Magical Studies at Hogwarts...

Chapter 34 The Final Action

When Ike returned to the dorm, Stewart and Terry were already up and about to go out to find Professor Flitwick. Seeing Ike return, they each tossed a cushion over and lay back down on their beds.

I pulled the covers over my head and fell asleep without a care.

Ike waved to stop the two cushions, shrugged as he watched Stuart and the other person move nimbly, and carefully put the cushions back in their original places.

With a practiced stun spell, it was almost ten o'clock when Ike woke up again.

There are no classes on Friday morning, and one more herbal medicine class in the afternoon, which concludes the first-year curriculum. Final exams begin next Monday.

The exams last for a whole week. At Hogwarts, each subject is taught twice a week, with the first exam being theory and the second being practice.

The first test was Potions. Professor Snape didn't make things too difficult for the young wizards. He simply gave them a test with one hundred fill-in-the-blank questions, one hundred true/false questions, and three essay questions, requiring them to write out the detailed steps for making scabies potion, healing potion, and cold medicine.

The difficulty wasn't high, but there was just so much to write. Ike saw some young wizards start sweating and trembling the moment they received the test questions.

Um... it's Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley.

Ike scanned the questions from beginning to end; they weren't difficult, just things Snape had covered in class. Picking up his special anti-cheating quill, Ike quickly began answering the questions.

"Shhh..."

"Shhh..."

The sound of quills scribbling rapidly across parchment filled the exam hall almost simultaneously, then became a continuous chorus. Ike, focused and oblivious to Snape's ghostly movements throughout the classroom, quickly finished his exam.

The afternoon's History of Magic was even simpler. For many years, Professor Binns' exams had required students to describe the course of a historical event, and all of this was in that thick book, History of Magic, so it was even less difficult for Ike.

Although he couldn't memorize the entire book like Hermione, he could still memorize up to the part Professor Binns was talking about.

The theoretical exams for Charms, Transfiguration, Herbalism, and Defense Against the Dark Arts are similar to those for Potions, only with fewer questions. For those who pay close attention, getting a perfect score is not difficult.

The real challenge lies in practice.

Professor Flitwick had the young wizards try to make a pineapple tap dance across a desk, Professor McGonagall had to turn a mouse into a snuffbox, and Professor Sprout had the students deal with white shavings—basically, any test anyone could do.

Potions class was a bit more complicated. Students had to independently brew the potion of forgetfulness and also face pressure from Snape. Many young wizards, especially the young lion cubs, made mistakes, big or small, under this pressure. Whenever this happened, Snape would let out a cold laugh and then sharply mark his notebook with his quill.

Then, unsurprisingly, the person who was scratched made another mistake, until they broke down and cried uncontrollably.

Ike remained unmoved and successfully completed the production of the forgetfulness potion. If nothing unexpected happens, it will be another Omega.

Stretching and yawning, the young hawks left the Potions classroom and returned to the common room, finally relieved after nearly a month of tension. Stuart and Michael complained about Snape's awfulness, while Anthony, Morag, and Mandy estimated their respective scores.

Ike sat in his usual spot, happily summoning the sealed swarm of cockroaches, squinting his eyes to savor the bursting sensation, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Unfortunately, happy times are always short-lived. After eating only five or six owls, an owl flew through the lounge window and landed in front of Ike.

Ike removed the note tied to the owl's leg, glanced at it, and immediately stood up. He walked over to Stuart, who was still enthusiastically complaining, patted him on the shoulder, and, under Stuart's somewhat surprised gaze, said softly, "One hour."

Then, head straight to the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor of the castle.

Quirrell had been waiting in front of the wooden door for a while. When he saw Ike arrive, he didn't say much. He pointed his wand at the lock and cast a lock-picking spell. The wooden door opened with a click.

The three-headed dog, Louie, glared fiercely at the two people in front of him from behind the door, letting out a low warning growl. Its three mouths slowly opened, and saliva dripped incessantly onto the ground.

Quirrell, unperturbed, took a small harp from his robes, pointed his wand at it, and the harp began to play automatically. Upon hearing the music, Lucy's eyelids drooped involuntarily, and soon he was slumped over, even snoring.

"Cerberus, a very fierce and cruel creature." Quirrell put his harp aside and kicked the sleeping Louie as he spoke. "Its bite force is incredible, and its saliva contains toxins. Getting bitten is a real problem."

"I've been working on ways to deal with him, and I finally learned his weakness from that stupid half-giant."

"Actually, I should have thought of that earlier. Legend has it that Orpheus of ancient Greece entered the underworld to bring his deceased wife Eurydice back from the underworld. He played beautiful music on his lyre, which put the three-headed dog Cerberus to sleep, thus allowing him to leave the underworld..." Quirrell sighed. "I had completely forgotten about that!"

"That's normal. We always overlook the obvious." Ike opened the trapdoor guarded by Lou Williams, casually tossing down a soft ball of white light, revealing the writhing vines below.

"Professor, there's something down there!" Ike said.

"Of course." Quirrell leaned closer to take a look. "Dumbledore had each of us set up a barrier to protect the Philosopher's Stone. This must be Sprout's arrangement."

"You can't see clearly from this far away, you'll see once you jump down." Quirrell said and jumped down. Ike moved his left hand and followed suit.

The two were caught by the soft yet resilient vines, but then they felt the vines wrap around their bodies and slowly tighten.

"Devil's Web?" Ike said. "That thing isn't difficult to deal with."

"Of course, bright light and fire are their natural enemies." Quirrell raised his right hand. "Fluorescent light!"

