Exams—a terrible word, instilling sacred terror in the minds of unfortunate and impressionable students.
It was exams that forced the guys from my year, and not only mine, to start intensively visiting the library, striving to make up for what was lost during the year. Exams forced the occupation of all classrooms and lecture halls nearest to the House common room. Abandoned and unused for almost the entire year, these classrooms came to life again, were cleared of dust, and began to perform the function intended for them—helping students master magic. How? Well, you can only cast spells in classrooms—there's nowhere else to practice. If you follow the rules even a little, of course.
The result? May passed, the weather was good—sun, birds singing, everything young and green around, Dementors long gone—and what were the students doing? Rushing around the castle as if stung in one place, running back and forth with books and notes, creating that chaotic movement in the corridors where everyone moves in a direction known only to them. And all this instead of walking around the castle, sitting on the lakeshore, or something similar—the summer nature of Scotland is mesmerizing in its beauty, its slight gloominess. All these tall trees, thick roots, ferns, and grasses...
But no. We shall study. In principle, the approach is correct. But, as someone used to say, studying poorly is hard. Studying well is easy. The guys and I studied all year. Although we increased the pressure on the study material, we found time for walks, gatherings, and other idleness.
So May passed. Two-thirds of June passed the same way—the library was packed. But we pushed through—sometimes you need to grab a book or find material. Especially often we had to search for material on Potions—Snape assigned rather tricky topics, extremely poorly covered in textbooks.
In general, time passed, we studied and prepared for exams.
Socially, little changed either, and did it change at all? No—everything remained as it was. Just before the exams, we were allowed to visit Hogsmeade one more time, and this time there were no restrictions on movement, no Dementors, no Aurors. True, this had little effect on the walk—still the same trips to shops, stuffing ourselves with sweets, buying small funny things, like mugs that bite your nose softly. Daphne and I even ran into Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop to try what hadn't been tried during the last visit. And this time, practically all the couples in the cafe came here for romance and kisses. Well, the girls definitely for romance and sweets, and the guys—for kisses. It was literally written on the teenagers' faces. And this embarrassed Daphne greatly, although behind an intricate cream cake, she completely forgot about the surroundings.
That day I wondered how much the girl herself is subject to such an inevitable nuance of growing up? Well, that is, interest in the opposite sex is inevitable, and looking at all this, I thought—am I behaving with her the way I do for nothing? Shards of lives of different people and non-humans have left their mark to a certain extent on what is the moral core. The boundaries of what is permissible for the sake of achieving one's goals, or some common interests, an abstract "common good," if it, of course, falls within the sphere of my interests, have become much wider. But what if suddenly this girl, contrary to upbringing and social dogmas of that stratum of society to which she belongs, suddenly shows interest specifically in me? If I were just a boy, I would be happy, while feeling awkward, and my pride would be flattered by such a thing... But even though I don't feel like some incredibly adult, super-reasonable person and so on, and at the moment I am a thirteen-year-old boy myself, I... I would be ashamed to be the cause of a peer's romantic interest, because to reciprocate somehow—my hand won't rise, because she is still quite small by my standards, just a cool, cute girl. Trouble...
Exam time came, and I couldn't help but notice Hermione's loneliness. Although, not quite so. Potter tried to make up, but even outside the common room—and I could only see them all outside its walls—Ron kept interfering, whining about poor Scabbers, who loved sweets so much, and how glad he would be to treat the rat with these very sweets now. And so on, and so forth. In general, Ron, with his whining and public performances, literally pulled Harry away from Hermione, preventing them from making up. Why? Well, during a year of study at Hogwarts, I understood a little about Ronald Weasley, but there are a couple of theses: envious, greedy, harmful, stupid, a slob of almost maximum "level." Even other guys from Gryffindor tried to reproach him for such behavior toward a girl, and even the hooligan twins, but he didn't care. But he didn't cross the line, didn't insult, thereby not giving me a reason to reprimand him—childish fuss and grievances. He didn't give a reason, but I wanted to—even if Hermione isn't ideal, she is my sister.
In general, the social movement, let's say, "moved," but where to—is an open question.
As soon as the time for the first exam came, all the fever ended as if by magic. The students stopped running back and forth, and sat quietly and studied, devoting time to their worries and excitement.
Potions—tests and practice. Need I say that after extra classes it was decidedly impossible to fail an exam on third-year material?
Charms and Spells—everything is simple. Memory is good and everything is there, and although not too frequent, systematic and constant training both according to the program and a little outside it allowed me to answer the written assignment without problems, as well as show the practical application of Glacius, the freezing spell, Carpe Retractum—pulling an object to the wizard, or the wizard to the object if it is heavier than the wizard or is rigidly coupled with other objects or structures that also exceed the wizard in weight. And so on, trifles.
