The morning sun spilled across the Hogwarts grounds like a golden promise—one that none of the students in the Great Hall felt particularly comforted by. Plates of breakfast sat half-eaten as first years furiously flipped through revision notes, quizzed one another with sleepy eyes, and muttered spell incantations under their breath like protective charms.
The exam period had begun.
"It's just a theory first exam," Iris said, trying to sound reassuring, though she had an ink stain on her cheek and was currently attempting to memorize the order of Goblin Rebellions by whispering them into her pumpkin juice.
"Just?" Dora snorted, tapping her quill against her teeth as she reviewed her Defense Against the Dark Arts notes. "Tell that to the parchment. My wrist's going to fall off before we get to practicals."
Hadrian was unusually quiet, staring at a flashcard of a particularly obscure transfiguration rule like it might lunge at him. But inwardly, he felt strangely steady. His emotional whirlwind had passed, and now he welcomed the structured challenge of exams like a mental broom race—exhausting, but clear.
They marched off to the first exam with the rest of their year, robes pressed and hair a bit more tamed than usual, clutching their ink bottles like lifelines.
History of Magic
Professor Merriman, dressed in exam robes emblazoned with a quill-and-scroll pattern, practically danced around the room as he passed out the test parchments. "Now remember, my marvelous minds: this isn't about dates, it's about context. I want narrative, not recitation!"
Hadrian was sure he saw one Slytherin groan in despair.
But as the trio scribbled furiously, their preparation showed. Iris tied the Goblin Rebellions to broader political reforms with a flourish, Hadrian made connections between werewolf legislation and public magical prejudice, and Dora gleefully inserted footnotes just for fun.
Charms
Flitwick was all smiles as he watched students cast hovering charms on various objects.
"Control and confidence!" he chirped. "A feather that flies too far counts the same as one that flops!"
Hadrian's feather spun midair, performing a graceful arc before settling neatly onto the desk again. Iris's did a little dance. Dora's floated sideways and gently bopped a Ravenclaw on the nose.
"Artistic flair," Flitwick noted with delight.
Potions
"Eyes down. Bottles straight. I want to see the potion, not hear your excuses," barked Professor Slughorn, summoned in for the exams.
Iris was utterly in her element. Her hands were a symphony of motion, slicing ginger roots, adding drops, and adjusting the heat with the kind of care one might use tending a delicate flame. Her potion shimmered with the correct iridescence before anyone else's was done steeping.
Hadrian's wasn't perfect, but respectable. Dora's... had a smell. A very strong smell.
"I panicked," she whispered, nose wrinkling.
"I noticed," Iris coughed.
Lunch
The Great Hall had never been quieter. Exhausted students sat with slumped shoulders and ink-smeared cheeks. The trio quietly celebrated surviving the first day by clinking their goblets of pumpkin juice together.
"One down," Hadrian muttered, "...a million to go."