T/N: Sorry for no uploads, I've accidentally only been uploading on p@treon, will do a mass release probably on sunday. Sorry again.
While the Gryffindors were secretly brewing a grand scheme, Andrew was in Professor McGonagall's office, trying his hand at reviewing fourth-year homework.
Although his original goal had been to learn directly from McGonagall, these days spent sorting and pre-checking assignments had shown him that this work brought him as much benefit as spending the same time reading in the library.
Reading textbooks, self-study, McGonagall's direct guidance — they all gave him correct knowledge: correct methods, correct spells, correct theories, correct conclusions.
No mistakes. Which was great — but also not so great. He didn't know where people were most prone to slip up, or what consequences different types of mistakes could cause.
To put it a bit crudely — it was like Snape's Potions class: he'd learned how to brew a perfect potion, but when he saw a failed one, all he could say was "It's wrong" — he couldn't do what Snape did: take one glance and know exactly which brain-dead step some student had messed up so badly it deserved an automatic deduction.
But now things were different — he didn't really get that feeling with first- and second-year work, but third-year Transfiguration assignments? Suddenly, he was seeing it! He could finally grasp the kinds of mistakes you could make with Transfiguration!
Once he realized this, he immediately took advantage of his assistant's privileges to get his hands on fourth-year homework — even though he couldn't yet perform this level of Transfiguration, he could absolutely study the theory.
After skimming old records of past top students, he quickly found homework from the three students with practically no errors — then used those as models to reverse-engineer everyone else's blunders.
'So you can mess it up like this too!'
'Huh — I actually would've made that same mistake myself…'
The sheer variety of mistakes made Andrew thrilled. But when the clock chimed, he had to reluctantly put the papers away and leave McGonagall's office.
'Time to head down to the dungeons…'
He shook his head. There was no way he could do that work in McGonagall's office — it was far too close to the Astronomy Tower.
Even though he'd probably get the whole dorm to himself during the holidays, he still wasn't sure he'd be able to rush through so many articles at the last minute.
Being an assistant was great — except it had made his schedule so tight he now had to plan his writing time like a miser.
"How many people have you pulled in?"
"Loads. The Weasley twins. Everyone agrees — before we graduate, we're giving them a proper send-off."
The unity of the first-years had put real pressure on the older Gryffindors. Not winning the House Cup was bad enough — but losing at solidarity to a bunch of kids? Humiliating.
And the fact that they'd be leaving Hogwarts in just half a year had made plenty of them bold. Combine that with the twins' sheer genius of a plan, and this Christmas break was destined to be anything but peaceful.
"Finally, the holidays."
It felt like time itself sped up under everyone's anticipation. The last evening before the break arrived in no time.
While the castle was beginning to celebrate, at the distant Hogsmeade station, a very rare sight was unfolding — nearly all of Gryffindor's seventh-years were gathered in one place.
"Hurry up! We don't have much time!"
They called out to one another, working in perfect sync — seven years of living together meant they knew each other's skills inside out.
The trees they'd been moving here bit by bit were hoisted up with ease. Under the Gryffindors' deft Transfiguration, they took shape just as they'd imagined.
Rocks, timber, piles of snow they'd been stockpiling — these messy materials, once hit with Transfiguration, rapidly formed into one long, intimidating construction.
Any Hogwarts student would have recognized it immediately — a near-perfect replica of the Hogwarts Express.
They'd even sent their best Transfiguration experts to work on the engine so that this absurdly fake train could actually run for a bit.
They'd forged a stretch of fake track, conjured an illusion of a route, and used magic to obscure the line of sight between the real and fake platforms.
Once everything was ready, they left only a few daring students to watch over the prank, while the rest swaggered back to the castle under the cover of "extracurricular internship work."
"The Thestrals aren't flying very smoothly tonight, huh?"
"Yeah — but it beats rowing… Eh? We're here already?"
"No idea… let's just get out."
Students filed out of the carriages, not noticing that tonight the Thestrals were way more restless than usual — because the seventh-years had long since figured out Hagrid's secret feed for the creatures and prepared plenty of it in advance.
"Head to the back — Slytherin booked the front carriages this year!"
Under the bossy order of a rough new "conductor," the students from the other Houses were herded into the rear cars, then led off at the far end and quietly funneled to the real train.
"Weird — there's a lot of students staying behind this year…"
On the real Hogwarts Express, the conductor scratched his head at the noticeably emptier compartments. Sure, the snack trolley wouldn't make much money tonight, but what could you do?
Once departure time came, the real Hogwarts Express — much lighter than usual — chugged happily down the tracks at a brisk pace.
Meanwhile, the Slytherins began to realize something was wrong — the train was too quiet.
It wasn't really their fault for noticing so late. The best carriages, supposedly "reserved" for sixth- and seventh-years, had been specially "prepared" by Gryffindor's best. The flaws in the Transfiguration only became obvious once the fake train started moving.
As the fake train creaked into motion, the "conductor" and "attendants" who'd been disguised up front cheerfully Disapparated — and the slowly rumbling train began to disintegrate before the eyes of all the homebound Slytherins. Bit by bit, the faux carriages came apart, collapsing into hundreds of snowballs that rained down on them.
But that wasn't the worst part. As the magic failed, the accompanying illusion spells also unraveled. So amid the Slytherins' furious cursing, the real Hogwarts Express — the one they were supposed to take home — let out a puff of smoke in the distance and rattled cheerfully down the tracks.
"Those Gryffindor bastards! Thugs! Scum!"
Every kind of swear word began echoing through the skies above Hogsmeade Station.
T/N: For up to 30 chapters ahead on most of my translations, become a p@tron at p@treon.com/LordHipposApostle