Hogwarts' Golden Glory

When it was Draco's turn, he pursed his lips.

He put on dragon skin gloves and stepped forward.

His movements were as precise as if he were operating some kind of precision instrument.

But when the poisonous tentacles suddenly spurted out liquid, he nimbly jumped back—the liquid all landed on Crabbe, who was queuing behind him.

"Uh, sorry."

Draco said insincerely, while secretly placing the test tube under Crabbe's robe to catch the dripping liquid.

When it was Kane's turn, everyone held their breath.

He didn't wear any protective gloves and reached directly into the poisonous tentacles.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Professor Sprout exclaimed.

The spikes of the poisonous tentacles stopped a millimeter away from Kane's skin and then slowly retracted.

Even more astonishingly, it actively rolled up the test tube and precisely dripped in three drops of golden liquid.

It is much purer than what others have collected, and it shimmers with a honey-like luster in the sunlight.

"How did you do that?" Hermione couldn't help but ask, her eyes wide.

Kane shook the test tube: "It's related to their sleep cycles."

Professor Sprout removed his gas mask.

His face was filled with disbelief: "This...this is absolutely unprecedented! Your score must be the highest!"

Professor Flitwick's office was temporarily converted into a small examination room.

Outside the heavy oak door, first-year students lined up, anxiously waiting for their numbers to be called.

Ron Weasley's knees trembled incessantly, making a "crackling" sound.

"Next, Mr. Weasley!"

Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice drifted out from under the door.

Ron staggered as he pushed open the door, nearly tripping over his own robe.

Hundreds of colorful candles floated in the center of the examination room, illuminating his freckles clearly.

"Let...let this feather write your name?"

Ron's voice was eight octaves higher than usual. "That's it?"

His wand trembled violently, and the feathers twitched pitifully twice, barely managing to spell out a few letters.

Then lie completely flat.

Professor Flitwick sighed and drew a big "p" on the scoreboard.

Hermione Granger was the seventh to be called.

She walked into the examination room with her head held high, her magic wand drawing a perfect arc.

Not only did the feather write the full name fluently, but it also drew a small heart at the end.

"Absolutely brilliant!" Professor Flitwick clapped his hands so hard he almost fell off his footstool. "Ten points for Gryffindor!"

Draco Malfoy is the thirteenth.

He slowly and methodically adjusted his cuffs.

Professor Flitwick didn't raise his wand until he coughed for the third time.

A flash of light, and the feather wrote its name in the air.

"I can tell you're very skilled at spells, but why do you always seem to carry a sense of fear?"

Professor Flitwick asked, puzzled.

Harry Potter is ranked seventeenth.

His feathers floated up shakily, then spelled out "Harry".

Then he continued to slowly draw the pattern of the Golden Snitch.

"At least... it's very creative." Professor Flitwick reluctantly wrote an "A" on the scoreboard.

When Kane Malfoy entered the examination room as the last candidate.

Professor Flitwick had already put a big "O" after his name.

"Go and get some rest, child, and prepare well for the next subject."

Kane's hand holding the wand trembled.

Is this over?

I don't even know what the exam is about!

So what about the hour I waited outside?

What does it count for?

In the transformation class exam room,

Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze swept across the classroom: "Turn this beetle into a button and keep it in that deformed state for at least five minutes."

Ron's wand made a muffled sound.

His beetle had turned into a wriggling, unfinished button, crawling painfully on the table.

Professor McGonagall looked as if she had smelled a stinky sock.

Hermione's wand struck precisely.

The beetle instantly transformed into an exquisite copper button, even engraved with tiny patterns.

"A perfect example, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall nodded.

Draco slowly waved his wand.

His beetle turned into a silver cufflink.

The Malfoy family crest is clearly engraved on it.

"Showing off won't earn you any points, Mr. Malfoy."

Professor McGonagall said, with a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth, "But it is indeed perfect."

Harry's beetle transformed into a golden sly-shaped button, glittering in the sunlight.

"Very creative, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said with a smile. "These kinds of buttons are quite rare."

When they arrived at Kane's place, Professor McGonagall made a special stop to take a look.

Kane didn't chant a spell; he simply tapped it lightly with his wand.

The beetle was transformed into a peculiar button.

When Professor McGonagall picked it up to examine it, it suddenly spread its wings and transformed into a mechanical beetle, before reverting to its button-like state.

"A perfect cycle of transformation and restoration." A hint of surprise flashed in Professor McGonagall's eyes.

"I haven't seen this level of Transfiguration in a first-year student for many years."

In the cold, dark underground classrooms of Hogwarts.

Twenty brass crucibles were neatly arranged.

The rising steam carried a bitter herbal scent.

Professor Snape's black robes billowed, like a giant bat lurking at the back of the examination hall.

"Today, your exam content will be forgotten with the potion."

His voice was like a venomous snake slicing across ice: "Any foolish mistake will lead to...unforgettable consequences."

Harry kept recalling Snape's potions notebook.

I hope I won't forget later.

He could feel Snape's gaze scraping across his back like a knife.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly appeared behind Harry. "Are you sure the Porcupine should join now?"

Harry's hand was remarkably steady: "Yes, Professor, that's what it says in the notes you gave me."

Snape's pupils contracted slightly—when did he give Harry the notes?

You should know that Lily's handwriting was still in your first-grade notebook!

No wonder this kid's potion-making technique has been so similar to his these past few days!

He snorted and turned to Neville beside him.

The only way I can vent my frustration is on this little guy!

Poor Longbottom was frantically weighing valerian roots.

Suspicious pink bubbles were rising from the crucible.

"Mr. Longbottom,"

Snape's voice sent Neville trembling like a leaf in the wind. "Are you sure this isn't a Valentine's Day special drink?"

Ron's situation is even worse.

His slices of slug were uneven in thickness, and the medicine had turned an eerie purple.

As Snape bent down, Ron's spoon suddenly deformed, spilling the entire bottle of porcupine quills into it.

"It's a failure, Weasley."

Snape waved his wand, and Ron's cauldron vanished. "Perhaps you should consider switching to... domestic magic."

When Snape walked over to Harry again.

Harry's potion was a perfect amber color.

"...Barely passable, Potter."

Snape's voice was an octave lower than usual.

At this moment, Snape had no desire to speak to this guy.

You can't very well admit that there's something wrong with your own notes, can you?

Suddenly, a loud explosion of a crucible came from the other end of the classroom.

Simon Finnigan's potion turned the ceiling fluorescent green.

As Snape strode away, Harry took the opportunity to glance at his score.

Damn it! How is this possible?

Did Snape give himself an "O"?