June arrived at Hogwarts with surprising speed. The young wizards' final exams were here!
> [Current Mission: The Trial of Scripts]
> [Objective: Achieve Victory in Strategic Deduction (i.e., Pass the Exam)]
> [Time Remaining: 01:59:59]
> [Debuff: Scorching Heat (Stamina consumption doubled)]
Rove sat in a corner of the History of Magic exam room, a quill clutched in his hand.
Under the influence of the glitchy System filter, the exam questions had completely changed.
Question 1 on the exam paper: Please discuss the causes of the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 and its impact on the Wizengamot's legislative clauses.
Rove's brows furrowed. Under the System's translation, the question read:
> [Please analyze the strategic errors in the conflict between Orcs and Dwarves over the Mines of Moria during the late Second Age, and the subsequent impact on the legal system of Gondor.]
He didn't bother reciting those dry dates and names (he couldn't remember many Goblin names anyway; in his eyes, they all looked the same). Instead, relying on the [Intelligence +1] temporary buff he'd acquired before the exam, he began to unleash his "Middle-earth War Philosophy."
His quill flew across the parchment, making a scratching sound.
"...The essence of war is not a struggle for a few gold coins or so-called legal clauses, but the compression of living space. When darkness spreads from the underground, when the clang of the anvil is replaced by war drums, both Goblins and Wizards are nothing but pawns on the chessboard of fate..."
Rove wrote with divine inspiration. He framed the Goblin's struggle for control of Gringotts as Sauron's coveting of the One Ring; he described the Wizengamot's compromises as the fragile accords between the Alliance of Men and Elves; he depicted the Goblins' magical silverwork as the lost art of Mithril forging.
In less than an hour, Rove put down his quill and exhaled a long breath.
---
Professor Binns (the ghost) drifted over to Rove's desk. He scanned Rove's parchment and paused for a full three seconds.
Although the names were all wrong (what is Moria? who is Sauron? where is Gondor?), the profound understanding of the cruelty of war and the desolate sense of fatalism bleeding through the paper made this ghost, who had witnessed countless historical shifts, feel a long-lost shiver.
"...A unique perspective," Professor Binns whispered, sounding like a sigh. "Though somewhat pessimistic, this dissection of racial conflict is... fascinating."
---
One hurdle crossed, onto the next.
Next was Charms. Professor Flitwick asked everyone to make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Rove cast "Tarantallegra" on the pineapple. In the System's judgment, this was [Animate Object] used on an Ent. The pineapple not only danced but also attempted to attack Ron with its leaves. Professor Flitwick judged it as "full of vitality."
Then came Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration exam.
"Turn this mouse into a snuffbox," Professor McGonagall said sternly, her gaze sweeping over every student through her square spectacles. "The more exquisite, the better. Points will be deducted if any characteristics of the mouse remain—such as whiskers..."
Rove stared at the gray mouse on the desk.
> [Hostile Unit: Mordor Rat]
> [Status: Fearful / Trembling]
> [Mission: Material Reconstruction]
Rove didn't immediately wave his wand and chant like the others. First, he took a deep breath to adjust his rhythm. Then, he pinned the mouse down with his left hand, gripped his wand tightly in his right, and closed his eyes.
Imagine... imagine its skeleton being compressed, its flesh metalized, its fur smelted into a silver shell...
This wasn't magic; this was Dwarven smithing! It was the craft bestowed by Aulë!
"Change!"
Rove's eyes snapped open, and he brought his wand down heavily on the mouse's head like a hammer.
The mouse went rigid. Then, its body began to shrink and harden in a bizarre fashion. A metallic sheen emerged from beneath its skin, spreading rapidly until it completely covered the creature.
One minute later, a silver snuffbox sat on the table.
Professor McGonagall walked over and picked up the snuffbox. Her expression shifted from stern to surprised, and then to deep confusion.
The snuffbox was incredibly exquisite, its surface bearing intricate patterns that looked naturally formed, resembling some ancient totem. But the weirdest part was...
It was heavy. Extremely heavy. Far exceeding the weight of ordinary silver, as if cast from some high-density metal.
And it was still hot.
