A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 651 The Tragic Young People

The chill of early October had already seeped into the thick stone walls of Hogwarts Castle, and into the hearts of the children.

In the Gryffindor common room, the usual lively and warm atmosphere was replaced by a heavy, oppressive cloud of cold air.

The crackling fire in the fireplace cast flickering light on the gloomy young faces, bringing no warmth but rather a cruel reminder of their despondency.

The results of the monthly exams at the end of September, which were just released, were like a cold, heavy hammer blow, shattering the last vestiges of hope for many.

The air was filled with low sobs, helpless sighs, and desperate cries, as if a silent plague was spreading.

Ron slumped in an armchair, clutching a crumpled piece of parchment tightly in his hand.

His face was a little pale, but his eyes shone with the relief of surviving a disaster.

“Merlin’s beard,” he sighed, his voice trembling slightly, “that was close… so close. If Professor Sprout had been any stricter, my herbalism…”

He didn't dare say the words "failed," but instead patted his chest hard, as if trying to let go of the pent-up anger.

That pitiful score was like a lifeline, giving him a ticket to the next Hogsmeade Week.

In stark contrast to him was Harry Potter, who sat next to him.

Harry lowered his head, his hair falling down to cover the famous lightning bolt-shaped scar and the tears welling up in his eyes.

He was also clutching a report card in his hand, his knuckles white from the force. He had never felt so aggrieved and helpless, not even when Charles had blocked him in the boxing ring and punched him.

The shocking letter following the Potions section—"P" (fail)—was as hot as when he touched Voldemort in first grade, making him almost drop the paper.

Just two points short! Only two points!
He could almost picture the cold, mocking smile on Snape's lips as he graded his test.

“Harry.” A soft voice sounded beside him. Ginny had come over at some point and stood behind his chair, gently placing her hand on his clenched fist.

Her face was also somewhat somber, but her eyes were full of understanding and comfort as she softly said, "Don't be too sad. I know it's hard to go to Hogsmeade."

She paused, her voice softening slightly, "Look, my alchemy skills are also failing, even worse than yours."

"We can stay at school so we can have more time to practice Quidditch, right?"

"Anyway, the new team members will start training next week."

She tried to distract him with their shared misfortunes and the allure of Quidditch, her words carrying a feigned nonchalance of consideration.

Not far away, someone said to Colin Crevey, "You, kill them both, bury one in the South Pole and the other in the North Pole!"

Many people around nodded in agreement.

At the other end of the table, Dean Thomas stood stiffly, his face ashen.

His gaze was fixed on the "Spellcasting" section of his report card, the large "P" seemingly growing larger and larger, swallowing up all his hopes.

Professor Flitwick is usually so mild-mannered, why can't he be a little more lenient during the exam?

He felt all his strength drain away, and the noisy, mournful sounds from the common room seemed far away.

Looking around blankly, his gaze fell on Charles, who had just entered through the portrait cave entrance and seemed to be heading upstairs to his bedroom.

Dean, as if grasping at a last straw, almost stumbled forward and said in a dry and urgent voice, "Charles, please... you're so good at spells, could you... could you teach me?"

"I...I can't fail again next time!"

His eyes were filled with pleading, even a hint of despair.

Charles was startled and stopped in his tracks. His gaze swept calmly over the distorted report card in Dean's hand, and then over the pale face.

He was silent for a few seconds, his eyes revealing no emotion, and then said calmly and without much fluctuation, "You can go to Hermione; she's better at helping people organize basic knowledge."

After speaking, he nodded slightly, then walked around Dean and headed straight for the stairs leading to the boys' dormitory, leaving Dean standing there alone, his face drained of color. Meanwhile, Hermione, who had been called out, was surrounded by two other girls at a corner of a long table.

Lavender and Parvati flanked her on either side, their faces filled with anxiety.

"Hermione, please!" Lavender's voice trembled with tears as she gripped Hermione's arms tightly. "My Transfiguration is a disaster! Professor McGonagall looks at me like she wants to turn me into a pocket watch!"

"You can definitely help me, right?"

“And then there’s my Potions class,” Parvati pleaded, her beautiful eyebrows furrowing tightly. “I can’t remember the order in which to process the materials, and my hands start shaking as soon as I walk into the classroom.”

"Hermione, only you can save us!"

Hermione was being pulled along by them, her brows furrowed tightly, her mind filled with growing anxiety.

Her gaze swept quickly across the entire common lounge.

Harry was on the verge of tears. Ginny was comforting him, which was also a way of comforting herself. And then there was Dean's distraught look, and now there were Lavender and Parvati...

Hermione realized that the number of students who failed the monthly exam far exceeded her initial expectations.

If everyone came to her for tutoring, even if she used the time converter again, she would still be overwhelmed.

A mix of a sense of responsibility and a feeling of being powerless left her feeling frustrated.

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure about to step onto the stairs—Charles.

“Charles!” Hermione blurted out almost without thinking, her voice carrying an undeniable firmness that instantly drowned out the noise in the lounge.

She quickly told Lavender and Parvati, "Wait for me," then left the long table and strode after him, stopping him at the top of the stairs.

Charles stopped, turned around, and looked down at her, his face still expressionless, seemingly unsurprised by her interception.

Hermione took a deep breath, looked up at him, and said quickly, "Charles, as you can see, everyone did terribly on the monthly exams."

"There are too many people who fail, and I can't tutor them all by myself."

“Your grades are good enough, and…” She paused, recalling the academic progress and improvement seminar that he had tricked her into becoming the founder, her tone becoming somewhat dismissive, “And, didn’t you use our (she deliberately emphasized those two words) ‘academic progress and improvement seminar’ as a platform?”

"Then you also have a responsibility to make it actually work and help those in need."

"I need your help to tutor these students who failed."

Hermione stared intently into Charles's eyes, trying to find a hint of resistance or opposition in those calm eyes.

She was prepared to give Charles a long speech, listing various reasons.

However, Charles simply watched her quietly, his gaze lingering for a moment on her face, which was slightly flushed with anxiety.

The dim light in the stairwell cast a faint shadow on his deep-set eyes.

Instead of directly answering whether he would help, he offered a suggestion in his characteristically calm and emotionless tone that was completely unexpected by Hermione: "My company isn't just me, and Dancing Grass isn't just Dobby doing all the work."

"Since there's a shortage of staff, why not bring in more high-achieving students?"

“You can take this opportunity to truly expand the ‘Academic Progress and Improvement Seminar’ into a permanent organization led by outstanding students and providing systematic guidance to struggling students.”

Hermione froze, all the prepared words stuck in her throat.

The expansion, systematization, and formal organization exceeded her expectations, transforming what was initially a mutual aid group among friends into...

"Shadow School"

Hermione suddenly thought of that word.

(End of this chapter)