Evening
Melvin savored his dinner while chatting with Professor Flitwick. The house-elves were already preparing for the end-of-year feast, and the meals had become noticeably more lavish lately.
Flitwick mashed the potatoes on his plate, glancing frequently toward the entrance hall. "They should be arriving soon, right?" he asked in his high-pitched voice.
"Yep, Professor McGonagall's gone to the gates to meet them," Melvin replied. As a special consultant to the Wizarding Examinations Authority, he'd known for a while that the Authority's team would arrive today.
"Minerva, eh?"
"Who else?"
"…"
Both glanced at the empty headmaster's seat at the staff table, wondering what Dumbledore was up to.
At seven o'clock, faint commotion drifted from the entrance hall. Melvin and Flitwick exchanged a look, wiped their mouths, and left the staff table to greet the arrivals.
Many students noticed the sixth- and seventh-years growing restless. After some quick whispers, the entire Great Hall knew the Examinations Authority team had arrived.
Hermione's eyes darted toward the entrance hall, following the professors. From a distance, she spotted several elderly witches and wizards.
"Whoa!"
The four house tables erupted in chatter, with some girls letting out stifled squeals.
ascribing to the elderly visitors.
Truth be told, they looked ancient—almost comically so. Skinny as the Whomping Willow in late autumn, their loose skin hung on frail bones, pale cheeks dotted with age spots and twisted veins. Sparse, wispy white hair framed cloudy eyes that shifted in sunken sockets, giving them a ghostly, preserved-specimen look.
"Madam Marchbanks, Professor Tofty," Melvin greeted them with a smile.
The hunched witch at the front was Madam Marchbanks, head of the Examinations Authority, whom he hadn't seen in a while. Her wrinkles seemed to have multiplied, crisscrossing her face like a spider's web, but her spirits were high, her voice clear and strong.
Beside her stood Professor Tofty, his face marred by unsettling growths.
The two elderly wizards were discussing this year's exam arrangements. They oversaw the annual Wizarding Levels Tests, and being around young witches and wizards always seemed to rejuvenate their weary souls.
"Oh, Melvin, good to see you again," Madam Marchbanks said, her voice lively as she grabbed his arm. "We all watched the Easter film. Brilliant, truly engaging. The wizarding world needs fresh, exciting things like that."
"Thanks to you," Melvin said, raising his voice just enough for the hard-of-hearing professors without sounding loud. "Your support at the hearing kept the mirrors in play."
"No trouble at all. Clearing obstacles for young wizards is what us old folks are for," Madam Marchbanks replied, recalling the trial. "You were rushing back to school to deal with Quirrell, weren't you? Dumbledore was in such a hurry, wouldn't say a word. Can we talk about it now?"
She scanned the entrance hall, half-expecting Dumbledore to pop out of a broom cupboard. "Where is he, anyway?"
McGonagall's lips tightened, her face a mask of displeasure.
"Sorry… got stuck by a staircase on the fourth floor," Dumbledore said, appearing from nowhere with a cheerful grin, as if his excuse wasn't nonsense. "Smooth journey, Madam Marchbanks?"
"Very smooth. We've been coming for years—over a century!" she declared, unimpressed by his casual greeting. "Don't forget, I proctored your N.E.W.T.s."
"I remember. Transfiguration and Charms," Dumbledore added patiently.
A nostalgic glint appeared in Marchbanks' eyes. "You did things with a wand I'd never seen before. Young wizards always bring surprises to our world. You did back then, and Melvin's doing it now."
Dumbledore nodded slightly. "Let's head to my office for tea. We can chat at leisure."
"…"
A group of wizards, averaging two hundred years old, followed the spry hundred-year-old headmaster upstairs. Their frail, trembling figures had students worrying they might trip, but they made it around the corner without incident.
Melvin watched them go with a faint smile. As the Great Hall quieted, he turned to McGonagall, who'd been bustling all day. "Professor, have you seen the first-year Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam results on your desk?"
"You dare bring up the results, Melvin?" McGonagall said, stunned, her glasses glinting with indignation. "The entire first year—all four houses—failed completely. How did you manage that?"
"Let me explain…"
…
That Afternoon
The room at the end of the fourth-floor corridor.
"…And that's how it works. Any questions?"
"None!"
After Melvin outlined the exam rules, the students were raring to go, practically bouncing with excitement.
He waved his wand to shut the door and opened the old trapdoor. The atmosphere in the sealed room turned serious, and the young witches and wizards fell silent.
The students clustered around Hermione, Harry, and Ron dispersed, lining up by house.
Having seen the film over Easter, and with Ron preaching about it in the Great Hall for two months, nearly everyone knew what lay below: a Devil's Snare, afraid of light and fire, followed by flying keys and a giant wizard chessboard…
"Is this even an exam?" Hermione muttered, frowning slightly.
"It's probably tailored for first-years. Just passing is a big deal," Ron whispered, clutching his new wand—fourteen inches, willow, with a unicorn hair core.
No more backfiring or spell hiccups. He felt unstoppable.
Harry eyed the trapdoor's dark pit, sensing Professor Lewent's exam wouldn't be so straightforward.
The other students didn't overthink it. An easy exam with questions and answers known months in advance? They couldn't wait to dive in.
