Tuesday Morning — Transfiguration
If Potions had been terrifying, Transfiguration was outright cruel.
By the time the students gathered outside the classroom, the corridor buzzed with raw panic. Some clutched textbooks like talismans. Others whispered last-minute incantations under their breath. A Ravenclaw was pacing so hard he nearly wore a groove into the stone floor.
Everyone knew it.
This was the hardest subject at Hogwarts.
Inside, Professor McGonagall stood ramrod straight at the front of the room, tartan robes crisp, eyes sharp enough to slice glass.
"Transfiguration," she began, "is not about intention alone. It is about precision, discipline, and control. Today's exam will test all three."
The desks had been cleared except for:
a matchstick a teacup and a unwritten parchment
The exam consisted of:
Practical: Transforming a matchstick into a metal needle
Secondary practical: Partial transfiguration of a teacup into a small porcelain bird (non-living, no movement required)
Written: Explaining the difference between Transformation and Conjuration, and listing three common first-year transfiguration failures
The room went deathly quiet.
Hands trembled as wands were raised.
Sweat beaded on foreheads.
Everyone—everyone—was nervous.
Everyone except Leo.
The moment he focused, something in him clicked into place. His breathing slowed. His shoulders relaxed. He observed the matchstick not as wood, but as potential.
Wood to metal. Length to sharpness. Structure to structure.
His wand movement was exact.
The matchstick shimmered—
and became a perfect, slender needle, gleaming faintly under the classroom lights.
McGonagall paused mid-step.
She didn't praise him.
She didn't need to.
She simply made a sharp note on her clipboard.
Beside him, Cedric followed—his needle wasn't quite as fine, slightly thicker at the base, but unmistakably correct. Solid. Clean.
Around them, chaos bloomed.
Tobias's needle bent like warm wax. Elowen's retained a faint wood grain. Rowan's snapped back into a matchstick halfway through. Maribel groaned softly when her teacup bird sprouted a handle where its wing should be.
Leo moved on to the teacup without hesitation.
This one was harder.
Partial transformation was always trickier than full—too much change, and you failed; too little, and it looked sloppy.
He pictured porcelain thinning, reshaping, hollow becoming form.
The cup folded inward, its rim stretching, curving—
—and settled into a delicate porcelain bird, wings tucked neatly at its sides.
It didn't move.
It didn't chirp.
It didn't need to.
Cedric's bird was slightly heavier, a bit less elegant—but still undeniably correct.
When the written portion ended, the four friends slumped back in their chairs, drained.
Tobias whispered hoarsely, "I think my soul left my body."
Elowen stared at her note like it had personally betrayed her.
Rowan muttered, "no way I am doing that again."
Leo just blinked.
He hadn't even realized how well he'd done until Cedric leaned over and murmured, "You realize you made everyone hate you just now, right?"
Leo flushed but also maintain a exaggerated haughty look, he was trying to joke about how he did well but the joke went flat and all of four of them thinks about not letting him get away with it.
Tuesday Afternoon — History of Magic
After Transfiguration, History of Magic felt almost… gentle.
The classroom was warm. Dust motes floated lazily in the sunlight. Professor Binns drifted through the blackboard, already mid-sentence.
No one panicked.
Except, perhaps, anyone sitting near Maribel.
The exam prompt was written plainly:
"Discuss the causes and long-term consequences of the Goblin Rebellions of the 17th century, with reference to wand legislation."
Maribel practically lit up.
Quills scratched furiously across parchment as students wrote cautious paragraphs.
Maribel wrote pages.
She cited dates. Names. Specific rebellions. Legal clauses. Even rebutted common wizarding misconceptions. Her essay stretched to twice the length of anyone else's.
Leo and Cedric finished comfortably. Tobias struggled to remember dates. Elowen mixed up rebellions. Rowan wrote neat but minimal answers.
When Maribel finally set her quill down, she looked almost disappointed the exam was over.
Wednesday — Charms
By Wednesday morning, exhaustion had settled deep into everyone's bones.
But Charms brought a different energy.
