FINAL EXAMS

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The events of the previous night weighed heavily on some of them, evident in their drooping eyelids and stifled yawns.

Harry slumped into his seat, dark circles under his eyes. Ron, beside him, looked no better, his red hair sticking up at odd angles. Even Draco's usually impeccable appearance was slightly disheveled.

Marteen, despite his fatigue, managed to maintain an air of excitement. His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he took his place next to Draco. Defense Against the Dark Arts was, after all, his only favorite subject.

Hermione, as always, sat bolt upright, quill poised and ready. Her eagerness for knowledge seemed unaffected by lack of sleep.

The door creaked open, and Professor Quirrell shuffled in. His face was ashen, his turban slightly askew. He looked even more nervous than usual, his hands trembling as he placed his books on the desk.

"P-Professor?" Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Are you feeling alright? You look rather pale."

Quirrell attempted a weak smile. "J-just a b-bit under the w-weather, Miss G-Granger. N-nothing to w-worry about."

As he turned to face the class, his eyes fell on Marteen. Suddenly, Quirrell's trembling intensified, and a flicker of fear crossed his pale face. Marteen, absorbed in organizing his parchment and quills, remained oblivious to the professor's reaction. Harry, however, noticed the strange interaction, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Clearing his throat nervously, Quirrell began the lesson. "T-today, we'll be reviewing s-some key concepts for your upcoming exams. Let's s-start with the basic defensive s-spells we've covered this year."

He waved his wand, and chalk began to write on the blackboard:

Verdimillious Charm - produces green sparks to reveal hidden Dark objects

Smokescreen Spell - creates a defensive smoke screen

Knockback Jinx - knocks back an opponent or object

"Can anyone t-tell me the incantation for the Smokescreen Spell?"

Quirrell asked, his eyes darting around the room, carefully avoiding Marteen's corner.

Hermione's hand shot up, as usual. But Harry was only half-listening, his mind racing. Why was Quirrell so afraid of Marteen?

As the lesson continued, covering the theory behind counter-jinxes and the importance of quick reflexes in magical defense, the tension in the room remained palpable. Quirrell's nervousness seemed to increase whenever his gaze inadvertently landed on Marteen, who was eagerly taking notes, unaware of the professor's discomfort.

That afternoon, the Hogwarts library buzzed with activity. Students from all years huddled over thick tomes and scribbled furiously on parchment, the air thick with the scent of old books and nervous energy. Exams were looming, and the usual whispers had been replaced by frantic page-turning and muffled groans of frustration.

In a secluded corner, the quartet had claimed a table. Hermione, her bushy hair even more frazzled than usual, was surrounded by a fortress of books. Her quill scratched rapidly across her parchment as she muttered incantations under her breath.

Across from her, a very different scene unfolded. Harry, Ron, and Marteen had succumbed to their exhaustion. Harry's head rested on an open copy of "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi," his glasses askew. Ron's snores were muffled by the crook of his arm, while Marteen had managed to fall asleep sitting up, his head lolling back at an awkward angle.

Hermione looked up from her studying, her eyes narrowing at the sight of her slumbering friends. With an exasperated sigh, she reached for the heaviest book within arm's reach—

BAM!

The sound of the massive tome hitting the table echoed through the library like a thunderclap. Harry, Ron, and Marteen jerked awake simultaneously, a chorus of startled yelps escaping their lips.

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" Ron gasped, his hand clutching his chest.

Marteen blinked rapidly, "Whoa, what's the big idea?"

Harry fumbled to straighten his glasses, looking around wildly. "Are we under attack?"

Hermione glared at them, "We're supposed to be studying! The exams are just around the corner, and you three are sleeping like it's a lazy Sunday afternoon!"

The boys exchanged guilty glances, sheepishly reaching for their abandoned textbooks.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry mumbled, stifling a yawn.

Marteen stretched, his cocky grin returning. "Aw, come on. With my natural talent, I could ace these exams in my sleep!"

"Natural talent won't save you if you don't put in the work, Marteen Grindelwald!" Said Hermione.

As the quartet settled back into their studies—this time with all members awake—the library hummed around them. The incident had drawn a few curious glances, but the other students quickly returned to their own exam preparations.

Marteen slouched in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leaned towards Hermione.

"Hey, Hermione," he whispered, "You're gonna ace these exams, right? How about letting a pal sneak a peek during the test?"

Ron's head shot up, suddenly alert. "Blimey, that's brilliant!" he exclaimed, earning a chorus of "Shh!" from nearby tables. He ducked his head, lowering his voice. "Yeah, Hermione, couldn't we just... you know... glance your way during the exam?"

