As the exams went on, each house uncovered a curious secret—Ravenclaw's test papers were actually last month's Hufflepuff exams, while Slytherin's were the same as those Gryffindor had faced previously.
This revelation thrilled the students who hadn't yet sat their exams.
Most Ravenclaws, of course, scoffed at the idea of hunting for ready-made answers—they were confident in their own abilities. A handful of ambitious students considered it, but asking Hufflepuff for help felt beneath them, so they abandoned the thought.
Hufflepuff students, on the other hand, felt it would be unfair to Professor Holmes. Cheating their way to first place didn't feel honorable, and even if they got the answers, they'd still have to memorize them—hardly worth the trouble.
For once, Gryffindor and Slytherin enjoyed an unusual moment of harmony. The class reps from both houses, who hadn't yet taken the exam, reached a secret agreement: they'd swap their previous month's Defence Against the Dark Arts answers with each other.
Naturally, the clever ones realized something was off as soon as they saw the test papers. They muttered about how cunning the other side was. But every house had its share of clueless students...
After the test, those poor souls clung to their textbooks in despair.
No one dared make a fuss about receiving the wrong answers. Sure, everyone had tried to trip up the other side, but strictly speaking, it was still cheating—and abetting cheating. If Professor Holmes ever found out, they'd all be in for it.
Not that anyone seemed to consider: if Douglas was bold enough to pull this stunt, he'd obviously anticipated the inter-house shenanigans. Why not swap Hufflepuff and Gryffindor? Because those two houses got on far too well, and with their nerve, they might actually succeed at cheating.
This time, for the lower-year practicals, Douglas didn't pull any outrageous tricks. Everything followed the book: first-years paired up for magical duels within their own houses; second- and third-years tackled the previous fourth-year's practical challenges.
Thanks to their experience with that monster before, Gryffindor froze the lake's surface the moment they entered; Hufflepuff brought out Professor Sprout's magical plants; Ravenclaw used Switching Spells to whisk themselves to the far side of the lake; Slytherin brewed up a batch of potions and went straight for the Grindylows, snapping their spindly arms with gusto...
This time, Douglas wasn't having it.
"Do you even know what the exam's about? You're supposed to deal with Grindylows—not just breeze through without even touching them! Did I spend a whole month teaching you spells for nothing?"
Of course, this didn't apply to Slytherin—Douglas had to admit he appreciated them going straight for the Grindylows' heads.
But he was less than pleased with the new potion Professor Snape had whipped up. If this kept up, Slytherin would soon be even bolder than Gryffindor...
Finally, under Professor Holmes' stern gaze, everyone got back in the water and faced the Grindylows properly.
Defeating a Grindylow earned a passing grade; second-years needed to take down a troll as a team of three for an "Outstanding," and third-years had to do the same in pairs.
Of course, the real reason it seemed so easy was that Douglas had quietly removed all the obstacle spells from the water. Otherwise, those poor fourth-years would have been in for a world of hurt.
Yet even Harry and his friends, who'd already bested a troll last year, couldn't manage it this time.
Hermione kept apologizing for suddenly throwing up at the crucial moment, blaming herself—if she hadn't lost control, maybe Ron and Harry wouldn't have followed suit, and they might have succeeded.
Ron and Harry were left unsettled. It was so unlike Hermione—the troll's stench must have been toxic, enough to leave even her dazed.
It was November now, and the air was chilly.
Douglas, not wanting the school nurse to scold him for creating extra work, thoughtfully conjured two bonfires near the troll's lair so students emerging from the lake could warm up and avoid catching cold.
But whether by accident or design, the warmth made the troll's stench even more unbearable.
Nearly everyone who passed by ended up retching.
Even when students used Aguamenti to douse the fires, the nauseating odor lingered stubbornly.
In the end, Douglas had to grade students by how long they could survive in the troll's territory and how many spells they managed to cast.
The fourth-year practical was even more of a challenge.
Every house's fourth-years competed to see who could outperform the most fifth-years, which only ratcheted up the pressure on the older students.
For the sixth-years, the test was simple: just break through the enchanted mist. After all, they'd been participating in morning runs and training with enthusiasm—Douglas had nothing left to punish them for.
The seventh-years finally breathed easy—this time, Professor Holmes had no intention of making their exam public.
—
By Friday at noon, Douglas received a rare visitor in his office—Ravenclaw first-year Luna Lovegood.
She brushed her wild, slightly grimy blonde hair, trying to look a bit less absentminded as she handed something to Douglas.
"Professor, I think you'll need this!"
Douglas eyed the notebook, bound tightly with cords of every color and material imaginable.
His expression changed instantly. Drawing his wand, he cast a wary glance at Luna before tapping the notebook and causing it to float gently onto his desk.
Through the gaps in the bindings, Douglas could clearly see the name "Riddle."
He didn't untie the diary right away.
Instead, he studied Luna carefully—she seemed her usual self. He asked,
"Miss Lovegood, can you tell me why this diary was in your possession?
And what made you bring it to me instead of Professor Flitwick?
No need to be nervous—please, have a seat and join me for some tea."
Douglas gestured to the tea table.
Luna shook her head, her dirigible-shaped earrings swaying.
She seemed unconcerned, but perhaps sensing Douglas' caution, she removed her wand from behind her left ear and placed it on the table, well out of reach. Then, dreamily, she said,
"Oh, really? I'm not nervous.
You mean Tom?"
Douglas nodded, pouring her a cup of tea.
Luna took the cup, set it in front of herself, glanced at it, and said,
"I think I got it on Monday morning. It was delivered by a very sad owl—it looked absolutely exhausted...
Oh, right, the notebook.
It's a strange one. Very dangerous. I can't see exactly what's wrong with it, but it's surrounded by Wrackspurts..."
Douglas had to interrupt. He knew the Lovegoods had a fondness for odd magical creatures, but he couldn't recall what those things actually did.
"Sorry, Wrackspurts—what are they, exactly? What do they do?"
Luna's eyes lit up. She was delighted to explain, her voice lilting with excitement:
"Wrackspurts... They're invisible. They float into your ears and make your brain all fuzzy. Daddy's been working on a Wrackspurt Siphon—it would clear all distractions from a thinker's immediate area. But that's still top secret..."
Douglas didn't argue, but something in her explanation caught his attention.
"So you're saying Wrackspurts make people's minds go fuzzy? But this is just a notebook—why would Wrackspurts gather around it?"
Luna tilted her head.
"Exactly. That's why I said it's a strange and dangerous thing."
Then, in a sing-song voice, she added,
"Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain."
Douglas glanced back and forth between Luna and the diary, his expression growing more and more puzzled. Could Wrackspurts really be real?
Weren't they supposed to be made up?
Others might not know, but he did—there truly was a soul hidden inside this diary.
And it had been discovered by a first-year witch, just like that?
It didn't make any sense—no, it was downright unmagical.
In fact, it was even more fantastical than Luna simply walking in with Riddle's diary and handing it over to him.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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