At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

Chapter 73 Exam

Time flies, and June is here.

The unusually bright sunshine in northern Scotland poured heat onto every inch of the castle's stone.

The water vapor from Black Lake evaporated, seemingly forming viscous ripples in the air.

This kind of weather was nothing short of torture for the young wizards who were used to the cold and damp Scottish Highlands.

Of course, what made them feel even hotter than the sun in the sky were the exam questions.

The young wizards looked dejected, like shriveled slugs after being exposed to the scorching sun.

Fortunately, Hogwarts, this ancient castle with a history of thousands of years, has a design that is ahead of Muggles—Hunwin.

The walls emitted a faint coolness, preventing students from using it as an excuse for poor exam performance afterward.

The theoretical exams for lower grades are incredibly boring, but the practical exams are a different story; they are often full of thrills and excitement.

The premise is that you are not the one who messed up.

The Charms exam was held on Tuesday morning.

Professor Flitwick remained standing on a stack of books, his high-pitched voice sounding particularly clear in the tense atmosphere.

He asked the students to come into the classroom one by one and see if they could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk.

Normally, Professor Flitwick would arrange the names alphabetically by surname, with Hannah Abbott going first.

But today, he remembered that unique student.

"Lucian Ashford, please come in." Professor Flitwick's voice was filled with excitement.

As the head of Ravenclaw, he clearly wanted this Ravenclaw successor to get ahead first and set a benchmark for the students who would follow, those who were sun-dazed.

Lucian walked calmly into the classroom, the pineapple lying in the center of the desk.

Just as the Ravenclaw Dean had hoped, the student did not disappoint him.

Lucian didn't even prepare much; he simply raised his wand and the spell was already out.

"Vegaderlov—!"

Under Professor Flitwick's astonished gaze, the bottom of the pineapple actually cracked open, revealing tiny feet wearing tap shoes.

This pineapple can not only walk, it can even dance the Irish tap dance on the table.

"Da, da da, da!"

The sound of her toes hitting the table was crisp and pleasant, and the pineapple's round body swayed comically to the rhythm.

It made a graceful spin on the edge of the table, then came to a steady stop in front of Professor Flitwick, even bowing slightly as its ballet shoes tapped on the table with a final, clear sound.

"Fantastic! Mr. Ashford!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands so hard he almost fell off the pile of books. "Impeccable! You not only executed the spell perfectly, you even gave it a soul! Full marks! This must be full marks!"

Hearing the professor's excited shouts from inside the classroom, the anxious feelings of the young wizards waiting outside the door were somewhat relieved.

They watched Lucian walk out of the exam room with an air of nonchalance, and they got the illusion that the actual operation of the Spells course was not difficult.

However, reality soon dealt them a heavy blow.

Professor Flitwick, whose threshold had already been raised by Lucian's performance, would find it difficult to be aroused by the leg pineapple.

The picky master always finds fault with the other students' actions, such as Pineapple making a mistake while dancing, or Pineapple turning herself into a puddle of juice while dancing.

So the young wizards who had entered with such confidence left the examination hall with long faces, looking like wilted eggplants.

"He must have done it on purpose," Ron muttered to himself, standing behind Hermione. "Lucian set the standards so high that Flitwick looked at me like I was a troll."

Hermione completely ignored Ron's complaints, muttering to herself as if reciting a mantra.

"No, Ron, you didn't pay attention to the details at all—"

"Didn't you notice? When he finished swinging the cane, his wrist rotated about 3.5 degrees more than the standard movement. That must be to use inertia to stabilize the pineapple's center of gravity!"

Oh my god, I was so focused on whether the stress was on the second or third syllable, I completely ignored the effect of air resistance!

I'm doomed. My palms were sweating when I went in. What if the wand slipped and caused the rotation to go off track?

Should I go back and review Chapter 3, Section 5 of "Basic Spells"?

"He just wants a perfect score, Hermione, and he's already finished his exams," Harry said helplessly, trying to pull her out of her self-doubt.

"That's what you think, Harry! Details matter!" Hermione said seriously, pulling a notebook from her pocket and starting to scribble on it. "If my pineapple can't dance the perfect Irish tap dance like him, I'll never forgive myself for the rest of my life—"

"In the following Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall was as strict and fair as ever."