Exams in other subjects went just as smoothly, and perhaps only DADA stood out. Lupin organized an obstacle course for us on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Of course, other teachers were on duty, but it seemed to me that only I noticed them—they were hiding in the forest. Insuring just in case? Quite possible.
In general, the obstacle course was quite simple and included countering some creatures covered during this year. There was a Hinkypunk, and a Red Cap, and a Boggart. Because of the latter, by the way, Lupin put me last in line to complete the obstacle course.
"Understand correctly, Mr. Granger," the professor smiled. "Finding even one Boggart is not an easy task. Remembering your performance in that class, I wanted to insure myself, but found only one. Technically, I cannot reproach or not count the destruction of a Boggart as successful counteraction to it, but..."
"I understand, Professor," I nodded. "If I destroy it, going in the first rows, then what will the others deal with?"
"Precisely. I am glad that we have come to an understanding on this issue."
And indeed, I went last. Only Justin, who successfully passed the test, hinted to me that the Patronus deals with a Boggart, although not very effectively. I think the reason is in the attack mechanics of Dementors and Boggarts—through fears and negative emotions. And a Patronus for them is like a howitzer shot right by the ear—concusses at once.
Naturally, the obstacle course was passed by me. I don't understand how some students managed to fall for the Hinkypunk? Yes, there is a slight mental influence there, but it is so slight that... That there's nothing even to compare it with. Maybe the reason is that they are children, and their minds are immature? Hermione, for example, experienced no problems at all, although you can't call her mature either. Interesting, actually.
Somehow the exams passed by themselves. Fifth and seventh-year students were especially joyful. Joyful, but in a kind of suspended state. As I understood, the reason for this was the official Ministry exams with a commission—O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. But, for now, that's not my worry.
After the exams, we were allowed to visit Hogsmeade, which many decided to take advantage of, going for a walk on a clear sunny day. Summer was already in full swing, the sun stood quite high, everything around smelled of vegetation and freshness—nature untouched by technogenic processes is magnificent. I, for once, decided to conduct an experiment.
Walking through the undergrowth near Hagrid's hut, looking not without apprehension at the pen with the grown Skrewts, I gathered some dry branches and built a small hut-fire, lighting it with a normal Incendio.
When the fire flared up, crackling provocatively with sticks, I sat opposite and extended my hand to the fire, trying to feel this energy. There wasn't that much of it, but that's how it is in the case of ordinary fire. Fire energy appears in the flame, almost immediately disappearing, dissolving into the world and going to maintain the flame—at least that's how it was seen by the wizard shards, and I have no reason to refute or deny such a mechanism.
Concentrating, I pulled crumbs of fire energy toward myself, thereby forcing the flame to burn quieter. Crumbs of energy flowed through the body—the simplest and most reliable way to save them from dissipation. But you can't accumulate it—you can "flare up" literally and figuratively. You need to pull it through the body with the density with which you absorb. That was already enough for the experiment, and I instantly snatched out my wand, casting Incendio, but instead of neutral energy, characteristic of the body and generated by it and the soul, I directed crumbs of fire energy, compensating for the volume of neutral missing for the spell.
The jet of flame was three times larger and denser than it should be. I repeated the process of accumulating fire energy again, and this time used Confringo—an explosion with fire. The explosion turned out slightly larger, but insignificantly, but there was noticeably more flame than there should be.
"Clear..."
Dousing the remains of the fire with water, I headed back to Hogwarts.
From my experiment, one can conclude that magical energies work correctly with local magic creating a similar effect. I am sure that if I used water energy with Incendio, I would get some nonsense, if anything came out at all. But wind energy...
This thought visited me when I walked just a couple of meters from the remains of the fire. Looking around and not noticing potential witnesses, I listened to my sensitivity, which also confirmed the absence of spies. Concentrated on the air and the pleasant light breeze, absorbing crumbs of energy. When I accumulated as much as the body allowed without injury, I took the wand again and cast Incendio, this time flavoring it with wind energy.
There was no stream of fire, but something like a flying and writhing sickle-shaped protuberance turned out, starting at the tip of the wand and chaotically "caressing" the space around. Well, in principle, I assumed something similar—the flame became mobile and willful, like the wind.
One could go all out, accumulating the energy of the Sun and applying it in Lumos, creating a local source of burning light, but I think it's not worth it.
