Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

Chapter 127 Outstanding

The afternoon's spell practice exam was held in the same classroom, but the atmosphere was much more tense than in the morning.

Writing on the exam paper is one thing, but putting it into practice is another.

After all, you can preview the exam questions, but nobody knows what the practical exam will test later.

Professor Flitwick stood on the stack of books, holding a list in his hand, and shrieked the students' names.

Each time a student was called, a pale-faced student would enter the classroom. The others waited in the corridor; some paced back and forth, some practiced swinging their canes against the wall, and some simply squatted on the ground, holding their heads and muttering incantations.

"Hannah Abbott!"

Sure enough, whether it was roll call at school or during exams, the first person called was always Ms. Wang, the one with the iron hat.

Hannah took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

When she came out two minutes later, her face was flushed, whether from nervousness or excitement, it was hard to tell.

"How is it?" someone asked.

"Pineapple—Pineapple tap dance—" she gasped, "I made it dance two steps—just two steps—Professor Flitwick said it was passable—"

"Susan Burns!"

Susan walked in with her head held high, almost tripping over her own foot as she came out, but she smiled and said, "It jumped for a full four seconds! The professor said it was good!"

Sparse applause broke out.

When it was Draco's turn, he stood up, straightened his robe, and glanced back at Henry and the others.

"Watch me."

He pushed the door open and went in.

In the classroom, Professor Flitwick stood behind the podium, smiling as he pointed to the round pineapple on the desk.

"Mr. Malfoy, please begin."

Draco took a deep breath and raised his wand.

The pineapple shook, and then it actually started moving.

It tapped rhythmically on the table with its bottom, once, twice, three times, and even spun around.

Although the movements were a bit stiff, like an elderly person with mobility issues dancing, they were indeed dancing.

Professor Flitwick nodded approvingly.

"Very good! Very good! It lasted for eight seconds, the movements were clear and the rhythm was distinct—excellent, Mr. Malfoy!"

'

Draco nodded reservedly, turned and left. The moment the door closed, he couldn't help but clench his fist.

In the corridor, Pansy was the first to approach.

"How is it?"

"Excellent." Draco tried to keep his voice calm, but the corners of his mouth were practically smirking.

Pansy cheered and congratulated Draco.

Theodore looked up from the corner, glanced at him, and then looked down again.

Henry Wales.

Professor Flitwick's voice came from inside the door.

Henry stood up, straightened his cuffs, and walked toward the door.

As he passed Draco, Draco jokingly whispered, "Your Highness, the pressure is on you."

Henry smiled, said nothing, and pushed the door open to go inside.

The pineapple on the desk stood quietly, and Professor Flitwick watched him expectantly from the side.

Henry raised his wand, but he didn't say a word.

With just a slight twist of the wrist—

The pineapple moved.

It straightened up, as if it were alive.

Then, its bottom began to tap the tabletop, a quick and precise rhythm: tap, tap, tap tap.

It spun around, kicked its legs, and even did a beautiful spinning jump, landing steadily and continuing to jump.

One second, two seconds, five seconds, ten seconds—it's still dancing, the rhythm is Irish tap dance, Riverdance.

Professor Flitwick's jaw dropped so wide it almost fell off the stack of books.

Fifteen seconds, twenty seconds.

Finally, the pineapple finished its performance with a magnificent closing move, standing steadily in the center of the table, as if bowing for the end of a performance.

The classroom was quiet for a moment, then Professor Flitwick burst into a high-pitched laugh, clapped his hands, and jumped up and down on the stack of books.

"Fantastic! Brilliant! Mr. Wells is outstanding! And Slytherin, add another ten points!"

Henry bowed slightly, a confident smile on his face.

"Thank you, Professor."

He turned and went out; everyone in the hallway was watching him.

"How is it?" Draco asked, though he already guessed it from the situation.

Henry thought for a moment, then said in the most indifferent tone, "Not bad."

Draco sighed.

He had learned to tell that when Henry said "okay," it often meant "very good."

"Your Highness, could you possibly say something other than 'okay' just once?"

Henry thought about it seriously.

"cannot."

That afternoon, cheers and wails erupted intermittently in the corridor.

Those who had finished the exam came out, and those who hadn't taken it went in, round after round.

When it was Neville's turn, his hands trembled so much he could barely hold the wand.

Once inside, he aimed at the pineapple and desperately tried to recall the incantation.

The pineapple remained completely still.

Neville got impatient and swung the ball again.

The pineapple remained untouched.

Professor Flitwick said gently, "Don't rush, Mr. Longbottom, try again. Relax, take a deep breath."

Neville took a deep breath, a deep breath, and another deep breath. He closed his eyes and remembered what his grandmother had said—

A moment later, he opened his eyes, raised his wand, and swung it with all his might.

The pineapple shook, and then it actually moved.

It struggled to lift its bottom, tapped the table once, then again, and again.

Although the movements were as clumsy as a drunken hedgehog, it was indeed jumping.

Professor Flitwick nodded in satisfaction.

"Pass, Mr. Longbottom. Go back and practice some more."

When Neville came out, he was trembling with fear, sweating profusely, as if he had been pulled out of the water.

But he still had a silly grin on his face.

"I made it jump!" he said to Harry. "I made it jump!"

Harry patted him on the shoulder, offering sympathy and encouragement.

The Transfiguration exam was on the second day. Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the classroom, her expression even more serious than on the day Quirrell died.

She waved her wand, and a mouse appeared on each desk.

It's alive and still moving.

"Turn this mouse into a beautiful snuffbox." Professor McGonagall's voice was as stern as ever. "The more exquisite the box, the higher the score. If the box still has the mouse's whiskers on it—that means a deduction."

A collective gasp filled the classroom.

Ron stepped forward and looked at the mouse in front of him. The mouse looked back at him with its bright little eyes.

"I'm sorry," Ron whispered to it, "I didn't mean for this to happen."

He raised his wand, but the rat remained a rat, unchanged.

Professor McGonagall glanced at him, and didn't seem very happy.

"Mr. Weasley, this is an exam, not a staring contest with a mouse."

Ron's face remained neither red nor white; his skin had reached an unprecedented level of thick-skinnedness.

Hermione's transformation was flawless. With a gentle tap of her wand, the mouse transformed into an exquisite silver snuffbox, its lid engraved with intricate patterns and its interior lined with velvet.