Chapter 208: End-of-term Daily Life
As the final examinations approached, Hogwarts’ teachers and students entered a busy revision phase, with Fifth Year and Seventh Year students the most nervous, their reciting voices audible during every meal, chattering away and making students from other years tense up as well.
In this rushed and stuffy time, the Hogsmeade weekend outing was a rare relaxation, and Third Year and above students returned with the low-pressure atmosphere around them somewhat dissipated, the Great Hall at dinner quieter without those headache-inducing recitations and filled with more laughter and chatter.
George stood up and leaned over the dining table toward the opposite side, in front of his own brother, shifting the golden roasted chicken leg onto his own plate, and facing Ron’s angry glare, he said lightly, “I helped Madam Rosmerta mind the bar for two hours today, and she gave me a poster. Does anyone want it?”
“A poster?” Ron looked up.
“A Chudley Cannons poster, the promotional photo for the summer season, with the Seeker in the lead position, and everyone on it moves!” George’s voice was full of temptation.
“My dear brother!” Ron perked up and immediately switched to the most affectionate address, “You can have my chicken leg, is that enough? If not, I’ll get more!”
“Sigh… this was earned through my work, embodying Madam Rosmerta’s gratitude and the team’s will, it’s truly hard to part with.” George was very satisfied with Ron’s reaction, “Though it’s leftover promotional material from the team, it’s exquisitely made with great collection value; if sold at the Quidditch Emporium, it’d be worth at least 7 silver sickles.”
“You want me to pay for it?” Ron’s eyes widened in disbelief, while the guy was still gnawing on the roasted chicken leg he’d taken.
“We’re blood brothers, how could we sell it to you at full price?”
Fred stood up beside him, taking the few remaining chicken legs from his plate, and said with a grin, “We’ll take just 5 sickles.”
“Eat troll dung!” Ron was furious at his own brothers’ greed.
George and Fred exchanged smiles, unhurried, and slightly raised their voices with regret in his ear:
“Looks like this deal’s off, what a shame. They say this poster is limited edition, only supplied to tavern owners for promoting the summer season—practically a collector’s rare item.”
“You forgot to mention, the background has the champion trophy and victory broomsticks; it’s practically a work of art, perfect for die-hard Chudley Cannons fans to collect!”
“Fred, imagine if someone unfurled this poster at a match— which player could resist signing it?”
“None of them, not even Charlie!”
“Enough!” Ron couldn’t hold back, slammed the table as he stood, and spread out five silver coins, “Five sickles, I want the poster.”
“No, now it’s 7 sickles! We’ve just realized its true value.” George had a real merchant’s vibe, “Only true fans deserve this poster; 5 sickles would insult it and the Chudley Cannons’ name. I think you agree, my dear Ronnie.”
“You… you…”
Ron’s face flushed red with anger, “You saw the letter Mum sent me; 7 sickles is all my pocket money.”
Summer vacation was right around the corner, and there’d be no pocket money at home during the holiday; these sickles had to last him months, yet these two greedy guys wanted to empty his wallet.
George and Fred exchanged smiles:
“Alright, that’s how business goes—haggling.”
“We’ll each give a little; 4 sickles, plus two months of chores over the summer holiday.”
Ron was somewhat tempted; he’d get the poster and still have 3 sickles left, and anyway he’d have to help Mum with chores at home—counting the twins’ share… it seemed acceptable.
Just as the deal was about to close, another redhead stood up; Ginny, who’d been listening the whole time, glared at the twins: “You two, enough! Give him the poster, and don’t mention price or chores, or I’ll tell Mum when I get home that you ripped off an expired poster from the tavern’s outer wall to scam money.”
“The way you put it… how can you call it scamming?”
“We put in labor too; we deserve some return.”
George and Fred looked disgruntled, muttering as they handed the poster to Ron; sure enough, it was torn from the wall, with wine stains and dirt on the edges and unglued residue on the back.
Ron gritted his teeth and glared, trying to prick their consciences with angry looks, but seeing the players waving at him, he couldn’t help grinning.
