Harry and Ron's return barely stirred the castle. Like a pebble skipped across a still pond, it created a fleeting ripple before everything settled back to normal.
That evening, Dumbledore announced their return at dinner, but the headmaster's cheers fell flat. His own reputation had taken a hit, and Ron's favor with the crowd had evaporated. Only a handful of professors and heads of house clapped politely. The rest of the hall ignored the duo entirely.
Dumbledore frowned, baffled. He'd gone to great lengths to build Harry up as a Hogwarts savior—yet no one spared him a glance. Even Ron's brothers kept their eyes on their plates, pretending not to hear.
Final exams arrived in a whirlwind of nerves. The castle buzzed with tension, especially for the fifth- and seventh-years facing the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Unlike Hogwarts' quick finals, these wizarding exams dragged on for two weeks: theory in the morning, practicals in the afternoon. Astronomy even hit at midnight.
Examiners from the Ministry's Wizarding Examinations Authority proctored with iron-fisted rigor—far stricter than the professors' watchful eyes. For the young witches and wizards, the pressure was crushing.
Students bolted to the Great Hall after each paper, books still clutched under their arms even at meals. Argus's Defense Against the Dark Arts technique had spread like wildfire, clever pupils adapting it to other subjects. No direct feedback from Argus or Slughorn, but it beat rote cramming any day.
"Argus, why do exams even exist?" Draco slumped onto the common room sofa after a grueling day, utterly spent.
Argus, lounging with a book and free from hall duty, didn't look up. "To keep you from wasting all your time on Quidditch."
He smirked. "Remember what I said—if you slip up this time, no broomstick all summer."
Draco scoffed, turning away guiltily. "Tch! A mere pass is nothing."
If Goyle and Crabbe hadn't dragged him to the exams, he'd have missed them entirely. This year, at least, he'd done his own homework—no copying from his lackeys. Last year's Quidditch obsession had nearly doomed him.
"A mere pass?" Argus raised an eyebrow. "Confident, are we? Fine, let's up the ante."
"Every subject needs an E or better. Fail one, and you're stuck with summer essays."
Draco nearly smacked himself. Why boast? Passing was tough; an E was a stretch. One slip could mean a mountain of work!
Goyle and Crabbe stifled laughs nearby, faces turning red. Draco shot them a death glare. "Don't celebrate yet. Fail anything, and I'll chat with your dads over break. They'll love extra drills."
The pair's grins vanished. The trio shared a miserable look before fleeing to the dorms.
...
Three weeks flew by. Exam-weary students finally ditched their books, reveling in freedom. Argus held his top spot unchallenged. Hermione, edged out again, brooded in the library, plotting her third-year revenge.
Today brought the moment of truth: O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results, delivered by owl straight to each student. A single parchment could seal futures. Careers demanded specific passes—Muggle Studies for liaison roles, Potions and Divination for Aurors or Ministry elites. Flunk those? Hello, Knockturn Alley.
Owls flooded the Great Hall in a feathered frenzy, shattering the morning cheer. Tension thickened the air. Professors ate slower, stealing glances at their charges.
"Merlin's beard, let me pass Divination!"
"Forget that—I just need Defense Against the Dark Arts. Anything above a Troll!"
"Potions and DADA, please—I need both!"
Some students froze, envelopes unopened on the table as they whispered prayers. The bold or sure-handed ripped theirs open, scanned quickly, and moved on.
Argus watched closely; these scores reflected his teaching. With graduations looming, top talent could bolster the acolytes. The group was expanding—needing hands for magical creature breeding, herb sales, and potions expertise. Hogwarts lacked formal recruiting, or he'd have sent scouts ages ago.
Envelopes tore open one by one. Cheers erupted as grades shone through.
"Merlin's thong! Herbology's an E—and DADA too! Ha!"
"Passed DADA after just two months? Unbelievable!"
"I figured DADA for an A at best, but E? Stars align!"
"It's all Argus. His tip to Slughorn about the club saved us—we'd be scraping passes without it!"
"Yeah, that method's gold. Questions popped into my head like clockwork!"
Grateful stares swarmed Argus. A knot of students surged to the Slytherin table, thanking him profusely. Pre-club, many had written off DADA entirely, redirecting study time elsewhere for a fighting chance at other O.W.L.s.
Argus's sessions had reignited their spark—and turned it into real results.
For straight-O aces, an E was routine. But for average or struggling students—especially Muggle-borns or those from modest families—it was a lifeline, a ticket out of obscurity.