A torrent of rain, each drop as heavy as a bullet, hammered the castle as Hogwarts students braced themselves for the first single-subject monthly exam week of their lives—Defence Against the Dark Arts Monthly Exams.
Why emphasize "single-subject"?
Well, up to now, every core subject demanded its own share of textbook memorization.
Each class had its own Class Representative—and professors didn't care how many badges you wore, only that you could keep up.
It was worth noting that the Gryffindor second-year Potions Class Representative was none other than Harry Potter. Unexpected, yet perfectly logical.
After all, whenever anyone made a mistake in class, Professor Snape would always begin with:
"Potter, why didn't you warn him? What kind of Class Representative are you? Gryffindor loses two points because of you two!"
Or,
"Potter, stop making those shifty faces. Your eyes can't tell Longbottom what to do next... Gryffindor, minus one point."
And,
"Potter, who gave you permission to speak in Potions class? Or do you want to take the exam for Weasley as well? Gryffindor, minus two points."
By now, Harry was used to it. Luckily, he'd started memorizing the Potions textbook,
which meant Professor Snape's attempts to trip him up usually fell flat.
It seemed Snape regretted this, so he'd tacked "memorize the Potions textbook" onto Harry's detention list.
For the first time, Harry realized there were actual benefits to all this memorizing.
Detention, too, had evolved. The Heads of House had all taken a liking to "dictation-style" detentions,
with every House sending their miscreants to serve out time in the office of Hogwarts' youngest professor—the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.
Of course, this was at Professor Holmes's own request.
No other reason—just a little something for the staff's mental and physical well-being.
Still, Mr. Filch had caught Professor Holmes scoping out empty classrooms more than once,
as if plotting some new arrangement.
So, when the Defence Against the Dark Arts department announced a monthly exam,
many students had already guessed: the era of monthly exams for every subject was about to begin.
Especially the fifth-years—they could feel a sense of doom closing in.
Some even remembered their first Divination lesson, when Trelawney had read their fortunes.
Those were not happy memories.
—
"Put away your textbooks. Put away your wands. No whispering, no cheating—magic will detect every move you make."
"If you don't know the answer, leave it blank. I want to see your real ability!"
"Stow your potions, even Pepperup Potion. OWLs won't care if you're under the weather."
"Begin!"
"Fifteen minutes left. Please check your papers carefully for missed or incorrect answers."
"Treat this as a real OWL exam—take it seriously!"
"Time's up. Quills down!"
Douglas Holmes spent nearly the entire day repeating these instructions,
sometimes standing behind students, sighing audibly as they struggled through their exams.
The moment the tests ended, students breathed a sigh of relief—only to be buried under a fresh mountain of homework.
"Why do we still have homework after the exam?"
"Uh, did you forget this was just a monthly?"
"When the Professor sighed behind me, I stared at that question for ages and still couldn't figure out what was wrong..."
"..."
—
That evening, a piece of exhilarating news swept through the Gryffindor common room.
In the sixth-year practical exam, Slytherin had been utterly routed.
"Ha! They couldn't use advanced Dark magic, and nothing else worked. They couldn't cast the Professor's special Light Charm either."
"You wouldn't believe it—they kept casting Shield Charms until they nearly knocked themselves out!"
"That's the first time I've seen students use the Shield Charm so... enthusiastically."
"Tomorrow morning, they all have to join the Professor's morning run! Hah!"
"Honestly, I wish I could learn how the Professor just boots those pesky Inferi away with a single kick!"
—
8 p.m., Defence Against the Dark Arts office.
The place was packed.
Aside from the seven students serving detention,
the rest were Class Representatives who'd taken the exam that day, plus a deputy or two.
Douglas had summoned them to grade the papers.
He wasn't worried about them leaking exam content to students in other Houses who hadn't tested yet.
After all, most of it was straight from the textbook. Even if they memorized the answers, that was still studying.
The real trick was that Douglas had prepared four different versions of the test—A, B, C, and D.
Multiple choice and true/false were easy enough to vary,
but for essay questions, he'd hidden subtle differences in the wording.
He could spot at a glance who'd actually read and thought through the questions,
who'd just copied the textbook,
and who'd borrowed answers from another class.
—
Unlike the other years, Douglas had turned the seventh-year monthly exam into a spell duel demonstration.
Friday night, 8 p.m., Great Hall.
That night, the hall was ablaze with light.
The four House tables had been pushed aside, leaving a massive raised stone platform in the center.
Students from every year crowded around.
Whether it was Professor Holmes's invitation or something else,
not only were all four Heads of House present, but even the rarely-seen Headmaster Dumbledore had shown up.
George watched as the four Heads of House took up positions at the corners of the platform with practiced ease.
He whispered to Fred,
"I bet the Heads are just here to make sure the Professor doesn't blow up half the castle!"
"George, that's not a bet. It's a certainty..."
At that moment, a disgruntled voice sounded behind them:
"If you two have time to gossip about the Professor, maybe you should worry more about your sister.
Ginny's cold has lasted a week..."
They didn't have to turn around to know it was Percy.
"Oh, of course we care. At least we know she stood out in the rain watching our practice that day!"
"Don't get worked up, Percy—we only found her after practice had ended!"
"And she caught a cold for it!"
—
Over in the Gryffindor second-year "camp"—and yes, it really was a camp.
Under Hermione's meticulous organization, nearly every student clutched a notebook.
They stood in three neat rows. If the benches hadn't been moved, they'd have looked the picture of discipline.
"Don't forget," Hermione reminded them, "the Professor promised to teach us not just what's in the textbooks, but real dueling tricks as well."
"This is a rare chance—not just to see how the Professor and upper-years fight,
but to pick up some excellent techniques."
"What if—just what if—the Professor has us dueling other Houses in the future? These notes could be our secret weapon!"
"So take good notes, and share them around. If we all learn together, Gryffindor will be unstoppable!"
Most students nodded vigorously—whether convinced by her logic, or simply cowed by her academic reputation.
After all, Hermione had already led them to outpace Slytherin more than once,
and even, for a brief moment, overtake Ravenclaw.
So, in the midst of all the excitement, there appeared this rare scene of order.
Some upper-year Gryffindors, hearing Hermione's advice,
followed suit and brought their own notebooks.
Of course, a few students had already decided to borrow the notes later—less work, same benefit.
For a moment, the sight left many students and professors wondering if a crowd of Ravenclaws had donned Gryffindor robes,
or if Gryffindor had collectively fallen under an Imperius Curse.
But judging by Professor McGonagall's barely contained smile,
everyone knew—these were just "mutant" Gryffindors.
Only Douglas, deep in conversation with Dumbledore, understood:
Barring any surprises, this was the embryonic form of Dumbledore's Army—if it would still go by that name.
He also knew that, beyond her academic brilliance, Hermione possessed a rare gift for politics.
Even Percy couldn't match her.
Decisive, ambitious, unflinching with enemies,
a natural organizer, resourceful, unafraid to bend the rules, with razor-sharp instincts...
In the original timeline, Hermione didn't begin to show her political talent until she became a Prefect in fifth year.
Perhaps she'd been isolated for too long, lost in her own world.
All Douglas had done was pull her out a little earlier,
give her a tiny stage, and let her grow bit by bit.
Until one day, she could become a true revolutionary in the wizarding world.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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