Professor Flitwick bounced at the front of the classroom, eyes bright with excitement.
"Oho! Now then! Today's exam will be both written and practical!"
The structure:
Written: Theory behind charm pronunciation and intent
Practical:Levitation Charm (Wingardium Leviosa)Cleaning Charm (Scourgify)Light Modification Charm (adjusting Lumos brightness without extinguishing it)
Leo thrived.
Charms came naturally to him—the balance of focus and finesse suited him perfectly.
His levitation was smooth, controlled. The feather hovered exactly one foot above the desk—no wobble.
His Scourgify removed ink stains without damaging the parchment.
His Lumos dimmed to a soft glow, like candlelight, without flickering.
Flitwick actually clapped.
"Outstanding control!" he squeaked.
Cedric followed closely—his charms strong, steady, Leo admit Cedric did better at the cleaning charm.
Elowen struggled with Lumos, making it blink out repeatedly at the beginning. Tobias over-levitated his feather into the ceiling. Rowan's Scourgify worked—but soaked the parchment. Maribel aced the theory but rushed the practical.
When it was finally over, they spilled into the corridor together, half-laughing, half-dazed.
"It's done," Tobias said weakly.
Thursday — Defence Against the Dark Arts
Thursday arrived with a strange, unsettled air.
If Transfiguration had been terrifying and Charms exhausting, Defence Against the Dark Arts was simply… awkward.
All year, Professor Alaric Crowe had been an odd presence. Shy to the point of invisibility, he spoke softly, avoided eye contact, and flinched whenever a student's spell went slightly wrong. His sleeves were always pulled too far over his hands. His office door was perpetually locked.
But at least—at least—he had taught them.
Basic defensive spells. Shield theory. Counter-jinx fundamentals. Identification of Dark objects. Nothing spectacular, but solid enough that most students felt cautiously prepared.
Then, two weeks before the exam, everything exploded.
It began with a whispers.
A Hufflepuff third-year reported missing heirloom jewellery—rings, lockets, enchanted brooches—items with sentimental rather than monetary value. Then a Ravenclaw complained her protective amulet had vanished from her dorm trunk, which should have been impossible.
The pattern only became clear after Filch, of all people, noticed something odd.
Professor Crowe had been requesting "confiscated Dark objects" from Filch's storeroom under the excuse of examination and cataloguing. At the same time, he frequently volunteered to "secure" enchanted personal belongings found unattended.
No one questioned it.
Until Professor McGonagall acknowledge the oddity.
What followed was not discreet.
The professors confronted Crowe in his office.
Leo later heard the story from at least six different people, each version more dramatic than the last—but the core was the same.
Hidden drawers.
False-bottom cabinets.
Student jewellery siphoned of protective enchantments and repurposed into Dark conduits.
Crowe had been skimming magic from enchanted objects feeding his own unstable spellwork, using subtle Legilimency-adjacent charms to identify valuables, then "safekeeping" them under false pretences.
When exposed, the shy man snapped.
He didn't scream.
He ran.
The hallway erupted into chaos—spells flying, professors shouting. Flitwick's shields collided with Sprout's binding vines. Snape's curses cut off Crowe's escape routes while McGonagall transfigured suits of Armor into barriers.
Crowe bolted for the grounds.
Straight toward the Forbidden Forest.
He would almost at the distance of apparition.
Until he stumbled into a centaur patrol, startled them, and was struck by a defensive arrow that shattered his leg before he even crossed the treeline.
He survived.
Barely.
And mercifully he had not managed to curse a single student.
The collective relief afterward was palpable.
Leo remembered standing in the Great Hall that evening, listening to the murmurs, and feeling something cold twist in his stomach.
Shy didn't mean harmless.
Quiet didn't mean weak.
When Thursday's DADA exam finally arrived, it was overseen by Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, using Crowe's original curriculum.
The exam consisted of:
Written: Identification of Dark objects and basic countermeasures
Theory: Shield charm mechanics and intent-based defense
Practical:Shield Charm (Protego)Disarming Charm (Expelliarmus)Recognizing a cursed object without touching it
Despite everything, Leo did well.
