No matter how reluctant they were, final exams still arrived on schedule.
In this regard, Hogwarts and Muggle schools had at least one thing in common:
Most students hated exams.
But unlike in Muggle schools, cheating here was far more difficult.
Professors handed out brand-new quills enchanted with anti-cheating spells.
Of course, if someone was skilled enough to break those enchantments, they probably didn't need to take the exam in the first place.
By now, the weather had turned scorching hot, and the great hall where the exams were held was particularly stuffy and humid.
Naturally, that made it even harder for students to stay focused during their tests.
Ron was convinced the professors did it on purpose.
"They could easily cool the place down with magic," he grumbled. "But no, they make it miserable just so we can't think straight!"
In addition to the written exams, there were also practical evaluations.
For first-years, the practicals were relatively simple—relatively being the key word.
In Transfiguration, for example, many students ended up turning their matchboxes into snuffboxes that still had mouse whiskers on them.
But it was Potions that really took the cake.
Their final task? Brewing a Forgetfulness Potion.
Difficult enough already—but made worse by Professor Snape, who hovered behind them like a vulture, his dark robes fluttering as he glided from table to table.
The pressure was unbearable. Most of the first-years felt like they were sitting on pins and needles, or like their skin was crawling—some even said it was like choking on thorns.
When the exam finally ended, the students heaved a collective sigh of relief.
Well—except for Sherlock and Harry.
Sherlock, naturally, was unaffected. As long as Snape didn't actually use magic on him, he was impossible to rattle.
As for Harry...
By now, thanks to Sherlock's influence, Harry had come to completely accept the complicated reality:
Snape felt deep guilt over his mother and was constantly trying to protect him out of that guilt.
As for Snape's usual coldness and contempt?
Harry shrugged it off.
"It's fine—I forgive you on my father's behalf!"
Noticing Harry's strange expression, Snape narrowed his eyes.
It took an immense act of willpower for him not to deduct points.
At last, with their History of Magic exam over, the finals were officially finished.
They just had to wait one week for the results.
In the meantime, no more classes—a whole week of freedom!
Except for Harry, of course.
He still had one last Quidditch match to play.
---
"It was easier than I expected!"
Hermione beamed as she stepped outside into the warm sunshine.
"I didn't even need to memorize the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the details of the Goblin Rebellions!"
"Harry, Ron—you'd better thank me for reminding you about who invented the self-stirring cauldron. That was actually on the History exam!"
"Sherlock! Let's go over our answers together!"
"Please, Hermione, I'm begging you…" Ron moaned.
"The exams are over. Whether you got the answer right or wrong—it's done. It's over!"
"Says who?" Hermione said, hands on her hips.
"Exams are just a means, not the end goal."
"Going over answers helps me identify gaps in my knowledge, so I can focus my future revision more efficiently. If I spot any mistakes, I can make a better study plan."
"And by comparing answers, I might even discover better problem-solving methods, which could help me improve and optimize my study habits—"
"Oh my god."
"Bloody hell."
Harry and Ron groaned in unison, looking utterly defeated.
But Hermione didn't care. She dragged Sherlock along and launched into a detailed answer-checking session.
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance and quietly slipped away.
They walked all the way to the Black Lake, then flopped under a tree with a heavy sigh.
"Whew… Sometimes, she's just too much."
Ron watched as the giant squid lounged in the shallows, lazily flicking its tentacles.
He absentmindedly twiddled a blade of grass and said, "Only Sherlock could handle her, honestly… Hey—what's up with you?"
Harry had been rubbing his scar over and over, his brow furrowed.
"It's my scar," he said with frustration. "It's been hurting again—more than before. It's acting up way more often lately."
"Maybe go see Madam Pomfrey?" Ron offered. "If you're sick, see the nurse."
"No, it's not that…"
Harry hesitated, unsure whether to tell Ron about what had happened in the Forbidden Forest.
Hermione already knew. Would it be fair to keep Ron in the dark?
"What is it then?"
"Well…"
Just then, a hoot echoed from above.
They both looked up—and were surprised.
"Watson?"
Sherlock's owl swooped in low, circled once, and dropped a small note into Harry's hands.
"Wait—this is for me?" Harry asked, startled.
Sherlock was just nearby. Why would he send a message through his owl?
But as soon as Harry opened the note, his expression changed.
Without a word, he sprinted back toward Sherlock and Hermione.
"Hey! Wait for me!"
