Chapter 93: All Unacceptable
At dusk.
Melvin enjoyed his dinner while chatting with Professor Flitwick. The house-elves had already begun preparing for the end-of-year banquet, making the meals during this period much more lavish.
Flitwick crushed the potatoes on his platter, frequently glancing toward the foyer, and asked in his high-pitched voice, “They should be arriving soon, right?”
“Yes, Professor McGonagall has already gone to the school gate to meet them.” As a special advisor to the Examination Board, Melvin had received the news early that the Examination Board’s workgroup would arrive at the school today.
“Minerva?”
“Who else?”
“…”
The two glanced at the center seat at the high table. The headmaster was absent, no one knew what he was busy with.
At seven in the evening, faint commotion came from the direction of the foyer. Melvin and Professor Flitwick exchanged a glance, immediately wiped their mouths, rose from the high table, and went to greet them.
Many little wizards noticed that the sixth- and seventh-year students seemed restless. After some brief exchanges, the entire Great Hall knew that the Examination Board workgroup had arrived.
Hermione’s eyes darted around, following the professors’ figures as she turned to look toward the foyer. From afar, she saw several elderly wizards.
“Oh!”
Chatter erupted from the four house tables, with many girls even squealing in hushed voices.
To be honest, they were too old, old beyond measure, and their appearance was quite unsightly.
As thin as the Whomping Willow in autumn and winter, with loose skin hanging off their bones, pale cheeks showing age spots and twisted veins, sparse and fine white hair, cloudy eyes rolling in shrunken sockets, bloodless, like specimens soaked in water.
“Madam Marchbanks, Professor Tofudi.” Melvin greeted them with a smile.
The hunched witch standing in the front center was the long-unseen head of the Examination Board, Madam Marchbanks. The wrinkles on her face seemed even more numerous, dense like a web, but she appeared spirited, with a loud voice.
Beside her was Professor Tofudi, with an ugly and frightening flesh lump.
The two old wizards were discussing this year’s examination arrangements. Every year, the Wizarding Level Exams were supervised by them, and such close contact with young wizards always brought solace to their aged souls.
“Oh, Melvin, we meet again.”
Madam Marchbanks increasingly resembled a little old lady, happily pulling Melvin to talk. “I saw the film released at Easter. We all saw it. It was great, very interesting. The Wizarding World needs such novel and engaging things.”
“This is all thanks to you. You helped defend the projection mirror during the last trial.” Melvin raised his voice slightly so the hard-of-hearing old professors could hear clearly without it seeming noisy.
“That’s nothing. Clearing obstacles for young wizards is what we old folks should do.” Madam Marchbanks still remembered the scene from the last trial. “You were in a hurry to get back to school then, to deal with Quirrell, right? Dumbledore was rushing about, refusing to say anything. Can we talk about it now?”
Madam Marchbanks peered carefully around the foyer, as if expecting the headmaster to pop out from some cabinet for broomsticks. “Where’s Dumbledore? I have so many questions for him.”
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips beside them, her face expressionless, but anyone could see her displeasure.
“Sorry… He got trapped by a staircase on the fourth floor.”
Dumbledore appeared from nowhere, chuckling as he spoke, showing no sign that he was making it up. “Was the journey smooth, Madam Marchbanks?”
“Smooth, very smooth. We’ve been here many times before! Every year, for over a hundred years!” Madam Marchbanks shouted, unimpressed by the perfunctory greeting. “Don’t forget, I supervised your N.E.W.T.s exams.”
“Of course I remember, Transfiguration and Charms.” Dumbledore patiently added.
A hint of reminiscence showed in Madam Marchbanks’s eyes. “I remember too. You did things with your wand I’d never seen before. Young wizards always bring surprises to the Wizarding World. You were like that back then, and Melvin is like that now.”
Dumbledore nodded slightly. “Come to my office for some tea. We can chat at length.”
“…”
A group of wizards around two hundred years old were led upstairs by a young hundred-year-old wizard. Their shaky old bones made many students worry they’d fall, but fortunately, no accidents occurred until they disappeared around the corner.
