Thursday was the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam.
Despite being a historically troubled subject at Hogwarts, this year's batch of young wizards felt most confident about it.
Both written and practical sections went smoothly. When students came out of the Great Hall, the atmosphere was relaxed—Gryffindor's side even echoed with laughter and joy.
Scrimgeour wasn't one of the examiners, but as Head of the Auror Office, he visited every year to assess students.
It was rare for many to qualify as Auror candidates.
But this year was an exception.
Besides Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville—whom Scrimgeour had already met and recognized as excellent—other students, though not quite at their level, still impressed him. Talents like Hermione and Neville didn't appear every year, after all.
Compared to the previous batch, this one was far better.
He walked around, questioning students.
And the answers reassured him. Most Gryffindors expressed interest in becoming Aurors, as did many in Hufflepuff. Disappointingly, the prefects of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—his top picks—had no desire to become Aurors at all.
Why did the best students never want to be Aurors?
Scrimgeour howled in frustration by the Black Lake, only to get splashed in the face by cold lake water from a merperson.
—
Friday began the elective subject exams.
That day was Ancient Runes.
Students not taking the course finally got a short break—three days in total with the weekend.
Hufflepuff got drunk at the Three Broomsticks under Gryffindor's encouragement.
After all, on Monday came the Potions exam.
Its theory was as difficult as the Herbology written portion.
Students despaired beforehand.
But once they picked up their quills and saw the questions—they were surprised. Many seemed oddly familiar.
The moment they read them, they could practically hear Professor Snape's warm, gentle voice in their ears:
"Mr. Longbottom, has a troll been playing with your brain again? Why add porcupine quills before fully heating? Planning to blow up another cauldron? Is the Longbottom family that wealthy?"
"Why don't you elevate your noble limbs and jot down what Mr. Potter said? And Mr. Potter, five points from Gryffindor."
"Mr. Potter, another five points! Why stop Mr. Longbottom from adding dung stones? Wouldn't it be more entertaining to watch him blow up again and land in the hospital wing? And Mr. Longbottom, minus five—you were told clearly to wait until the mandrake juice fully stained the potion before adding dung!"
"Mr. Potter, five points!"
—oh.
That last one had nothing to do with the exam.
Afterwards, students left the hall looking conflicted.
Snape's voice echoed in their minds—"Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom... Gryffindor, minus five!"
"I think Professor Snape docked us a thousand points in total," Ron muttered outside the hall, counting on his fingers. "Merlin, all I heard in my head was Snape deducting points, over and over."
Hermione subtly nudged him.
But Ron kept going. "And poor Neville. It's better now, but he used to get bullied terribly..."
Snape's voice cut in, cold and smooth: "Oh? So Mr. Weasley has a few opinions about his Potions professor?"
Ron froze.
He robotically turned his head to face Snape's marbled, greasy-haired scowl. Forcing a smile, he stammered, "Professor Snape, I didn't mean—"
"Thinking of nonsense like that during OWLs? I don't have high hopes for your results," Snape sneered. He raised a hand and shook Ron's head lightly. "All that height and still empty inside? Gryffindor, minus ten."
"Mr. Weasley, discretion is a rare virtue. You'd do well to learn it."
Ron lowered his head. "Yes, Professor Snape."
Snape glanced at Harry, then quickly turned his gaze to Neville.
Neville met his eyes calmly—no fear.
Neville had changed a lot this year.
Most notably, he no longer feared Snape—not because he'd become especially gifted at Potions, but because he'd learned to accept his imperfections, endure criticism quietly, and apply Snape's feedback.
It worked.
Snape didn't scold him as harshly anymore.
"Seems you've all grown complacent," Snape sniffed. "Let me remind you—only those who receive an 'O' may continue my class in sixth year."
He swirled his robes and left.
His left arm remained tucked under the cloak.
—
Tuesday brought the Care of Magical Creatures exam.
The examiner was a short man with curled white hair and weathered freckles. He spoke softly, greeted students cautiously—but got along with Hagrid. He referred to dangerous magical creatures with terms of endearment like "my little cuties."
None of the students dared underestimate him.
They were fifth-years now, not wide-eyed first-years. After three years of Care of Magical Creatures, they knew: anyone who could reach such an advanced age, still whole and mostly unscarred, had to be a master of the subject.
Not everyone was built like Hagrid, after all.
He was half-giant.
Most people weren't so indestructible.
Professor Scamander was far more passionate than he appeared. During the exam—written and practical—he hovered behind students, softly observing or discreetly coughing to offer subtle hints.
Most students didn't get it, thought he was unwell, and worried about him—never realizing he was trying to help.
—
Astronomy and Divination were tested together.
Astronomy was manageable—memorize the star charts and you're fine.
Divination, on the other hand, was a nightmare.
Students racked their brains to make stuff up.
One even blurted out they were supposed to die last month.
That evening, students had to draw their own star maps.
Few were any good at drawing.
Ron kept mixing up Mars and Venus. Fortunately, he'd memorized the chart well enough to fix the errors during review. Still, the examiner shook their head—Ron was probably in trouble.
—
The last OWL exam was History of Magic.
Universally hated.
Not because it was hard—
But because it required tons of spelling.
And no one could spell.
Afterwards, Neville grabbed Ron: "Bloody hell, why couldn't they just give us the word 'rebellion' in the question instead of making us spell it?! I only remember it starts with 'in'!"
Seamus grinned: "Why not just use 'war'? That's only three letters."
"War and rebellion are not the same thing," Hermione stated blankly. "If you write 'war' instead of 'rebellion,' you'll lose marks."
Seamus blinked.
Ron casually spelled "rebellion" correctly.
Neville stared in betrayal. "Ron—you traitor! How do you know that?!"
Ron smirked. "Last year, I was forced to study grammar with Professors Granger and Potter. You heard of dictionaries?"
"Huge ones." He held up a fist-sized measure. "I memorized the whole thing in half a year."
"Hagrid too. He did it."
"There's no word I can't spell now."
He tugged his hair. "I could pass a Muggle university entrance exam."
Hermione interjected: "Mr. Weasley, question. If the Hogwarts Express is 200 inches long and travels at 10 inches per second through a 200-inch-long tunnel, how many seconds will it take for the entire train to pass through?"
A simple primary school arithmetic question.
Ron stared blankly, then stammered, "Hermione, that's impossible. The Hogwarts Express isn't only 200 inches long."
"That's why I said hypothetically." Hermione rolled her eyes.
Ron cleared his throat. "We're wizards. We don't need Muggle math. Let's discuss goblin rebellions. How many in the past 300 years?"
"Didn't feel like a lot before—but now that I think of it…"
"My gran always said goblins were never well-behaved," Neville mumbled.
History of Magic was the last OWL exam for most.
A few had one more—Muggle Studies or Arithmancy.
Naturally, Hermione didn't skip either.
—
Friday night banquet.
The Great Hall was restored from its OWL-specific decor back to its four long tables.
Fifth-years sang with joy. They'd finally escaped the hell that was OWLs.
Sixth- and seventh-years looked at them with serene pity.
They thought they'd just escaped hell—
But they were only stepping out of a shallow one, into a far more brutal, unforgiving one.
Most wouldn't face many exams in seventh year—but the NEWTs were anything but easy.
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Powerstones?
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