She asked the students to transform a drab gray mouse into a snuffbox. According to the grading criteria, the more exquisite the box, the higher the score; if the box still had the mouse's whiskers or tail on it, it would be considered a failure.

For Lucien, turning living things into inanimate objects was not difficult, but he did ponder the word "exquisite" for a moment.

He had never really studied this kind of snuffbox, which exuded the aristocratic air of the 18th century, in his two lifetimes combined.

Lucian stared at the mouse on the table, which was nervously sniffing the air, his mind racing through the artifacts he had seen in museums.

He raised his wand and murmured softly.

The gray mouse gradually elongated and hardened in the light.

A few seconds later, a finely crafted, oval-shaped snuffbox with a grayish texture appeared on the table.

But that wasn't all; the rat's eyes transformed into two extremely shiny obsidian stones, which were embedded in the clasp.

Its whiskers intertwine to form intricate openwork patterns; if you look closely, those patterns can even faintly form the outline of the school's emblem.

He transformed that annoying, thin tail into a gothic-style, wraparound chain.

Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together, an expression that usually signified that she was trying her best to suppress her shock.

She stepped forward, stroked the exquisite obsidian, and examined the inside of the box.

Professor McGonagall's voice was full of approval, "Mr. Ashford, even in the NEWTs (Advanced Wizarding Levels) examination hall, such a work is rare."

Excellent, Gryffindor—oh no, Ravenclaw, ten points! Of course, that's your final grade.

In fact, many young wizards have difficulty even transforming mice into shape. Many of the things they conjure still have four legs and run around on the table, and some boxes are even making pitiful "squeaking" noises.

After seeing Lucian's work, Harry felt that his own flat tin box with a rat's tail was simply a defective product.

"See that, Harry?" Hermione whispered to Harry outside the exam hall. "He's trying to tell everyone that he can reshape the material rules of this world at will. That's not a snuffbox; it's a metaphor for power!"

Harry looked at the exquisite box and thought:

No, I just think that if he doesn't become a wizard, he could definitely make a fortune by opening a craft shop in Diagon Alley.

If the first two exams merely made students feel inferior, then the Potions exam was utterly terrifying.

Professor Severus Snape had a gloomy face and sometimes deliberately stood behind students other than Slytherins.

In this environment, even Hermione, with her excellent mental fortitude, felt her hand tremble slightly as she held the stirring stick.

For Gryffindor, this was a disaster.

As expected, when the cauldron was halfway through cooking, it emitted that familiar hissing sound.

"Lie down!" someone shouted.

boom!

With a pungent green smoke, Seamus's potion exploded once again.

-

The viscous liquid splashed everywhere, even knocking over Neville's crucible next to it.

"Longbottom! Potter!" Snape's voice rang out through the smoke.

"Your clumsiness, which even trolls couldn't tolerate, caused chaos in the exam hall. Gryffindor loses ten points, and if there's even the slightest imperfection in your work, prepare to stay at school for the summer."

"But Professor, it was Seamus who blew it up—" Harry tried to explain.

"Disrespecting the professor, another five points deducted," Snape coldly interrupted him.

Lucian's performance, however, seemed out of place.

He meticulously controlled the quantity of each batch of medicinal herbs, and even maintained the temperature at the bottom of the crucible at a perfect level.

He ignored the explosion behind him, and Snape's menacing pacing. He was focused on the pale blue smoke rising slowly from the cauldron, a sign of impending success.

When the perfectly colored potion was presented in the cauldron, Snape finally stepped in front of him.

Snape looked down at the perfect potion, and surprisingly, he didn't give it a score right away.

"I do not recall that in the final stage of preparing the soothing medicine, two drops of motra rat juice diluted three times were required, Mr. Ashford."

"Or do you believe that a beginner's meager intuition is sufficient to challenge classic formulas that have stood the test of time for centuries?"

Faced with his questioning, Lucien simply raised his head, his eyes showing no fear whatsoever.

"The classic formula is certainly reliable, Professor."

However, the anti-allergic properties of motra hamster juice, if handled properly, can effectively neutralize the stimulating side effects produced by mandrake roots.

