November crept by, the air growing colder each day—but not even winter's chill could slow the relentless march of time.
In class, Douglas announced that November's monthly exam was cancelled. But before the cheers could break out, he added that the first term's final exams would take place in the second week of December.
Groans echoed through every year group.
To make matters worse, several core subject Professors seemed unusually invested in this inaugural semester-end assessment. By the last week of November, it was settled: Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Astronomy would all hold a unified, school-wide final—the first of its kind at Hogwarts.
Professor Snape even declared that anyone failing to achieve at least "Good" would spend the start of next term practicing their knife skills on kitchen vegetables—and that Potions class would absolutely not allow using those vegetables and cauldrons for flame control practice.
Douglas caught sight of a "Potions Ingredient Practice Sheet" from George and Fred—a list of common vegetables, each paired with a potion-preparation technique. Clearly, Snape had put real thought into it. If handled properly, those vegetables wouldn't ruin any dish.
Still, Douglas quietly informed the kitchen staff that none of those "practice" vegetables were to appear in his meals. Judging by the house-elves' troubled looks, he suspected Snape had specifically asked them to serve those very vegetables to him...
Compared to Snape, the other professors were far more lenient. Their only demand? Anyone who failed would have to copy out their textbooks once next term. Even the usually easygoing Professor Flitwick agreed.
As November ended and the first week of December arrived, Hogwarts welcomed its first snow of the year on Saturday.
That very day, Douglas received a poetic note from Professor Sinistra:
*Dear Douglas,
This morning, I awoke to a world transformed into an icy cavern—blinding white and pale blue. The ground sparkled so brilliantly it was hard to look at, the sky above cold and iron-hued, every constellation hidden behind thick clouds.
When Saturn rises, atop the Astronomy Tower, pot becomes vessel, fire the source of warmth. They become an unbelievable power, illuminating the darkness of early winter.*
Douglas couldn't help but smile. Good thing he hadn't given all his astronomy knowledge back to Professor Sinistra. Wasn't this just an invitation for hot pot at 9:30 on the Astronomy Tower? Why make it sound like a work of art?
(Saturn, after all, represents Saturday; in December, it rises around 9:30 p.m.)
He scribbled a reply to Dumbledore:
Tonight at 9:30, bring your gear—hot pot on the Astronomy Tower. Pro tip: First snow and hot pot are a perfect match!
He handed the note to a passing student, instructing them to send it to Dumbledore by owl. It was important to keep up appearances.
Keeping to his routine, Douglas visited the fifth- and sixth-year practical classrooms. This year's fifth-years were making remarkable progress—most could already tackle fourth-year content on their own. If not for the sheer amount of practice spellwork required, some might have completed their house challenges already.
Of course, much of the credit belonged to the fourth-years. Seeing they weren't far behind, they'd picked up the pace, and several now ranked in the top twenty of the individual leaderboard. The competition had become less about houses and more about a rivalry between the fourth and fifth years.
The sixth-years had all passed through the mist and into the swamps, where they faced not just dark creatures, but magical traps—one careless step and the swamp would swallow them whole, forcing them to start over.
After his rounds, Douglas stepped outside the castle. Many students who hadn't gone to Hogsmeade were out on the snow-blanketed hill, engaged in a massive snowball fight.
Peeves, in the midst of his own fun, spotted Douglas, muttered a curse, and vanished in a flash.
Nearly every student was using the Serpentine Gliding Charm, darting across the snow, ambushing friends with well-aimed snowballs.
Douglas dodged nimbly as two snowballs zipped past his head. He followed their trajectory—George and Fred, of course.
The twins, realizing escape was pointless, grinned sheepishly.
"Professor, that was just an accident."
"Snowball fights don't count as attacking a professor, right?"
Douglas said nothing, just fixed them with a mischievous smile.
George bowed theatrically. "Since it's snowing, Professor, we humbly invite you to join our snowball fight."
Fred raised his arms, calling out, "Everyone, let's welcome the Professor to our fun!"
Only then did the other students notice Douglas among them. Cheers erupted, and more than a few students readied snowballs, waiting for the first brave soul to launch one.
Douglas laughed, raising his voice. "Since you're all so enthusiastic, let's make it a proper game!"
He reached into his pocket and produced two wooden plaques, each carved with intricate runes. He tossed them onto an empty patch of ground. The students watched, puzzled.
Suddenly, a mini tornado whipped up, drawing snow toward the plaques. When the wind faded, a towering snow knight—life-sized, mounted on a two-meter-tall wild boar—stood before them, the knight wielding a snow cannon the size of a clenched fist.
Douglas tapped the creature with his wand. "This is a little device I made. It can gather nearby materials and shape them into a monster of your design. In a pinch, it could help you fight—or escape."
He grinned. "There's just one flaw: these two rune plaques only last for an hour. Your task is to defeat this beast within that hour. The faster you do it, the longer the plaques' remaining time."
Excitement rippled through the crowd.
A student called out, "Professor, does that mean if we defeat the snow beast, we get the plaques?"
Douglas nodded. "Exactly! But there are rules: you may only attack the snow beast, not each other. I've enchanted the plaques—they'll recognize whoever lands the final blow, and no one else can take them by force. Play fair, or else…"
The students nodded eagerly.
More and more gathered, drawn by the spectacle. When they asked what was happening, no one seemed willing to give details.
Douglas slipped away. Those two rune plaques were just failed experiments—too slow to form, too short-lived, single-use, and their power limited by the materials at hand. With his mastery of Transfiguration, he could make such things at will. Still, to the students, they were rare magical treasures.
Wands were drawn. The clever ones quickly formed teams.
George and Fred exchanged a glance, then charged forward. With most upper years away, now was their best chance.
The rest caught on fast—spells flew at the snow beast from all sides.
At last, the snow beast stirred. The knight atop the boar raised his cannon, firing a snowball to intercept an incoming Reductor Curse.
The boar wasn't idle either. Its mouth gaped wide—large enough to swallow a student—and a barrage of snow flew forth, forming a solid wall that blocked most spells.
Then, with surprising agility for its size, the boar dodged aside, bounding across the snow. Each time its hooves touched fresh snow, it seemed to move even faster.
By now, even students who didn't quite understand what was happening joined in. They might not know why everyone was attacking the snow beast, but the chance to use combat spells outside the classroom was too good to pass up.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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