But Cedric did the best his shield was thicker than the rest of them and the expelliarmus was more aggressive. Making the professor genuinely impress
The questions were familiar. The spells were ones they had practiced dozens of times. Even Tobias managed a clean Expelliarmus, nearly falling over in shock afterward.
When it was over, Leo exhaled slowly.
As they filed out of the classroom, Rowan muttered, "I still can't believe he was stealing from us."
Cedric nodded quietly.
"Yeah," he said. "Guess you really can't judge a book by its cover."
Flying Lesson (Practical Assessment)
The Flying assessment took place under a pale, cloud-dappled sky, the wind sharp but manageable just enough to test control without turning the grounds into chaos.
Madam Hooch stood at the center of the pitch, whistle gleaming against her chest, eyes sharp as a hawk's.
"This is not a race," she barked. "It is a test of control. Any showboating, and you will be grounded."
Leo felt his broom vibrate gently beneath his palm the moment he mounted it—responsive, familiar. Cedric, beside him, looked calm but focused, his posture already textbook-perfect.
The assessment was simple in theory:
Controlled take off, Maintaining altitude, Navigating a figure-eight around hoops, A smooth, safe landing
In practice, nerves ruined many attempts.
Several students shot up too fast, panicked, and wobbled dangerously before Madam Hooch shouted them back down. Others barely left the ground at all.
When Leo's turn came, he inhaled once and kicked off.
The broom rose smoothly beneath him, steady and balanced. He guided it forward with small, precise shifts of weight, weaving through the hoops with almost unconscious grace. His metamorphmagus control helped—subtle muscle adjustments and instinctive balance.
Cedric followed, and if Leo was fluid, Cedric was solid. No wasted movement. No hesitation. He flew like someone who trusted the broom completely, completing the course cleanly and landing with a quiet thud.
Among their Hufflepuff friends:
Rowan flew better than expected, stiff but determined, knocking one hoop but recovering quickly.
Tobias panicked halfway through, overcorrected, then miraculously stabilized and finished with a sheepish grin.
Elowen stayed low, cautious but controlled, earning a nod of approval.
Maribel was last.
She took off slowly—painfully slowly—and stayed barely above head height the entire time. Her turns were wide, hesitant, and she muttered to herself the whole way through.
But she didn't fall.
She didn't crash.
And when she landed, Madam Hooch raised a brow, then gave a short, approving nod.
"Slow," she said, "but safe. Not a fail."
Maribel looked like she might cry from relief.
Friday — Astronomy
Friday night arrived cold and clear, the kind of sky astronomers prayed for.
Wrapped in thick cloaks, the first-years climbed the Astronomy Tower, parchment tucked under arms, telescopes already aligned. The wind howled softly around the battlements, carrying the scent of frost and distant pine.
Professor Sinistra's voice cut through the quiet.
"You will identify and chart the constellations visible tonight, track the movement of Jupiter's moons, and calculate the position of Mars relative to Orion. Accuracy matters."
Leo loved Astronomy.
The quiet.
The sky.
The feeling of being small in a universe that didn't care and somehow finding comfort in that.
He adjusted his telescope with practiced ease, hair fading into a soft starlit silver as he focused. He identified constellations quickly, sketching clean, precise diagrams, noting star brightness and position changes with confidence.
Cedric worked beside him, slower but meticulous, double-checking each measurement before committing it to parchment.
Among the group:
Rowan struggled at first but nailed the calculations after muttering them aloud three times.
Tobias mixed up two constellations but corrected himself before turning in his work.
Maribel did well on theory but smudged one chart when the wind caught her parchment.
Elowen shine on this subject,her star charts were elegant, labelled in neat, flowing script. Thankfully her and Leo were always brave enough to broke the rule just to hang out and see the stars
When the exam ended, they stood together for a moment, gazing up at the sky instead of rushing down.
The relieves of the exam finally over by the time they reach dorm room they didn't even talk they just went to sleep.