The sun hadn't even fully risen by the time students were dragging their feet out of bed, nerves once again twisting in their stomachs. Today, they would be tested not only on knowledge, but on performance in equal measure.
Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration—arguably the most feared practicals of the week.
Defense Against the Dark Arts
The Defense classroom had been rearranged to resemble a dueling arena. Desks had vanished, replaced by a large circle outlined in glowing chalk. Professor Selwyn stood in the middle, arms crossed, surveying the room like a hawk.
"Confidence, clarity, and control," she declared. "Your task today: disarm, defend, and demonstrate quick thinking. I will be your opponent. No real harm will come to you… unless you forget how to dodge."
A few students paled.
One by one, they were called forward. When Dora's name was called, she cracked her knuckles and strode into the circle like she was walking onto a Quidditch pitch.
"Ready?" Selwyn asked.
"Always."
The duel began with a flurry of light—Dora darted aside, spun, and fired a clean Expelliarmus, which the professor batted away with ease. But when Selwyn launched a sudden Rictusempra, Dora slid under it, rolled, and came up firing again.
Her wand sang in the air, and though she was eventually disarmed, she stood grinning ear to ear. "Worth a try," she muttered, catching her wand when Selwyn tossed it back.
"Excellent evasion," the professor said with a grudging smile.
Hadrian followed next, calm and focused. He let Selwyn strike first, dodged neatly, then used a perfectly timed shield, a weaker version of Protego, followed by a near-flawless Stupefy. He wasn't flashy, but precise.
Iris, last of the trio, took a deep breath and stepped forward. Her Metamorphmagus hair, currently a steady determined red, didn't waver.
Selwyn tested her with a series of hexes, fast and varied, but Iris kept up admirably. She faltered for a split second—but rallied and ended with a textbook disarming charm.
"Very good," Selwyn nodded. "You learn quickly."
The trio collapsed into seats when it was over, exchanging breathless, satisfied grins.
Transfiguration
In the afternoon, it was time for Professor McGonagall's domain.
If Defense had been a battle, Transfiguration was a ballet.
Each student was to perform a series of transfigurations under timed conditions: a matchstick to needle, hedgehog to pincushion, teacup to tortoise, and—if possible—back again.
McGonagall's sharp eyes missed nothing. She made no comments, but her quill took furious notes.
Hadrian was steady-handed. His teacup tortoise waddled with only a slightly chipped shell, and he successfully turned it back into porcelain.
Iris, despite her Metamorphmagus instincts, had always been fascinated with transformation magic. Her hedgehog turned into a pincushion with such perfect geometry it could've been manufactured.
"Clean work," McGonagall murmured as she walked past.
Dora's matchstick turned into a very sharp needle. But the tortoise… looked more like a turtle in a tutu.
"I panicked again," Dora hissed when she returned to her seat.
"Points for creativity," Hadrian grinned.
McGonagall said nothing, but her eyebrow arched.
The main dish to transfigure a mouse into a snuff box came at last. It was where the three raked in extra credit.
Evening
Exhausted but relieved, the trio made their way to the Hufflepuff common room, where several students were collapsed in armchairs. Soft chatter echoed off the stone walls as everyone decompressed.
"We survived," Iris mumbled, flopping onto a couch.
"Barely," Dora replied, letting her hair shift to a limp gray as if in mourning.
Hadrian chuckled. "One more day, and we're free."
"Free until second year," Iris countered.
The idea of summer still felt like a fantasy, but as the fire crackled and laughter returned to the common room, the exhaustion of the day turned into a quiet sort of pride.
They were nearly there.