Melvin watched them go with a smile on his face. When the Great Hall quieted down again, he turned to the deputy headmaster who had been busy all evening. “Professor McGonagall, have you seen the score sheet for the first-year Defence Against the Dark Arts practical exam on your office desk?”
“How dare you mention the score sheet to me, Melvin?”
Professor McGonagall was so astonished she could hardly speak, her glasses flashing with anger. “The entire first year, all four houses, every student failed… How did you supervise an exam to produce such results?”
“Well, let me explain slowly.”
…
Time flashed back to that afternoon.
The room at the end of the fourth-floor corridor.
“…That’s how it is. Any questions?”
“No!”
After Professor Levent explained the rules of this exam, the students rubbed their fists eagerly, impatient to begin.
So Melvin waved his wand to close the door and open the old trapdoor. The atmosphere in the enclosed space suddenly turned serious, and the little wizards immediately quieted down.
The students clustered around Hermione and her friends dispersed, lining up by house.
Having seen the relevant moving pictures over the Easter holiday, and with Ron preaching about it in the Great Hall for the past two months, nearly all the students present knew the challenges below: Devil’s Snare under the trapdoor opening, which feared light and fire.
Further on were keys floating in the air, giant stone wizard chess…
“Does this even count as an exam?” Hermione frowned slightly.
“Probably considering we’re first years, just getting through smoothly would be impressive.” Ron muttered under his breath, holding his new wand—fourteen inches long, willow wood, with a unicorn hair core.
His wand no longer backfired frequently, and spells cast without stuttering or failing. He now felt terrifyingly powerful.
Harry looked at the cave below the trapdoor, feeling that Professor Levent’s exam wouldn’t be this simple.
The other students present had few thoughts; a simple-difficulty exam with the questions and standard answers known months in advance… They couldn’t wait to start the adventure.
“In order of house points, Godric Gryffindor first, then Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Slytherin…” Melvin stood by the trapdoor, smiling. “Gryffindor’s warriors, begin.”
Whoosh!
No sooner had he spoken than, before the others could react, Seamus jumped right in, so fast only an afterimage was visible.
“Woo-hoo!”
The joyful shout echoed in the cave, its long tail lasting a few seconds before fading away.
This bold pioneering ignited the other candidates’ enthusiasm. The little wizards exchanged glances, their faces excited, eyes burning.
“Next.” Melvin called calmly.
Dean Thomas hesitated no longer, stepping lightly and jumping cleanly—his movements and posture far better than Seamus’s, and very steady, without any howling.
“Next.”
“Watch me!”
Ron took a short run-up and dove in like a swimmer.
Harry and Hermione hesitated before jumping, but only for a few seconds. Only Neville, at the back, glanced at the professor when called, said nothing, and slowly probed down the opening on his own. Finally, with ten fingers gripping the edge, still unable to reach the bottom, he let go and fell.
The students behind followed suit, jumping into the cave one after another, each more deft and decisive than the last.
…
Having smoothly passed the Devil’s Snare challenge, the little wizards’ faces were flushed with excitement. Their once clean and neat wizard robes were now wrinkled and stained with dark red juice, carrying a sewer-like stench.
They passed through the corridor and entered a wooden door.
Melvin pointed to the towering black-and-white stone statues, explaining to the students: “Since the key challenge is too time-consuming, we’ll skip it. The second challenge is giant stone wizard chess…”
“Professor, let’s start.”
“Gryffindor first. Three per group. Dean, Neville, let’s go.”
“Shouldn’t we take positions first?”
“Hurry, hurry.”
“…”
Neville had no choice but to follow them onto the chessboard.
The stone chess pieces began sliding and moving, the game proceeding as expected.
Seamus had heard Ron explain this game hundreds of times and seen it demonstrated dozens of times in the lounge: early on, maneuver the pieces in normal combat, exchanging them, then have one play the knight and sacrifice themselves for a breakthrough.