"By house order: Gryffindor first, then Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin…" Melvin stood by the trapdoor, smiling. "Gryffindor's champions, go!"
Whoosh!
Before anyone could blink, Seamus leapt in, a blur of motion.
"Woo-hoo!"
His gleeful shout echoed through the pit, lingering for a few seconds before fading.
His boldness ignited the others' enthusiasm. Students exchanged excited glances, eyes blazing.
"Next," Melvin called calmly.
Dean Thomas stepped forward without hesitation, his jump smoother and steadier than Seamus', no wild yells.
"Next."
"Here I go!" Ron took two running steps and dove in like a swimmer.
Harry and Hermione hesitated briefly, but only for a moment. Neville, lagging behind, glanced at the professor when called, said nothing, and cautiously lowered himself into the pit, gripping the edge with all ten fingers until he couldn't feel the bottom, then let go.
The rest followed suit, leaping into the pit one after another, each more confident than the last.
…
They cleared the Devil's Snare with ease, faces flushed with excitement. Their once-neat robes were wrinkled and stained with dark red sap, reeking like a sewer.
Through a corridor and a wooden door, Melvin pointed to towering black-and-white stone figures. "The flying keys took too long, so we're skipping them. The second challenge is the giant wizard chessboard…"
"Professor, let's get started!" Seamus urged.
"Gryffindor's up first. Three to a team—Dean, Neville, let's go," Ron said.
"Shouldn't we claim squares first?" Neville asked.
"Hurry up already!"
"…"
Neville had no choice but to join them on the board.
The stone pieces glided into position, and the game unfolded as expected.
Seamus had heard Ron describe this match hundreds of times and seen him reenact it dozens more in the common room. The strategy was simple: trade pieces early, then one player sacrifices themselves as a knight to break the game open.
For students who knew chess, the rehearsed answers made it easy to dodge the queen's final attack, ensuring all three passed.
The knight role was the showiest.
"Dean, move four squares left!"
"Neville, keep going!"
"…"
Finally, Seamus positioned himself before the queen, flashing a fearless grin before scrambling to avoid her strike.
The trio bounded to the other side of the board, waving excitedly.
Ron beamed with pride—this chessboard was his badge of honor. Harry grinned, while Hermione quietly studied the board, finding no changes, then eyed the professor, detecting no hints.
The other students' eyes lit up, and they noisily formed teams.
Melvin, expressionless, glanced at the novices and waved a hand to reset the pieces and board. "Next group!"
…
"Because of limitations, we're also skipping the troll challenge," Melvin said, standing at the door of a sealed room. He gestured to a long table covered with colorful vials of liquid and a parchment with a riddle.
"Seamus, still want to go first?"
"Obviously!" Se "'amus grinned.
Dean nodded firmly, his eyes resolute. This time, he'd be the hero.
He grabbed the parchment, initially nervous that the professor might have changed the riddle. But a quick read confirmed it was the same: "Danger lies before, safety behind."
"Heh…"
Dean chuckled, skipping the riddle entirely and grabbing the smallest vial and a round one. He, Seamus, and Neville each downed a bottle.
Neville smacked his lips, the taste oddly familiar.
Dean raised his empty vial triumphantly, signaling their success.
Melvin nodded, confirming their results, and replaced the vials with identical ones in the same positions.
"Next group!"
"This is just copying answers!" Hermione finally snapped, glaring at the professor.
Melvin didn't react, keeping the exam moving. When the last Slytherin group finished their potions, he calmly announced the end of the test.
That afternoon, they breezed through three challenges, each time with ease, giving every first-year a taste of a champion's adventure.
Sadly, results wouldn't be revealed on the spot.
…
In the deputy headmistress's office, McGonagall studied a diagram of the three challenges, nearly identical to their original design. Her sharp eyes caught discrepancies.
The Devil's Snare vines were coated with dark red sap.
The Transfiguration-crafted chessboard was slightly smaller, with a pathway along the edge.
Closing the diagram, McGonagall took a deep breath and paused. "I can accept the first two challenges, but the potions? The riddle clearly points to those two as the antidotes."
"Is a riddle always true?" Melvin asked.
"?"
"Defense Against the Dark Arts teaches students to protect themselves from dark wizards. The textbook's preface says it: don't trust a dark wizard's words or any suspicious writing."
Melvin explained earnestly, "A proper wizard, faced with unknown potions, would use Potions knowledge—color, texture, viscosity—to identify them, not rely on dubious clues."
"I consulted Professor Snape. Those potions were basic, and all but those two were correct," Melvin added, pausing. "Snape wasn't keen to help, but when he heard I was failing Harry and the others, he jumped in and even donated the potions."
McGonagall suddenly felt exhausted. "What were those two potions?"
"Diluted wartcap potion. Not poison—just enough to cause a few pimples."
"…"
McGonagall rubbed her temples, tempted to demand a retest. But on reflection, Melvin's approach made sense.
Since the Philosopher's Stone adventure went public, many students had grown restless, dreaming of their own fame-making quests. This test would ground them in reality.
After a moment's thought, McGonagall decided, "Don't tell the students yet. Tomorrow, I'll discuss with the other Heads of House. This method might work for other years."
Melvin nodded. "Understood, Professor."
"Oh, and the Defense practical results will be posted this weekend. Explain it clearly to the students in the Great Hall."