I walked along the path to the castle, keeping a satisfied smirk on my face. Even if I know very few spells from the shards, understanding the versatility and infinity of magic is already a weighty argument and advantage. These experiments showed me an important thing—there is sense in conducting a ritual of affinity with other energies, and the benefit will be tangible. The main thing in this business is precise calculations. Even if by nature, the body is ready to undergo a ritual with any energy, you cannot add incompatible or difficult-to-combine ones. I already have life energy, affinity with which should finally form in the coming days. By itself, it conflicts with nothing, but does not enhance other energies known to me. I need to make a plan...
The Leaving Feast—a feast for the stomach, and joy. Joy for everyone, and especially for our House. When we all gathered for this evening celebration, it began with Dumbledore's speech about what a hard year it had been. Hard, difficult, but also incredibly productive, because it was this year, strangely enough, that the average grade point average for the school in general, and for all years in particular, rose sharply.
"I hope he doesn't think it's the Dementors' credit," whispered Justin, sitting next to me and, like everyone else, applauding the Headmaster's speech.
"But he might, Mordred," Ernie was horrified by the prospect. "He'll beg a couple from the Minister to fly here and put pressure on brains. Honestly, it was only because of them that I studied like this this year."
"Tsk, dummy," Hannah hissed at him when the applause began to subside. "Announce it even louder."
"Let us sum up the results of the past year," the Headmaster continued with a smile, standing behind the podium in front of the staff table. "First, I want to congratulate the Hufflepuff House team on winning the Hogwarts Quidditch Championship this year. Respected Madam Sprout..."
The Headmaster made a gesture toward our beloved Head of House, who had shown attention and care to students all year, and Madam Sprout rose from her seat.
"Oh, no need," he stopped her attempt to go around the table and approach him. "Allow me to present the cup to you myself."
Dumbledore, with a wizard's gesture, clearly summoned from somewhere a rather large gold cup with beautiful patterns, and on the stand for it was a plate with inscriptions indistinguishable from such a distance. Without unnecessary pathos, but with due importance, the Headmaster approached the smiling Madam Sprout and, to general applause, handed over the cup.
The Headmaster returned to the podium, and the applause died down.
"Now let us proceed to the announcement of the winner of the House Cup competition. Of course, I really want to maintain the intrigue and excitement, but..."
The Headmaster looked at four large hourglasses, each containing gems corresponding to the House colors. If in three of them it was difficult to determine where there were more and where less, then in the hourglass with the yellow ones, there were much more.
"...I think the winner is obvious, but as for the rest... Fourth place is taken by Gryffindor House, with four hundred and fifty-two points."
The Gryffindors didn't look happy, which is understandable. However, applause rang out from all sides, and support was felt in it. Well, except for the Slytherins—they clapped as if a chic prize was due for fourth place, and every Slytherin wished it specifically for the Gryffindors.
"With a gap of three points," the Headmaster continued speaking, "third place is taken by Ravenclaw House."
Again supportive applause rang out from all sides, and the Ravens seemed to not care. But, if rumors are to be believed, that's roughly how it is, although there was thoughtfulness on many faces. Surely trying to understand exactly where they missed.
"Second place, as you have already guessed, is taken by Slytherin House."
Applause again, only now the Gryffindors sluggishly expressed their "fi," but not the full composition—more than once or twice I saw guys from these two Houses communicating normally. True, this applies only to the seniors.
"And as I said at the beginning, first place—Hufflepuff."
Here our table exploded with applause and congratulations to each other, and what pleased me was that the others clapped for us more or less adequately and without disdain.
"So let's change the decorations," the Headmaster smiled and clapped his hands a couple of times.
The Gryffindor crests that unobtrusively decorated the hall changed to ours. The huge flag with the Gryffindor crest, hung over the staff table just for today and covering the huge windows, changed to ours. In general, a holiday, joy, fun, and Dumbledore handed another cup to Madam Sprout. This nice stout lady looked extremely happy, sitting embracing two cups and not knowing where to put them.
"And what's the use of this?" I asked the guys when Dumbledore announced the beginning of the feast, and the tables filled with an incredible amount of various high-class restaurant-level dishes.
"No idea," Justin shrugged, excitedly picking up various meat dishes, mixing one with another, baked chicken with beef, pork with... What is this? Mutton? Maybe.
"They say," Tamsin, a history buff sitting nearby, paid attention to my question, "earlier, about a hundred years ago, the House that took first place received a more varied and rich menu for every day the following year. But then this was abolished, opening access to the kitchen for students, and averaging the menu."
"Like, food is a good incentive, of course, but children should eat properly?"
"Who knows," the short-haired girl shrugged, returning to the meal.
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