Couldn’t he toughen up and curse them out?
Ginny sighed speechlessly; this guy was hopeless.
“How did you know the poster was torn down by them themselves?”
Harry had sidled over at some point and whispered in her ear.
Ginny turned to glance at him, a blush spreading from her neck to her cheeks, and mumbled softly, “J-just now… Lee Jordan and them said it.”
“Ron always says George and Fred bully him; is it like this at home too?”
“Occasionally; they think pranks on Ron get the best reactions. They scared him a few times at staircase corners, and for the next two months he was cautious going up stairs… once they turned his toy bear into a giant spider, and he’s been afraid of spiders ever since.”
Ginny, a bit dazed, answered whatever was asked, “But since they tried tricking Ron into an Unbreakable Vow and got severely scolded by Mum, the pranks have decreased in frequency and severity—mostly just scamming pocket money now.”
“Poor Ron; good thing he has you to help him.” Harry lowered his voice in sympathy, “You’re really great, Ginny.”
Ginny kept her head down, her expression hidden as she stared at the fruit and vegetable salad on her plate, and mumbled dully, “It’s nothing; it should be.”
Her murmur was too quiet; Harry had already turned away, pulled by Ron to look at his poster, and missed the last part. Ginny felt her burning cheeks cool, a mix of disappointment and relief.
She lowered her head, quietly poking at the salad on her plate; with her first year at Hogwarts nearly over, it left her a bit dazed. The clinking of knives and forks reached her ears, reminding her of dinners at the Burrow.
The farewell meal before term started, Mum always made it extra abundant, and sometimes they’d talk business at the dining table:
“Have you seen Hogwarts’ school supply list? The textbooks are way too expensive, and we have five students at home.”
“I was going to buy them secondhand books, have Ginny wear robes from the secondhand shop, use an old cauldron… good thing Ron earned some money for the family.”
Back then, she’d hung her head silently too, not daring to imagine the embarrassment of wearing old robes, using old cauldrons and textbooks in class.
She still remembered the tone in which Dad and Mum said those words, like the wind howling outside the window on a rainy night; every time the ghoul upstairs knocked on the water pipe, it made one suspect a leak somewhere, worrying through the night.
From then on, she’d been especially grateful to Ron and Professor Levent, sparing her that embarrassment, letting her sit ordinarily in the classroom like the other students.
……
June, finals approaching.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, among the core subject professors, grew busy preparing final examinations for five years and discussing Wizarding Level Exam matters with the Examination Board, while elective professors like Melvin, without lower year classes, had it relatively easier.
In the past two weeks, Melvin had compiled the Muggle Studies class content into a teaching outline and exam syllabus, handing it to Madam Marchbanks; to avoid suspicion, he didn’t participate in question-setting. As for Second Year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts, considering the mass failure incident he caused last year, Professor McGonagall didn’t let him participate either.
Only a few classes left this term,
“Quentin Trimble tells us in the preface to 《Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection》 that the entire world contains not only humans but far more numerous and varied other magical beings. These creatures have different traits and lifestyles; some magical creatures possess destructively powerful magic power, and wizards need to find the right methods and choose appropriate spells to subdue them.
“This is also the main content of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
“As for what Professor Gaunt mentioned—learning Dark Magic, dealing with Dark Magic, defeating Dark Wizards—that’s not for you at this age to consider.
“This year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts final examination has the theory paper set by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout, and the practical exam set and supervised by Professor McGonagall. Now let’s review this year’s knowledge.
“……”
The last Defence Against the Dark Arts class before finals had little actual teaching content, mainly to ease pre-exam tension.
Melvin didn’t have Riddle substitute again, instead reviewing the past year’s content concisely yet efficiently: from Lockhart, dealing with snowmen and trolls, surviving in jungle and snowy mountains—all revisited, a key summary before exams.
By lesson’s end, the classroom was pin-drop silent, only the scratch of quills on notebooks audible as students absorbed the knowledge infusion, feeling it flow like cool stream water through their minds—rather pleasant.
