Hogwarts' Golden Glory

The final exams at Hogwarts were like a plague.

Everyone knew it was coming, but when it actually arrived, they still panicked.

The library was packed with students, and the air was thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and a sense of impending collapse and despair.

Mrs. Pince, like a mother hen protecting her chicks, patrolled back and forth among the bookshelves.

Be ready at any time to whip anyone who dares to drip wax on a book with a feather duster.

"I'm done for." Ron slumped on the table, a page from "The History of Magic" pressed against his forehead, as if he were trying to absorb knowledge with his face.

"The professor will definitely test me on Fairy Rebellion, but I can't even tell the difference between fairies and house-elves!"

Hermione looked up from behind a stack of books taller than her head.

With dark circles under his eyes, he said, "Ron, the goblin rebellion was in 1689, and the house-elf rights movement was in 1876. This is simply—"

"—It doesn't matter at all!" Ron wailed. "They'll all use forks anyway!"

Harry was trying to put a spoonful of pudding in his mouth when he found that the spoon kept deforming.

His review of Transfiguration was clearly flawed.

If Professor McGonagall saw this, she would surely give him a "disappointing" look.

"I feel like I've grown a second brain."

Harry stared at the twisted spoon and said, "It's for forgetting all the spells you've ever learned."

Harry had been worried about the Philosopher's Stone being stolen these past few days.

Fortunately, Sirius Black kept comforting him in his letters!

At least he now considers Hogwarts to be a very safe place.

In the Slytherin common room, Draco Malfoy was gritting his teeth as he stared at his Potions textbook.

"Potter is definitely cheating," he muttered to Kane, "otherwise how would he ever survive Snape's class?"

Draco was somewhat disgruntled, ever since Christmas.

Harry never made a mistake when making potions in Potions class.

Even if Snape was targeting Harry, he could only lose points for not helping Neville.

Kane flipped through "Advanced Spell Theory" without looking up—it was a seventh-grade textbook.

But he looked like he was reading a fairy tale.

"Perhaps it's because he has eyes, and you have a mouth."

Draco slammed his quill on the table. "I'm serious! If he gets a better potion score than me, Father will—"

"What will happen? Will I buy you a more expensive broom?"

Kane finally looked up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, you're as tense as a vixen who's been exposed."

Pansy Parkinson drifted by and said quietly, "I heard that Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor can now make the swelling potion correctly..."

Draco's face was as white as if he had been kissed by a Dementor.

Inside the auditorium, Fred and George were conducting "pre-exam first aid services."

"Five silver shikos will ensure you remember all the spell hand gestures!"

Fred was waving a stack of moving cards.

"Ten Sicos offer the special incentive of 'Even my grandma can cast spells better than you!'" George added.

Lee Jordan set up a stall nearby: "Three siscos sell 'Tipsy Secrets,' which are basically coffee powder mixed with sneeze candy..."

Percy Weasley strode over, his "Gryffindor Prefect" badge gleaming on his chest: "You're cheating! I'm reporting this to the professor!"

The twins hooked their arms around his shoulders, one on each side: "Dear brother, this is called 'academic collaboration'."

"And you even bought our 'Spell Mnemonic' when you were in fourth grade!"

Percy's ears instantly turned as red as his hair.

Soon it will be time to test the wizard's performance in each subject.

Professor Trelawney's classroom was shrouded in a thick layer of incense smoke.

The candlelight cast distorted shadows inside the glass sphere.

The students sat around a low table, with all sorts of oddly shaped tree branches in front of them.

"Today's test question,"

Trelawney's ethereal voice came from behind the curtain, "It's about using branches to predict your fate for the coming week, and at the same time, using branches to decipher your deepest fears."

Ron Weasley stared at the oak branch in his hand, his expression as if he had swallowed a whole Froebeest caterpillar.

"It says I'll be betrayed by a redhead... That's impossible! Unless Percy becomes student council president again..."

Hermione's willow branches traced precise paths through the air, each strike sending tiny arcs of electricity through them.

She was frowning as she recorded the data, completely unaware that wisps of smoke were beginning to rise from the ends of her hair.

"Porter,"

Draco Malfoy suddenly raised his voice.

A mocking glint flashed in his grey-blue eyes. "Your maple branch is trembling. Looks like you're in big trouble."

Harry looked down at the slightly trembling branch in his hand. "Uh, maybe it's just... dormant?"

Just then, Kane Malfoy reached out and pinched two fingers on Harry's branch.

A chilling scene unfolded—the branch suddenly twisted and deformed.

It transformed into a miniature Hungarian wood wasp, spitting out a small flame that directly scorched Harry's cuff.

"It seems the professor took the wrong branch."

Kane said nonchalantly, "Professor Trelawney is really careless."

Trelawney suddenly popped her head out of the smoke, her glasses reflecting an eerie light: "Ah! An omen of twin flames! Two souls destined to be intertwined!"

She pointed at Harry and Kane, her voice suddenly rising, "You and your brother will be—"

Harry and Draco were confused.

No, it's so obvious, why are you able to say that Kane and Harry are brothers?

"Thank you, Professor," Kane interrupted her politely.

He casually tossed the twisted branch that Harry had been holding back onto the table. "But I think Harry's branch has already fully demonstrated my fate—it says I'll be eating red carrots for lunch today."

Harry's branch was enchanted with dark magic.

It's easy to guess who's behind it: the timid Professor Quirrell.

Trelawney opened her mouth, but ultimately sullenly retreated behind the curtain.

After a year of getting to know each other, she still couldn't afford to offend this little wizard.

Herbalism exams were also held together.

Greenhouse No. 3 was filled with pink spores that made people sneeze incessantly.

Professor Sprout, wearing a gas mask, spoke in a muffled voice:

"Today's test is to change the pot of the poisonous tentacles and collect three drops of its sap—note that I want pure venom, not a mixture contaminated by your panic."

Neville Longbottom was the first to step forward.

He gently hummed a lullaby to the menacing, venomous tentacles.

Surprisingly, the ferocious plant slowly loosened its entwined vines and even voluntarily dripped a drop of golden sap into his test tube.

"Fantastic, Mr. Longbottom!" Professor Sprout cheered. "Hufflepuff +20!"

......