Hermione's quill screeched to a halt mid-sentence. She slowly raised her head, her eyes flashing dangerously—like storm clouds about to unleash lightning.

"Are you two out of your minds?" she hissed, "That's cheating! It's completely against the rules, not to mention utterly dishonest!"

The boys recoiled, wilting under her scorching glare.

"But—" Ron stammered.

"No buts!" Hermione snapped, "If you'd been studying properly instead of—of—goofing off, you wouldn't even consider such a thing!"

"Whoa, easy there, tiger. We're just askin' for a little help, that's all." Said Marteen.

Hermione's nostrils flared. For a moment, she looked so much like Professor McGonagall that Harry half-expected her to assign detention.

"Help?" she repeated, "I'll tell you what would help—actually studying! Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."

With that, she buried her nose back in her book, her quill scratching furiously against the parchment.

Marteen and Ron exchanged defeated looks. Harry, who had wisely remained silent throughout the exchange, couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and sympathy for his friends.

As they reluctantly turned back to their own books, the library settled once more into its exam-time hush—punctuated only by the occasional frustrated sigh and the rustle of turning pages.

Harry's brow furrowed, his mind wandering from the dusty pages of "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" before him. A sudden, alarming thought struck him like a rogue Bludger.

"Hang on," he whispered, leaning in close to the others. "What if—what if Hagrid accidentally told someone else how to get past Fluffy?"

Ron, Hermione, and Marteen's heads snapped up in unison, their eyes wide.

"Think about it," Harry continued, "Hagrid let slip about Flamel to us. What if he's done the same with Fluffy?"

Hermione's quill clattered to the table. "Oh no," she breathed, "You're right, Harry. Hagrid does have a tendency to... well..."

"Spill the beans?" Marteen chimed in.

Ron nodded. "Blimey, Harry. You might be onto something. Hagrid's brilliant, but he's not exactly Fort Knox when it comes to secrets."

Hermione's eyes darted around the library, as if searching for eavesdroppers.

"This could be serious," she whispered. "If someone with ill intentions found out—"

"Like Snape," Ron interjected.

"—then the Stone could be in real danger," Hermione finished, wringing her hands.

For a moment, the gravity of the situation hung over them like a heavy cloak. Then, with visible effort, Hermione straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"But," she said, "we can't do anything about it right now. We're are about to face exams, and if we don't pass, we won't even be here next year to protect the Stone."

"C'mon, Hermione! This is way more important than some stupid tests!" Marteen groaned.

"These 'stupid tests' determine our entire future at Hogwarts. We need to focus on studying now. Once exams are over, we can investigate further."

Harry and Ron exchanged reluctant glances, while Marteen rolled his eyes dramatically. But they all knew Hermione was right.

"Fine," Harry sighed, pulling his textbook closer. "But as soon as exams are done—"

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Hermione finished.

With that, the quartet bent their heads over their books once more, the whisper of turning pages mingling with the scratching of quills. But now, beneath the exam stress, a current of nervous energy hummed—the weight of their secret knowledge adding urgency to their studies.

The days flew by in a whirlwind of frantic studying and last-minute revisions. Before they knew it, exam week had descended upon Hogwarts like a flock of anxious owls.

A hush fell over the Great Hall as it was transformed into an enormous examination room. Row upon row of individual desks stretched out, each bearing a crisp roll of parchment and a freshly-sharpened quill. The enchanted ceiling above reflected the students' mood—a swirling mass of stormy greys and nervous blues.

As the first-years filed in, Professor McGonagall's voice rang out, clear and stern.

"You may begin... now!"

The sound of rustling parchment filled the air as students hurriedly unrolled their exam papers. Quills scratched furiously against parchment, punctuated by the occasional muffled groan or sigh of relief.

At one desk, poor Neville Longbottom sat frozen, his round face a picture of panic. His quill trembled in his hand as he stared blankly at the questions before him.

A few rows ahead, Hermione's bushy hair bobbed enthusiastically as she scribbled away, a look of fierce concentration—and was that a hint of enjoyment?—on her face.

Ron, his freckles standing out against his pale, anxious face, kept shooting furtive glances at Harry. Every so often, he'd lean over and whisper urgently,

"Psst! Harry! What'd you put for question seven?"

Harry, torn between helping his friend and following the rules, would respond with a barely perceptible shrug or nod, his own brow furrowed in concentration.

Over at the Slytherin table, a different scene unfolded. Pansy Parkinson, her pug-like face screwed up in determination, kept sneaking glances at Marteen. Whenever she caught his eye, she'd tilt her parchment ever so slightly, allowing him to peek at her answers.