Snape was silent for a moment, then took out a test tube and poured in some medicine.

He observed it for a while, then brought it close to the bottle opening.

"Arrogance." Snape scoffed, tucking the reagent bottle into his sleeve.

"Although such clever changes are extremely risky, and could even turn a pot of ingredients into a useless poison—"

But I must admit, thanks to your remarkably lucky caution, this potion has barely managed to maintain its purity.

It not only calms restlessness, but even offers a tiny, insignificant soothing effect on certain—unspeakable—aftereffects of black magic.

Snape paused. "Stop looking so smug, Ashford."

Although you didn't blow up the ceiling like Fenegan next to you, that doesn't mean you're capable of creating your own system.

If you haven't forgotten how to hold a stir bar by the end of next semester, I might consider giving you a barely passing grade on that list of "monster" grades.

Terry, who was frantically trying to salvage the potion, was so shocked that he almost dropped his hair into the crucible.

Is that Professor Snape?

He was actually praising a student who wasn't from Slytherin?

Moreover, in Snape's dictionary, "not bad" was basically equivalent to "miracle".

"Don't look around, Mr. Boot." Snape turned his head, his voice turning scathing again. "If your already barren mind doesn't focus on your cauldron soon, I have to wonder if you're planning to go to the Forbidden Forest with Mr. Finnigan to collect poison samples for next semester."

Terry jumped in fright and quickly lowered his head, his mind screaming:

Lucian definitely drugged the old bat! He must have!

After a series of intense subjects, the flight exam finally brought a bit of a break from the pressure.

On the sun-drenched field, Mrs. Hodge blew her whistle.

For bookworms with a natural fear of heights, it's still a nightmare, but for Harry, a member of the Quidditch team, it's like soaring through the air.

Harry demonstrated his agility while chasing the Golden Snitch.

Mrs. Hotchki gave it a perfect score after only a symbolic glance around.

Finally, the grand finale was what everyone considered the most boring: A History of Magic.

Professor Ghost Binns read the exam rules in a monotonous, lullaby-like voice.

The only sound in the examination room was the scratching of quills on parchment.

Hermione was writing frantically, trying to pinpoint every historical year to the minute.

Lucian, however, answered the questions in a completely different way.

He wrote slowly, but his pen never stopped.

For him, who possessed a cross-generational vision, the history of magic was a series of interplays between social change and the evolution of magic.

Unlike Hermione, he didn't write out lengthy answers; instead, he used concise and incisive language to directly capture the essence of each historical event.

Hermione always seemed anxious when answering questions, checking her work every few lines to make sure she hadn't missed a detail.

When Lucien finished writing the last period, there was still a full half hour left before the exam ended. He didn't even check his work; instead, he put down his pen and looked out the window at the clouds drifting in from afar.

When Professor Binns announced the end of the exam, the entire Hogwarts erupted in cheers.

"We're free! We're free!" Ron shouted excitedly, rolling up the messy draft of the history of magic into a cylinder, almost mistaking it for a torch.

Infected by this joy, Lucien also felt a long-lost sense of relaxation.

He first went to the washroom to wash away the heat from the sun, and then slowly walked to the lawn outside the castle.

At this moment, sunlight pierced through the clouds, casting dappled light and shadow on the earth.

A gentle breeze blows across the distant Black Lake, causing shimmering ripples on its surface, and the air is filled with the fragrance of earth and grass.

Lucian went down the slope and immediately spotted the "Sober" trio sitting under a big tree by the lake.

"Hey! Lucian! Over here!" Padma waved and smiled broadly.

Parvati lay on the grass, clutching a licorice stick he had somehow acquired.

Hermione sat in the middle, muttering to herself, probably reviewing the exam.

He walked over and sat down next to Parvati, feeling the cool lake breeze on his face.

"It's finally over," Lucien said softly.

"Yes," Parvati said, lying on the grass and watching the owls circling overhead. "Now we can play all week long without any worries!"

Lucian looked at Hogwarts Castle in the distance; in the afterglow of the setting sun, the ancient building appeared solemn and serene.

He knew this was just the calm before the storm.

But at this moment, on this meadow filled with cheers, all he wanted was to be a simple first-year student, enjoying this splendid summer that belonged to wizards.