When the trio reached the Astronomy Tower, the first thing that greeted them was an oversized copper cauldron, its base flickering with Gubraithian Fire that danced and shimmered in the chilly wind.
Several Professors were already gathered. As soon as Professor Sinistra spotted them, she hurried over, beaming.
"Minerva, Pomona, Douglas—welcome!"
She leaned in and whispered to Douglas, "Thank you for inviting Albus. Without him, we wouldn't have nearly as much to feast on tonight!" She finished with a conspiratorial wink.
Approaching the bubbling hot pot, Douglas greeted each Professor in turn. Besides Dumbledore and the three who'd arrived with him, there were Professor Bathsheda Babbling (Ancient Runes), Professor Filius Flitwick (Charms), Professor Charity Burbage (Muggle Studies), and Professor Septima Vector (Arithmancy).
Douglas noticed that each seat was equipped with a four-tiered rack already stacked with a tempting array of ingredients.
He produced the bottles of cola he'd brought from the Muggle world.
Professor Burbage immediately recognized them.
"Oh, Merlin's beard—cola! This is a Muggle drink, a bit like champagne in that it's fizzy, but it has a unique licorice note and isn't alcoholic at all. I never thought Professor Holmes would bring cola into the wizarding world!"
She hadn't taught Douglas during his student days, so their relationship was a touch more formal than with the others.
Douglas handed out bottles to everyone.
"Professor Burbage is quite right. Most importantly, cola is sweet—"
He was cut off by Dumbledore's delighted "Oh!" The cap on his bottle vanished, and he upended the entire thing into his mouth. A long, satisfied burp echoed across the tower.
"Burp! Excellent flavor—there's a hint of syrup, but the sweetness isn't overpowering. The kick is much stronger than champagne, though… But honestly, it tastes quite similar to pumpkin fizz!"
Professor Sprout started to comment after her first sip, but ended up saying nothing—Dumbledore had already summed it up perfectly.
Smiling, Douglas floated another bottle over to Dumbledore and encouraged everyone to try the cola.
Unlike Dumbledore's enthusiastic approach, the female Professors poured their cola into wine glasses and sipped with elegant restraint.
As everyone enjoyed their drinks, Douglas himself hadn't touched a drop. Instead, he slipped thin slices of dragon meat into the bubbling hot pot and began to swish them gently.
Of course, not every Professor was adept with chopsticks—least of all Professor Flitwick. As Douglas started cooking, he noticed several pieces of meat flying from the Professors' plates into the pot, all without interrupting their conversation or their enjoyment of cola.
Professor Vector mixed nettle wine with her cola, took a sip, and declared it delicious—quickly recommending the combination to her colleagues.
Watching the time, Douglas retrieved his dragon meat with chopsticks, careful not to let go—especially with Dumbledore present, after what had happened last time.
Just as he lifted his chopsticks, Dumbledore—with a speed that belied his age—fished out a slice of meat for himself. The rest of the meat in the pot soon followed, flying neatly into the sauce bowls in front of each Professor.
While the Astronomy Tower was alive with laughter and the clink of glasses, the four house common rooms below were just as bustling.
In every common room, students clutched textbooks and revision sheets, reciting and quizzing one another in a lively chorus.
Sixth- and seventh-years weren't idle either—scribbling out essays while coaching younger students on spellwork and exam tricks.
Even in Slytherin, the usual tensions between years faded under the pressure of exam week. Upperclassmen kept a watchful eye on the younger students, making sure they studied properly.
In Ravenclaw, older students reconstructed past years' exam questions from memory, offering them as practice for the lower years.
Hermione Granger in Gryffindor, joined by Percy and other top students, spent the night highlighting key points in textbooks—a study method she'd picked up from an offhand remark by Douglas.
Hufflepuff students had set up a massive cauldron in the center of their common room, where upper years enjoyed hot pot while quizzing the younger ones. Anyone who answered a question correctly earned five minutes at the hot pot table.
This frenzy was fueled by a rumor: with Professors adopting Professor Holmes's exam format, house rankings might soon be posted in every classroom. No house wanted to see themselves at the bottom—Hufflepuff included. After all, a last-place finish in one or two subjects was tolerable, but if they came last in everything, Professor Sprout might just lock the kitchen and ban Hufflepuffs from sneaking snacks.
That night, if you stood on a distant hill and looked toward Hogwarts, the Astronomy Tower would shine like a beacon, guiding the future of magical civilization. The four house common rooms, glowing with lamplight, were incubators for the wizarding world's next generation.
The students studied late into the night.
The gathering atop the tower went on just as long. Their conversation flowed from food to fantastic beasts, from the snow on the ground to the stars above, from the magical world to the Muggle one…
In the second week of December 1992, the first semester's final exams began.
With no unified exam schedule at Hogwarts, Professors for the tested subjects took a page from Douglas's book, preparing different exam papers for each house to curb cheating.
Potions was the exception. Professor Snape's exam was as simple as it was brutal: everyone had to write out the "Potions Class Safety Rules" perfectly, not a single letter wrong. Any mistake meant an automatic fail on the theory portion. The remaining time was devoted to brewing a potion assigned by year.
For Charms and Transfiguration, in addition to written exams, the practical portion required students to draw a slip from a box—each slip bearing a spell from their year's syllabus. It was pure luck. For the lower years, it wasn't too daunting; thanks to the magical practice rooms, almost everyone had mastered the required spells. (Upper years, desperate for points, had even coaxed the younger ones into extra practice.)
But for upper years, things could get tricky. Some unlucky students drew obscure first- or second-year spells they hadn't touched in ages. It wasn't unheard of for a fifth-year to fail a Levitation Charm—much to Professor Flitwick's visible displeasure.
The practice room tutors, however, were a different breed. Eager to rack up as many points as possible, they'd mastered even the oldest, dustiest spells. No matter what they drew, they handled it with ease.
Defence Against the Dark Arts held little fear for most—nearly everyone was used to weekly exams by now.
It was Astronomy that had students truly anxious. There was simply too much to memorize, and most hadn't devoted much effort to the subject throughout the term.
Watching the students' anxious faces, Douglas gave a dismissive snort.
This was nothing. It's not as if they'd have to take their report cards home for Christmas—or, heaven forbid, bring their parents in for a conference.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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