"Hey, Marteen," she'd whisper, "Need any help?"

"Thanks, Pansy. You're a real lifesaver,"

While Pansy's answers weren't always spot-on—she was no Ravenclaw, after all—they were better than nothing. And when her knowledge fell short, Marteen would turn to Blaise Zabini, tapping him on the shoulder and murmuring,

"Yo, Blaise. What'd you get for the question about moonstone?"

As the exam progressed, the Great Hall buzzed with the silent intensity of dozens of young minds at work. The air was thick with concentration, punctuated by the occasional sigh, groan, or triumphant "Aha!" quickly stifled by a stern look from the prowling professors.

Through it all, the first-years of Hogwarts grappled with their first real taste of magical examinations, each in their own unique way.

As the written exams concluded, the practical tests loomed ahead, bringing a new wave of nervous energy to the first-years. The Charms classroom buzzed with anticipation as Professor Flitwick perched atop his usual stack of books, calling students forward one by one.

"Miss Granger, if you please," Flitwick squeaked.

Hermione stepped forward, her face a mixture of determination and barely contained excitement. With a series of precise wand movements and clearly enunciated incantations, she made objects dance across the desk, change colors, and even perform a perfect levitation charm. Flitwick's eyes sparkled with delight as he furiously scribbled notes.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger! Truly outstanding!"

When Harry's turn came, he approached with a mix of nervousness and resolve. His hand trembled slightly as he raised his wand, but as he began casting, a calm settled over him. The pineapple on Flitwick's desk tap-danced with surprising grace, and his Levitation Charm lifted a heavy book with ease. Despite a few nervous fumbles, Harry's performance was impressive.

"Well done, Mr. Potter! Very well done indeed!"

As the Slytherin students took their turns, Marteen swaggered forward, exuding confidence. With a flourish of his wand, he effortlessly made objects zoom around the room, showing off his natural talent. When it came to more complex charms, he hesitated momentarily—clearly not having memorized as many as Hermione—but those he did remember, he executed flawlessly.

Suddenly, without warning, Marteen flicked his wand silently, causing a quill to pirouette in mid-air. Flitwick's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Mr. Grindelwald!" he exclaimed, "While your nonverbal magic is certainly advanced for your age, I must insist you use the proper incantations, this is exam."

"Sorry, Prof. Got a bit carried away there."

He proceeded to cast the remaining spells verbally, each one performed with flair and precision. Despite the earlier admonishment, Flitwick couldn't help but look impressed by the young Slytherin's magical prowess.

As the practical exam continued, the air crackled with magical energy. Feathers floated, pineapples danced, and colors changed in a dizzying display of first-year magical ability. Through it all, Professor Flitwick watched keenly, his quill never ceasing its rapid dance across his parchment, recording the triumphs and tribulations of another year of budding witches and wizards.

The Transfiguration exam was a test of precision and focus. Professor McGonagall's stern gaze swept across the classroom as students attempted to transform wriggling mice into ornate snuffboxes.

Hermione's mouse became a beautifully intricate silver snuffbox, complete with delicate filigree work. Harry managed a decent transformation, though his snuffbox still sported a twitching whisker. Ron's attempt resulted in a furry box that emitted occasional squeaks. Marteen, with his usual flair, produced a snuffbox that changed colors every few seconds—earning him a raised eyebrow from McGonagall.

"Mr. Grindelwald, I don't recall asking for a chameleon snuffbox,"

The Potions exam, held in the dungeons, was a more nerve-wracking affair. As students filed in, Professor Snape's dark eyes glittered ominously in the torch-lit chamber. His gaze lingered on Neville, who was already trembling before the exam had even begun.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape drawled, "do try to refrain from exploding the castle today. I'd hate to explain to the Headmaster why Hogwarts suddenly has a new skylight in the dungeons."

Neville gulped audibly, his face pale as he nodded frantically.

Snape turned to address the class, "You have one hour to brew a perfect Forgetfulness Potion. Begin."

The dungeon filled with the sounds of bubbling cauldrons and the frantic chopping of ingredients. Harry concentrated fiercely, determined not to let Snape's looming presence distract him. Ron muttered ingredients under his breath, his forehead creased in concentration. Hermione worked with methodical precision, while Marteen added ingredients with a confident flourish.

Neville, despite Snape's warning, still managed to turn his potion an alarming shade of orange that emitted sparks, earning him a withering glare from the Potions Master.

As the exam progressed, a haze of multicolored steam hung over the dungeon, a testament to the varied success of the first-years' efforts in this most precise magical art.

