The next day.
Outside the Charms classroom door.
The Slytherin students maintained their usual elegant bearing, smoothing the wrinkles from their robes as they stood in orderly fashion along both sides of the corridor, waiting for the exam to begin.
Tiger stood at the front of the line, gently stroking Gunpowder's chin, yawning lazily like the cat in his arms.
"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Parkinson, please enter the classroom for your practical Charms examination..."
"Mr. Shelby, Miss Greengrass, Mr. Crabbe, please prepare yourselves."
As Professor Flitwick's voice rang out, a tense atmosphere gradually spread throughout the corridor.
Only when Malfoy emerged first and told everyone the exam question did the little Slytherin snakes breathe a sigh of relief.
Making a pineapple tap dance.
This exam question suited Professor Flitwick's humorous personality perfectly, and the difficulty wasn't particularly high either.
"What's... the point of this?"
Tiger frowned slightly, looking somewhat dissatisfied.
After all, in his view, the exam should at least involve making someone split in half to tap dance—it was never pineapples that posed threats to wizards.
However, ten minutes later.
Tiger emerged from the classroom with a grave expression.
The atmospheric pressure in the corridor instantly dropped, and the little snakes' whispered conversations came to an abrupt halt.
"Father, what happened?"
Noticing something wrong with Tiger's expression, Theodore hurried over, his tone quite serious.
Tiger looked at the "A" (Acceptable) on his report card, fell silent for a moment, then slowly spoke:
"Nothing, Theodore."
"Take this exam seriously—it's far more difficult than making someone split in half to dance..."
Theodore: "??!"
After the Charms exam ended.
The Slytherins gathered outside the Transfiguration classroom door, waiting for Professor McGonagall to call their names.
"Mr. Shelby..."
"Your Transfiguration needs practice, and your wand-holding posture needs correction—these are fundamentals."
Looking at the three gray mice on the desk, riddled with bloody holes and truly unable to rest in peace, Professor McGonagall pressed her lips tightly together, her stern tone filled with indescribable complexity.
"Also..."
"This is a school. Your wand is far too aggressive—when practicing, don't do it where there are many people."
With helpless admonishment, the cat-lady professor reluctantly wrote a "P" (Poor) on the report card.
"I'll work harder..."
Tiger bowed respectfully and turned to leave the classroom. He was always so polite toward teachers.
Unfortunately, the bloodstains on his wand tip looked rather distressing.
Professor McGonagall could even faintly hear the mice's pitiful squeaking.
Following the principle of not wasting anything.
Gunpowder jumped onto the desk, took the bloody gray mice in her mouth, tilted her head at Professor McGonagall, and her fluffy ears twitched slightly.
"Take them. If that's not enough, I have more—they'll all be yours after the exam ends."
Professor McGonagall showed an indulgent smile.
"Meow~~"
Gunpowder mewed gratefully.
Then she leaped gracefully down from the desk and ran out of the classroom, her upright tail full of joy.
"Oh!"
A cry of pain suddenly rang out as Hermione clutched her forehead and sat on the ground, the books in her arms scattered around her.
Tiger turned slightly to look.
When he noticed Hermione's heavy, weary dark circles, his fierce, irritable brows nearly knitted together.
"Blaise, give me a Pepperup Potion."
Hearing Tiger's voice, Blaise, who had been whispering with Pansy and others, quickly retrieved a potion from under his robes.
With exams approaching, almost all the little Slytherin snakes kept Pepperup Potions on hand for studying.
Tiger casually lifted Hermione up, ignoring the lioness's struggles as he took the potion and forced it down her throat.
"Cough... cough... you want to die..."
"Tiger?!"
As the potion took effect, Hermione's weary, dazed eyes gradually regained clarity.
When she saw that the person manhandling her was Tiger, her expression of shock and anger instantly disappeared, and her tightly clenched fists relaxed.
"Oh, thank you, Tiger."
"I feel much better..."
Hermione pressed her lips together somewhat awkwardly, pointing to her collar and carefully reminding him:
"You... can put me down now..."
"..."
Tiger's gaze lowered slightly, remaining silent.
Hermione could faintly sense that Tiger seemed somewhat angry. Like a hamster lifted into mid-air, Hermione sheepishly closed her mouth, her cheeks puffing slightly.
In truth, Tiger simply didn't know how to deal with a girl this age. Finally, he could only reluctantly play the role of an elder, seriously advising:
"Hermione, this is just an exam—it's not your entire life..."
Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes, shaking her head slightly, her mumbling carrying a trace of stubbornness.
"Yeah, and hell is just a sauna room."
"Oh!"
As if suddenly remembering something, Hermione looked up, gazing intently at Tiger:
"Tiger, how did you do?"
Hearing this question.
The chatter in the corridor suddenly quieted, and the little snakes looked at Hermione in shock.
How dare she ask?!
"Not bad..."
Tiger quietly hid his report card behind his back.
Malfoy quietly sidled up to Theodore, covering his mouth as he whispered:
"If I went home with Father's report card, my father would definitely disown me."
Theodore glanced at him coldly.
"If you had Father's strength, the one leaving home would definitely be your father—and he'd be split in half, tap dancing out like a pineapple..."
Malfoy: "..."
Damn Theodore. (￣ー￣)
It's really hard to joke with you.
Near sunset, the various exams finally ended, with Quirrell still nowhere to be seen.
Both the theoretical and practical Defense Against the Dark Arts exams were overseen by Snape.
Under his coldly oppressive atmosphere, many little lions performed poorly, their intermittent sobbing continuing right through to the final History of Magic exam.
Hermione's roommates were nearly crying themselves unconscious.
Unfortunately, Professor Binns was just an emotionless lecturing machine who couldn't comprehend the little lions' sadness or the little snakes' schadenfreude in the slightest.
"My god!"
"Unbelievable! How could History of Magic test the history of self-stirring cauldrons!"
"Snape strictly forbade us from using those!"
"I'm such an idiot!"
"I actually believed his nonsense!"
Hermione clutched her head as she rushed out of the History of Magic classroom, her annoyed expression carrying traces of breakdown.
While memorizing goblin rebellion history, she'd seen content about self-stirring cauldrons several times but had ignored it.
Only because Snape had said that whoever dared use a self-stirring cauldron would get a personally brewed poison from him.
[If a wizard must rely on self-stirring cauldrons to brew potions, then his hands have no reason to exist.]
These threatening words had been the nightmare of countless Hogwarts first-years.
Behind Hermione, Harry also clutched his forehead, unbearable pain surfacing on his pale features.
Ron asked with some concern:
"Harry, are you alright?"
"Uh... I'm fine..." The burning pain made it almost impossible for Harry to speak.
"Should we go to the hospital wing..."
At this point, Hermione also reacted, turning to look at Harry. Even during the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, Harry had already been pale with pain.
"No... no need..."
"I'm just feeling... uneasy..." Harry hesitantly expressed his inner feelings.
"Let's go get some fresh air."
"I feel the same way—with each exam I finish, the uneasiness in my heart deepens."
Neville sympathetically patted Harry's shoulder, seeming to empathize completely with Harry's inner anxiety.
"Maybe..."
Harry's lips parted slightly. Looking at Ne
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