June 20, Friday
The Muggle Studies OWLs and NEWTs were over, and the newly liberated students poured out of the exam hall. They skipped down corridors, leapt down staircases two steps at a time, and raced to the lake to savor their freedom.
Exam results would arrive over the summer, giving them about a month of carefree days.
Melvin strolled leisurely along the corridors and stairs, occasionally waving to the portraits on the walls. Beside him shuffled the elderly Professor Tofty, moving at a pace that couldn't be rushed.
Elective written exams like Muggle Studies and Arithmancy were always scheduled last. With this exam done, the school year's testing was officially complete.
The young witches and wizards were free—and so were the professors.
As they crossed a landing, Melvin glanced at the portraits and ghosts nearby, chatting about the House parties and summer plans. Summer sunlight streamed through the windows, and every sentient being in the castle seemed eager for the holidays.
"It's the ghosts, isn't it?" Professor Tofty said, clutching a stack of sealed exam papers, his wrinkled face breaking into a smile. "Is Gryffindor's Sir Nicholas still around? The students call him Nearly Headless Nick. When I was at school, every summer he'd visit a widow ghost in Kent."
"Didn't know Nick had a love story like that," Melvin said.
"Haha…"
Sadly, Nick was tight-lipped about the details. His ghost troupe's annual performances always reenacted his botched beheading.
They chatted as they descended the stairs.
At the marble staircase's turn, the surroundings grew oddly quiet. Portraits and ghosts hushed their conversations, and students passing by paused their playful chases, adopting polite postures and hurrying through the entrance hall.
Melvin and Tofty kept walking, following the students' gazes.
At the entrance hall's doorway stood two elderly figures, one tall, one short, gazing out at the grounds and the Black Lake with faint smiles. They greeted passing students, reminding them to stay safe.
It was the headmaster and Madam Marchbanks.
Madam Marchbanks wore a gray wizarding robe, a Ministry badge pinned to her chest, leaning on a short staff—not for necessity, but for comfort.
Melvin's gaze shifted to the path outside, where other Wizarding Examinations Authority members boarded Thestral-drawn carriages under Professor McGonagall's guidance.
With exams over, the old wizards were heading home.
Melvin stepped forward, nodding to the pair. "Madam Marchbanks, if you're not in a rush, why not stay for dinner? The end-of-year feast is always spectacular."
"My teeth are nearly gone—can't enjoy a feast like that," she replied, her wrinkled face creasing with a smile. She studied Melvin, her expression softening, then turned to Dumbledore. "Those questions you asked—I don't have answers. But the Authority has archives going back to Hecuba's time. I'll dig around; might find something."
"No rush. It's not urgent," Dumbledore said cheerfully.
"If you're stumped, write to the old-timers—Bathilda Bagshot, Mustela Barkwith, Barry Winkle…" Marchbanks listed several long-lived wizards, pausing. "They're all half in the grave; no need to worry about leaks."
Dumbledore nodded repeatedly, though it wasn't clear how much he absorbed.
Melvin bid farewell to Professor Tofty nearby.
Though the two hadn't specified the issue, the mention of Hecuba clued Melvin in—it was about Horcruxes and Voldemort.
The Wizarding Examinations Authority, older than the Ministry itself, held countless lost records. Dumbledore's consultation with Marchbanks was likely a long shot, but it hadn't paid off.
As for the old wizards she suggested? Mostly useless.
In the entire wizarding world, who outlived Nicolas Flamel?
After seeing Marchbanks and Tofty off in their carriage, Melvin watched them disappear, then turned to the students scattered across the grounds and lake. He paused, a faint smirk creeping onto his face.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam results were about to be announced.
The young witches and wizards played carefree—some slid lazily down grassy slopes, others sprawled under lakeside trees laughing, a few lay stretched out on the grass.
Oblivious to the Muggle Studies professor's mischievous intent.
Dumbledore, aware of the practical exams, chimed in. The first-years had gone first, retackling the fourth-floor obstacle course—and the whole group failed. Somehow, Melvin convinced Minerva to make it the test for every year, and everyone failed.
A smile played on Dumbledore's lips. "Tomorrow's the end-of-year feast, Melvin. When will you tell the kids the news?"
"After the feast," Melvin said. "Let them enjoy it first."
"Summer plans?"
"Off to Romania. Hagrid's visiting his dragon hatchling. There's a wizard market in Budapest; I'll check out the scene while I'm there."
"And after?"
"Back to Ilvermorny for a bit."
"When will you return to Hogwarts?"
"End of August. Why?"
Melvin eyed him suspiciously.
He had a sinking feeling the meddlesome headmaster wanted to drag him on some adventure—exploring a seaside cave or treasure-hunting in a remote village's abandoned manor…
"The school gets busy before term starts. Come back early to help Minerva."
"…"
Melvin watched Dumbledore ascend the stairs, vanishing around the corner. After a moment's silence, he decided to return with the students.
He was just an elective professor—why was he always roped into extra work?
The next evening
The enchanted ceiling mimicked a midsummer night's starry sky. Inside the Great Hall, a grand feast was underway.
Silver and green ribbons draped the walls and ceiling, with wide banners displaying Slytherin's hissing serpent. At the four House tables, Gryffindors whispered about House points, while Slytherins were mostly quiet.
Students uninterested in the House Cup clustered in small groups, chattering about summer plans and agreeing to meet in Diagon Alley for shopping.
Seventh-years, who'd never return, sat quietly, gazing at the hall's tables, chairs, and starry ceiling, listening more than speaking.
Melvin, arriving half an hour early to help Professor Flitwick decorate, sat at the staff table's side, watching hundreds of candles float in the air. Spotting an excited Hagrid clinking goblets with everyone, he subtly shifted aside to avoid attention.
At three minutes to seven, Dumbledore tapped his goblet with a silver spoon, the clear chime cutting through the hall's noise. "Another year gone! Children, before you dive into these delicious dishes, indulge an old man's ramblings. It's been an exciting, thrilling year…
"A whole summer awaits you…"
He recapped the past year, looked forward to the future, and urged students to enjoy their holidays while keeping up with studies.
It was the same spiel principals gave worldwide, magic school or not. Dumbledore sprinkled in a couple of bad jokes, chilling the hall's atmosphere further.
Then came the House Cup tally.
"Now, for the House Cup ceremony. The points stand as follows: Slytherin, fourth place, 312 points. Hufflepuff, 352 points. Ravenclaw, 426 points!"
"And finally, Gryffindor, 442 points!"
As the flushed-faced students cheered, Dumbledore smiled, his voice rising above the noise. "Which means we need a little change!"
With his announcement of Gryffindor's victory, the banners overhead shimmered. Slytherin's green serpent faded, replaced by Gryffindor's gold-and-red lion. The silver-green ribbons turned gold and red.
Gryffindors' cheers nearly shook the enchanted ceiling, rattling tables and dishware.
Watching the jubilant students, Snape's face darkened. But thinking of the exam results to be announced later, his mood lifted slightly.