But on second thought, nothing stuck; a chill ran through them, evoking the terror of an Obliviate from within.
When Hermione chased after the professor out of the classroom, words stuck in her throat, as if her mind was stuffed with too much knowledge, unable to recall what to ask, so she silently followed beside him, sorting her thoughts as they walked.
Melvin reached the office door, pushed it open to let the little witch enter and sit, then set down his textbook to prepare tea and snacks.
“Professor Levent.”
The little witch looked up at him, her small face pale and expression serious, “Last time you said Professor Gaunt is approaching Harry; what are his intentions?”
The kid had been busy revising and attending classes all day, investigating Horcruxes in spare time—her brain was a bit foggy.
“What else? Deliberately getting close, probing for intel—obviously to plot against Harry.” Melvin sipped his tea, shaking his head with a smile.
“But… Professor, you…”
Hermione’s mouth gaped in shock, the rest of her words caught in her throat.
“Knowing someone wants to harm Harry, why let him substitute?” Melvin finished her question for her and answered himself, “What else to do? He’s just a memory-bearing shadow, without physical form; we don’t even know if the real him is alive. Can’t lock him in prison, can’t torture him—destroy the Golden Goblet he’s possessing too?”
What else?
Hermione was about to nod when Professor Levent said darkly, “That’s Hufflepuff’s Goblet, you know.”
“It’s really Hufflepuff’s Goblet?” Hermione could hardly believe it.
A relic left by a Hogwarts founder, each item brimming with unimaginable powerful magic, traceless for a thousand years—practically a mystical ancient holy object—yet such a spiritual icon suddenly appeared in Professor Levent’s hands, harboring an evil soul plotting against a student.
Melvin smiled at her: “Haven’t you already guessed?”
“I thought it was an artisan’s replica.”
“Sadly, it’s the real thing, and Professor Gaunt residing within is a Dark Wizard.”
Melvin’s expression showed no regret at all—quite casual, even sipping tea leisurely, “What now? Destroy a thousand-year-old founder’s heirloom? Have the Ministry issue a wanted notice, matching against who-knows-how-old portraits to hunt a wizard of unknown life or death across Britain or the whole world?”
Hermione said softly, “We can’t just do nothing, right?”
“That’s what I thought, so I had him help substitute.”
Melvin looked at the indignant little witch, shrugged with a laugh, “Hermione, your curiosity for knowledge and truth is a heaven-sent gift, but you should know not every question needs probing to the end, not everything needs the best arrangement; sometimes we must see clearly and choose what we truly need.”
Melvin pulled a course selection form from his pocket, every choice ticked: “Like your course selection; Professor McGonagall asked me to persuade you to reconsider what you really need.”
The words lacked sincerity; without Professor McGonagall’s request, Melvin wouldn’t have bothered—he was quite curious about the Time-Turner himself.
“After all that circling, it’s really about persuading me on courses.” Hermione eyed him darkly, muttering softly, “Professor McGonagall already said it’d be fine and she’d arrange it.”
She sneaked a glance up, one thing unsaid.
Compared to the course advice, Professor Levent’s words sounded like brushing off the Goblet and Professor Gaunt issue.
But finals were imminent; placating the kid was fine.
……
“Oh, my goodness.”
“They’re here!”
“Who? The chief examiners, of course!”
Amid chaotic murmurs, a group of Fifth and Seventh Year students instantly turned to look toward the Great Hall entrance, toward the foyer.
A small cluster of very elderly-looking wizards approached slowly; leading was an old witch even older-looking than Dumbledore, hunched and gaunt, wrinkles dense like a spider web.
Madam Marchbanks leaned close to Professor McGonagall to speak; hard of hearing, her voice was especially loud, audible to everyone around.
“Where’s Melvin? As Administration advisor, he doesn’t show at a time like this—doesn’t want to see us old folks?”
“……”
Melvin, dining at the high table, felt the many gazes, looked helpless, and rose to greet them.
Thus, the students confirmed: 1993 exam week had arrived.
The school year was over.