The grueling exam period stretched on, each day blurring into the next in a haze of incantations, wand movements, and furious scribbling. Finally, only one test remained: History of Magic.

That night, the Gryffindor boys' dormitory was unusually quiet. The usual chatter and laughter had been replaced by the soft rustling of parchment and muffled yawns as the first-years attempted some last-minute revision.

As the clock struck midnight, Harry finally set aside his textbook and sank into his four-poster bed, his mind swimming with dates of goblin rebellions and names of famous wizards. Sleep claimed him almost instantly, but it was far from peaceful.

In his dreams, a familiar scene unfolded. A blinding flash of green light seared through his subconscious, accompanied by a high, cold laugh that sent chills down his spine. The green faded, replaced by a dark forest. A cloaked figure glided between the trees, silver unicorn blood dripping from its shadowy form. It turned, faceless beneath its hood, and began to advance on Harry—

With a strangled gasp, Harry bolted upright in bed. His heart hammered against his ribs, and a sharp, burning pain lanced through his lightning-bolt scar. He pressed his palm against his forehead, grimacing.

"Nngh... no..." he mumbled, still half-trapped in the nightmare.

In the next bed over, Ron stirred. "Wassgoinon?" he slurred sleepily, propping himself up on one elbow. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Harry sitting up, clearly distressed.

"Harry? You alright, mate?"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Just a bad dream."

"The green light again?"

"And that... that thing from the forest. The one drinking unicorn blood." He rubbed his scar absently. "And my scar... it hurts."

"Blimey, Harry. D'you think it means something? Maybe we should tell someone—"

"No," Harry said quickly, "No, it's fine. It's probably just stress from the exams or something."

"If you're sure... Try to get some sleep, yeah? We've still got History of Magic in the morning."

Harry nodded, lying back down. But as Ron's snores soon filled the dormitory once more, Harry remained awake, staring at the canopy of his bed. His scar continued to prickle uncomfortably, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

As the first-years streamed out of the History of Magic exam, a collective sigh of relief rippled through the crowd. The grueling test period was finally over.

Ron stumbled out, "Blimey," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "My brain feels like it's been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs."

Hermione, looking far more chipper, clutched her notes to her chest. "Oh, it wasn't that bad! I found the section on the International Warlock Convention of 1289 particularly fascinating."

"Mental, you are. Absolutely mental."

Harry trailed behind them, unusually quiet. His mind was far from goblin rebellions and warlock conventions, instead replaying the unsettling dream from the night before.

Ron, noticing Harry's silence, mistook it for exam stress. He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, grinning.

"Cheer up, mate! No more revising, no more tests. We're free!"

"Harry? Is everything alright? You seem... distracted." Asked Hermione.

"It's my scar," he admitted. "It's been hurting a lot lately. And I keep having these dreams..."

"Dreams?" Hermione prompted gently.

"About that cloaked figure from the forest," Harry explained, "The one drinking unicorn blood. It's like... like it's haunting me."

"Do you think it means something? Perhaps we should tell a professor—"

"No," Harry said quickly. "No, I... I'm sure it's nothing."

"Yeah, don't worry about it, Harry. That creepy cloaked thing's probably halfway to Timbuktu by now, after the way Marteen blasted it in the forest that night." Ron said.

Harry managed a weak smile, appreciating Ron's attempt at humor.

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

Hermione still looked concerned, "Well, if you're sure. But if it gets worse, promise you'll tell someone?"

Harry nodded, grateful for his friends' support. As they made their way across the grounds, the warm June sun beating down on them, he tried to push the unsettling thoughts from his mind. The exams were over, summer was approaching, and for now, at least, all seemed well at Hogwarts.

Little did they know, their greatest challenge of the year was yet to come.

"Wait a minute," he said, turning to Ron and Hermione. "We never did talk to Hagrid about Fluffy, did we?"

Hermione gasped, "You're right! With all the exam stress, I completely forgot!"

"Blimey, that's right! We need to make sure Hagrid hasn't accidentally spilled the beans to anyone else about getting past that three-headed monster." Ron said.

"We should go now," Harry said urgently. "Before dinner, while everyone's still celebrating the end of exams."

"You're right, Harry. This is important." Hermione said.

"Hang on," he said. "We can't go without Marteen. He's part of this too." Ron suggested.

"Definitely. It wouldn't be right to leave him out. Where is he, though?" Harry said.

"Probably still bragging about how stressful the exam was," Ron chuckled.

The trio scanned the throng of relieved students, searching for their Slytherin friend's familiar face among the sea of black robes and house colors.