Ron abandoned the squid and chased after him.
---
"You two again?" Hermione frowned when she saw them running back.
Her tone made Ron twitch.
Sorry for existing, then?
Sherlock glanced at Watson perched on Harry's shoulder and immediately understood.
"He's left?"
"Yeah."
Harry handed over the note.
"Harry, I've received word and must go to the Ministry of Magic. I should be back by tomorrow."
"Please let Sherlock know."
The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and deep. There was no signature—but it didn't need one.
While Sherlock read it, Hermione had already peered over his shoulder.
"Whose letter is this?"
She stared at the words in confusion.
"Professor Dumbledore's," Sherlock replied.
"But how do you—wait, why is he leaving now of all times?!"
Hermione had tried to speak, but her shock overrode the question.
She'd spent several attempts trying to speak to Dumbledore before exams and had given up on McGonagall's advice to focus on studying.
Now that the exams were finally over, she had hoped to find Dumbledore again—
But he was gone?
And worse still—Quirrell had returned.
That was the real problem.
Quirrell, now under Voldemort's control, had suffered a setback in the Forbidden Forest. And now Dumbledore just happened to leave?
Wasn't that giving him the perfect chance to act?
At that moment, Hermione couldn't care less about tests or answer sheets.
"I have to stop him!"
She didn't wait for the others. Just like before—she turned and ran.
---
"Sherlock, what was that all about?" Ron asked, dazed.
He suddenly felt like a complete outsider.
"It's fine. She'll be back," Sherlock replied calmly.
Just like before, he made no move to stop Hermione.
Instead, he turned to Harry and Ron with a serious expression.
"I need assistants. You in?"
---
Hermione ran as fast as she could, heart pounding with urgency.
Ever since she learned that Dumbledore intended for Sherlock and Harry to confront Voldemort, she feared Sherlock might be right—maybe the headmaster really had lost his mind.
She had tried multiple times to contact him—always unsuccessfully.
And now he had left Hogwarts?
Right when the school year was ending?
Right when Quirrell—Voldemort—could strike again?
This was no coincidence.
This was a trap.
A plot to lure Dumbledore away so Voldemort could steal the Philosopher's Stone.
Sherlock had probably already figured this out—but didn't seem to care.
And Harry? Just because he escaped once didn't mean he could do it again.
Hermione clenched her fists.
Even if she had to cause a scene, she had to speak to Dumbledore.
---
Unfortunately, reality is often harsher than intentions.
Once again, she didn't find him.
Instead, she ran into Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a large stack of books.
For the first time, even McGonagall's warm demeanor had changed.
"Professor Dumbledore is not at Hogwarts," she said curtly. "He just left."
She frowned down at Hermione.
"Miss Granger, even if your exams are over, I expect you to focus on academics, not running about for vague nonsense!"
"I know the Headmaster went to the Ministry," Hermione pleaded.
"But I have something extremely important to tell him—"
"More important than Ministry business, Miss Granger?"
McGonagall's voice was icy.
She couldn't understand—why had one of her best students suddenly become so... unhinged?
If it really were important, couldn't she have told her first?
Did Hermione not even trust her anymore?
"Very well…"
Hermione took a deep breath. She could see McGonagall was growing upset.
"The thing is—it's about the Philosopher's Stone."
McGonagall froze.
She was so stunned that she dropped all her books—and didn't even bend to pick them up.
"How do you know about that?" she asked in a shaky voice.
"Professor," Hermione said seriously, "I believe—no, I know—that Professor Quirrell is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Dumbledore must be informed immediately!"
McGonagall stared at her, torn between shock and disbelief.
After a long pause, she finally spoke.
"Professor Quirrell may have... unconventional methods. But it's inappropriate for you to accuse a fellow professor so casually."
"And at Hogwarts," she added coldly, "you will address him as 'Professor.'"
"But—but Professor—even Dumbledore—" Hermione began.
McGonagall cut her off sharply.
"Miss Granger, I know what I'm saying."
She stooped to gather her books.
"I don't know how you found out about the Stone. But rest assured—it is under the most powerful protections imaginable. No one could steal it."
"And one more thing: I must warn you—don't say things that undermine unity."
She stood up, eyes hard.
"This time, I'll let it go. But if anything like this happens again, not only will your House lose points—you'll be given detention."
With that, Professor McGonagall turned and left—
Leaving a stunned, speechless Hermione behind.
---
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