For students who knew chess, with the standard answer demonstrated ahead, they could even dodge the queen’s final attack early, allowing all three to pass smoothly.
The one playing the knight got the most spotlight.
“Dean, move four squares forward-left!”
“Neville, keep advancing!”
“…”
Finally, Seamus positioned himself before the queen, showed a fearless expression, then scrambled away from the attack.
The three bounced and jumped to the other side of the chessboard, excitedly waving back.
Ron was smug; this chessboard was his medal. Harry chuckled, while Hermione quietly observed the chessboard, finding no changes, then quietly watched the professor, detecting no anomalies.
The other students’ eyes lit up, and they noisily began forming teams.
Melvin remained expressionless, glancing indifferently at the rookies, waving his hand to reset the pieces and chessboard. “Next group!”
…
“Due to constraints, we skip the troll challenge too, so…”
Melvin stood at the door of the blocked room, pointing to the long table before them, covered in bottles and jars filled with brightly colored liquids, beside which was a parchment with a riddle.
“Seamus, will you be the first group again?”
“Of course!”
Seamus grinned.
Dean nodded vigorously too, eyes determined—this time, he would be the hero.
He stepped forward and took the parchment. Dean was initially a bit nervous, worrying if the professor had changed the riddle, but a quick read showed it was the original: danger ahead, safety behind.
“Hey…”
Dean grinned foolishly, too lazy to reason it out, and directly took the smallest bottle and a round one. Seamus and Neville each took one and gulped them down.
Neville smacked his lips, feeling the taste somewhat familiar.
Dean turned back, proudly holding up the empty bottle to show they’d passed this challenge.
Melvin nodded to confirm their score, then replaced two potions in their original spots—the bottles identical in size and position to before.
“Next group!”
“This is just copying answers!”
Hermione finally couldn’t hold back, looking straight up at the professor.
Melvin showed no reaction, continuing the exam until the last Slytherin group drank their potions, then calmly announced the exam’s end.
That afternoon, they cleared three challenges in total, passing each easily. The little wizards all experienced a warrior’s adventure.
Unfortunately, scores couldn’t be revealed on the spot.
…
In the deputy headmaster’s office.
Professor McGonagall looked at the diagrams of the three challenges, which matched their original design almost exactly, but her sharp eyes spotted the anomalies.
Some vines in the Devil’s Snare section were coated with dark red juice;
The Transfiguration-made chessboard was a size smaller than before, with passages left at the edges for passage.
Professor McGonagall closed the drawings, took a deep breath, and after a moment’s silence said, “I can accept the first two challenges, but what about the last one? By the riddle, those two bottles were indeed antidotes?”
“Does the riddle have to be true?”
“?”
“Defence Against the Dark Arts is a course to protect students from dark wizards. The textbook preface states: never believe a dark wizard’s words or any suspicious writing.”
Melvin explained earnestly. “A normal wizard facing unfamiliar potion bottles should use Potions knowledge to judge the type by color, texture, and viscosity, not trust suspicious hints.”
“I consulted Professor Snape specifically. Those were all basic potions, and aside from those two, the others were the correct answers.” Melvin paused briefly before adding, “Professor Snape initially ignored me, but when he heard I wanted Harry and the others to fail, he cooperated eagerly and even generously donated the potions.”
Professor McGonagall suddenly felt weary. “What were those two bottles?”
“Diluted pimple potion—not poison, just enough to give them a few pimples.”
“…”
Professor McGonagall helplessly rubbed her brow, tempted to make him reorganize a practical exam, but on second thought, Melvin had a point.
Since the Philosopher’s Stone adventure became public, many students had grown restless, thinking they could complete adventures and gain fame in the Wizarding World. This test would help them face a bit of reality.
After quiet contemplation, Professor McGonagall decided: “Don’t tell the students yet. Tomorrow, I’ll discuss with the other heads. Perhaps this method can be promoted to other years.”
Melvin nodded. “Alright, Professor.”
“By the way, the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical exam scores will be announced this weekend. Be in the Great Hall then to explain it clearly to the students.”
