd like. Today's scores are ugly.
But this is only the starting line. Not the finish."
"In every day, every lesson from now on, I'll be right here with you.
We'll systematically review key points. Run targeted drills. Dissect past papers. Simulate exam conditions…"
"As long as you keep pace, show determination, invest the time—nothing is impossible!"
His eyes swept from the six who'd passed to those whose papers were disasters.
"I won't repeat how important O.W.L.s are. You already know: it decides your next two years of study, the level of platform you can reach.
But I want you to understand—it's not just an exam."
"The process of preparing for it is itself a tempering of your willpower, learning ability, and knowledge integration.
Right now—everything is still in time!"
Viktor returned to the lectern, braced both hands on the desk, leaned forward, eyes burning.
"Starting today, forget the old casual attitude. Bring every ounce of focus and effort you have.
These two hundred and seventy days will pass quickly."
"I want the moment that countdown hits zero, when you walk into the exam hall, your heart to be steady. Confident.
Not like today—staring blankly at the paper."
He straightened, voice softening but still carrying power.
"Today's test was a wake-up call—for you, and for me. I know exactly where to push now."
"So what about you? Tell me: in these two hundred and seventy days, do you have the confidence to turn today's 'can't do' into tomorrow's 'mastered'? To take back every lost mark—and more—on exam day?"
The room was silent for a heartbeat.
Then—scattered voices at first.
Then more.
Finally a ragged but clear chorus:
"Yes…"
"Yes!"
Voices uneven, but the fire in their eyes had been lit.
Viktor nodded once. A faint, genuine smile touched his lips.
"Good. Remember what you just said. Remember that countdown.
Class dismissed."
"Go home, look at your papers carefully, cross-reference the textbook, understand every mistake.
Starting tomorrow—we officially enter O.W.L. sprint mode."
He waved them off, picked up the suitcase, and left with Tom trotting behind.
As he stepped out the door, he clearly heard the long, collective exhale from the classroom.
"This is O.W.L. year? I heard it was brutal, but I didn't think it'd be this brutal!"
"Yeah—looking at all that blank space on my paper, I really thought I was done for!"
"I never realised I had so many gaps—and they're all stuff we've technically covered!"
"If Magical Creatures is already like this… what about our other subjects?"
That same Ravenclaw girl delivered the killing blow again.
Everyone shot her resentful looks.
But no one argued.
They just silently packed up—faster than usual, no chatting, no laughter.
Then they left the classroom with heavy steps, heading straight for the library or their next class.
Many paused at the door, looked up one last time at the glowing golden [270] hanging in the air… then hurried on.