A huge, bright, blinding ball of light appeared at the tip of the staff, and the demonic net retreated quickly as expected. Ike timely cast a shock-absorbing spell on the two of them, and they landed safely on the ground.

Quirrell put away his Illumination Charm, straightened his clothes slightly, and said to Ike, "A very nice shock-absorbing Charm, Mr. Stradivarius."

Ike smiled but didn't say anything. Quirrell glanced at Ike's smiling face, but didn't say anything more, and walked deeper into the stone corridor.

Before long, the two arrived at the second checkpoint.

Hundreds of winged keys were flying in the sky, with several old, worn-out flying brooms nearby.

"Petrify them all!" Quirrell waved his wand, but the keys in the sky seemed completely unaffected, continuing to fly at their leisurely pace. Another freezing spell was cast, but it still had no effect.

"Looks like this is Flitwick's handiwork. These keys are enchanted; control spells won't work." Quirrell put away his wand and turned to Ike. "Mr. Strayder, we need to get on our brooms and grab the key to open the door. How were your flying grades?"

"That's not good, Professor." Ike shrugged. "Mrs. Hodge said I'd barely get an A in my flying class. I'm glad I won't be taking it next year."

"Then it's my turn." Quirrell picked up a broom that looked a bit better, flipped himself up, and with a little effort, he flew up and plunged headfirst into the flying keys.

No one knows what kind of magic Professor Flitwick cast on these keys, but as soon as Quirrell took flight, they started spinning wildly, relentlessly attacking Quirrell like tornadoes.

Although it didn't hurt, the sheer number of keys left Quirrell in a very awkward situation.

Quirrell, broom in one hand and headscarf in the other, carefully searched for the right key. Soon, he found a large, antique-looking silver key, and his intuition told him this was the one.

The silver key seemed to realize it had been discovered and quickly moved to dodge Quirrell's first attack. Seeing this, Quirrell was certain he had found his target, and disregarding how painful the other attacks would be, he plunged headlong into the group of keys.

Ike looked up at Quirrell, who was surrounded by brooms, and feigned anxiety. A moment later, Quirrell swooped down, key in hand, and jumped off the broom just before reaching the ground. He ran to the wooden door, roughly inserted the key into the lock, turned it to the right, and opened the door.

"Come in quickly, Ike!" Quirrell rushed into the other end of the door, hurriedly calling to Ike. Ike also ran a few steps, grabbed the key from the door, threw it into the pile of keys coming from behind him, and ran inside. Quirrell closed the door behind him.

A series of "bang bang bang" sounds rang out, and the wooden door finally stopped shaking.

"Healed to the last breath!" Quirrell cast a healing spell on his arm and face, and the wounds from the key cuts visibly healed. With a cleansing spell, even the bloodstains disappeared.

Only then did they turn their attention to the rows of enormous statues in the darkness.

With a series of "thump, thump, thump" sounds, torches lit up, illuminating the entire room. Only then did we realize that the statues were actually chess pieces.

"Wizard chess? Looks like McGonagall's doing." Quirrell smiled, extending his wand, and turned to Ike, saying, "Mr. Strayder, I think we don't need to follow the rules in this round..."

"How's your Shattering Curse?"

"Shattered to pieces!" Quirrell's words had barely left his lips when one of the chess pieces was smashed to pieces. The other pieces turned around in unison, drew their weapons, and moved toward the two of them.

"It should be alright." Ike shrugged. "At least handling these things shouldn't be a problem."

"That makes things easier." Quirrell nodded, and together with Ike, they cleared all the pieces from the board and successfully reached the door to the next level.

As soon as he opened the door, Ike smelled a familiar stench, and then saw a giant staring blankly at him.

Two slicing spells sliced ​​off half of the troll's neck. The troll took two more steps forward before collapsing to the ground with a loud bang. After that, Ike felt the stench in the room was even worse.

Following Quirrell into the next room, purple flames erupted as soon as they entered. At the same time, black flames shot up from the doorway leading to the front.

"A variant of Fiendfyre?" Quirrell walked up to the black flames, examined them, and murmured. Ike went to the table in the middle of the room, picked up the parchment on it, read it silently, and then looked at the seven bottles of different shapes on the table.

"It seems this was arranged by Professor Snape," Ike said.

"Hey~ hey~ hey~ Snape? What a nostalgic name..." Old Voldemort, who had been quiet all along, suddenly spoke up. "But we don't need them..."

"Come here, come up... I'll teach you a little spell: the Fire Control Spell. It will make it easy to get past the flames here. We shouldn't be playing any logic games here..."

Ike quickly learned the spell, pointed his wand at the flames in front of him, and chanted the incantation. The black flames then split in the middle, revealing a gap large enough for two people to walk side by side.

"Heh heh heh, very good... very good..." Voldemort praised twice and then fell silent again. Quirrell went through the gap first, and Ike followed, maintaining the spell.

The last room was brightly lit, with only a mirror in the center. Quirrell was standing in front of the mirror, his hands constantly touching it like a monkey.

"It's here! It's here!" Voldemort's voice was urgent. "I can feel it, it's right here! Get it! Get it now!"

Quirrell didn't reply. He fumbled around in the mirror with one hand, while the other rummaged through his pockets, busying himself for a while, but found nothing. Then he noticed a line of text engraved at the top of the impressive mirror with its gold frame:

"Eris Stella Ehru Aitwubi Kafru Aiton Wochs"

Quirrell lowered his hands, his eyes fixed on the line of text, and murmured:

"The Mirror of Eris..."

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(End of this chapter)