"It has... significant mass, Mr. Baggins," Professor McGonagall said, quickly setting the snuffbox back on the table and shaking her hand. "Although I'm not sure how you achieved this... no whiskers, no tail. Very good. You pass."
Rove let out a sigh of relief and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
> [Skill Proficiency Increased: Physical Transfiguration (Lv 2)]
> [Note: You successfully converted biomass into a high-density alloy. This isn't scientific, but it is very magical.]
---
The final exam was Herbology.
Sunlight filtered through the greenhouse glass, making everyone drowsy.
"You'll get full marks just for making these Bouncing Bulbs calm down," Professor Sprout said with a beaming smile. "Watch out for their tendrils; don't get tangled up."
Rove stood before the potting bench, looking at the purple bulbs writhing in the soil.
His hands were shaking.
Not from nervousness, but from a physiological aftereffect. The terror of facing the "Nazgûl" (even if it was Voldemort in a hood cosplay) in the Forbidden Forest that night had been forcibly suppressed by his will, but his body's instinctive reaction was hard to erase.
Whenever he saw something twisting like the limbs of a dark creature, his fingers would spasm involuntarily, wanting to draw his wand—to smash it over the head until it stopped moving.
"Rove?"
A warm hand covered the back of his trembling hand.
Rove jerked his head around, his body tensing, almost launching a counterattack. But he saw the worried, round face of Susan Bones.
"Your hands are so cold," Susan said softly, her eyes full of concern.
"I'm fine," Rove tried to pull his hand back subconsciously, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just a little tired."
But Susan held on tight, showing a rare toughness for her usually gentle self.
"Stop trying to be tough," Susan looked into his eyes, Rove's slightly pale face reflected in her pupils. "I know what happened in the Forbidden Forest that night... Harry didn't go into details, but I know it must have been terrifying. You haven't looked well since."
Rove fell silent.
"It's over, Rove," Susan said gently. "It's daytime now. We're in the greenhouse. It's safe here. No monsters, just these ugly bulbs. Professor Sprout is right over there."
Rove took a deep breath. The chilling sensation from the depths of the Forbidden Forest that had been haunting him seemed to actually recede a little with the warmth of her hand.
On the System interface, the [Sanity] bar, which had been flickering with a faint red light, finally stopped its violent fluctuations and began to slowly rise.
> [Sanity Recovering...]
> [Acquired Buff: Ally's Soothing]
> [Effect: Hand Stability +50%, Fear Resistance +20%.]
"Thanks," Rove whispered, his voice carrying a bit more warmth.
He gave Susan's hand a squeeze—it was soft and warm—then let go and picked up his trowel.
This time, his hand didn't shake. It was steady as a rock.
"Listen up, you little underground punks," Rove stared at the Bouncing Bulbs, his eyes regaining their usual sharpness. "Either you settle down, or I'll turn you into a salad dressed with the finest Italian balsamic vinegar."
The Bouncing Bulbs seemed to sense the tangible killing intent; they instantly froze, some even voluntarily shrinking back into the soil.
Professor Sprout passed by and nodded with satisfaction. "Perfect control! Although I don't recommend threatening the plants, I must say, very spirited!"
---
By the time they walked out of the greenhouses, the setting sun had dyed the treetops at the edge of the Forbidden Forest red, bathing all of Hogwarts in a crimson glow.
Exam week was over.
Most students were cheering, throwing their bags into the sky, discussing their summer plans—whether to go to the beach or Diagon Alley.
But on the other side, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were huddled together, whispering with grave expressions. Harry was clutching the scar on his forehead, looking painful and anxious.
Rove stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the three young wizards destined to save the world, then looked at the long shadows cast by the sunset in the distance.
Just then, a giant red exclamation mark popped up on the System panel before his eyes.
> [Main Quest Update: The Stone's Endgame]
> [Objective: Pass through the Trapdoor, stop the Dark Lord (Sauron) from seizing the One Ring.]
> [Countdown: Tonight]
> [Difficulty: Epic]
> [Note: Ready your sword, or your frying pan. Tonight, there is no retreat.]
Rove tightened his grip on his wand and smiled helplessly.
"Alright then," he whispered softly. "For Middle-earth."