《HP: Too Late, System!》Chapter 29: The Grueling Practical Exam

When George and Fred finally shepherded their classmates to the fourth-floor classroom, George wore the look of a condemned man as he handed a slip of parchment to Douglas.

"Professor, this is from Professor McGonagall for you!"

Douglas glanced at the note, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

What a pair of prodigies. Back in his own school days, whenever he got into trouble, he'd lie low for a while, careful not to give Professor Sprout any excuse to pile on extra punishments—like mucking out dung for magical plants. But the Weasley twins? They'd barely finished getting in trouble last night and were already at it again this morning. Offending three professors in one go—now that took real talent.

He tucked the note away with a nod and instructed everyone to line up in the corridor.

This little spectacle caught the attention of some Slytherins waiting nearby for Charms, who paused to watch the show. Their next lesson was also Defence Against the Dark Arts—another practical exam, just like Gryffindor's. Of course, nobody dared skip Professor Flitwick's class.

As soon as the bell rang, students hustled into their classrooms.

Meanwhile, Douglas addressed his students in the corridor:

"Don't be nervous, everyone. Today's lesson is simple—a review of what you've learned these past three years. I've selected some dark creatures you're likely to see on your future O.W.L.s. Your task is straightforward: use your knowledge to defeat or subdue them. See? Easy as pie!"

Easy? Not a chance.

The students exchanged anxious glances. Most of them had already forgotten half of what they'd learned in the first three years. Sure, some had skimmed their old textbooks before last lesson's exam, but there were so many dark creatures—who could remember them all?

They'd assumed the practical would just mean showing off a few spells. No one expected they'd have to pick the right spell at just the right moment.

As the class whispered nervously among themselves, Douglas let them be. Then he called out:

"Mr. George Weasley, as class representative, you're up first!"

One twin immediately shoved the other forward.

"George, Professor wants you to go in first!"

The twin who was pushed protested,

"Oh, come on, George—how could you do this to me? Professor, I'm Fred! He's George!"

Truth be told, Douglas couldn't tell them apart either.

"Gentlemen, if you think this is funny, how about I add Charms to your detention as well? We're just down the hall from Professor Flitwick's classroom—I'm sure he'd be delighted to help."

He was starting to wonder if his punishments were so harsh the twins had simply decided to give up.

At last, under Douglas's pointed glare, George stepped forward, raised his wand, and edged into the classroom.

Douglas told the others to wait outside and followed him in.

The moment they entered, they were confronted by a small pond—two meters deep, and the only way to the next challenge was straight through.

George eyed the pond warily. The water was murky, thick with weeds, impossible to see the bottom. He hesitated, glancing at Douglas, then at the water again, before slowly stepping forward.

Douglas's gaze was fixed on a particular spot in the pond, where a sickly green creature with a tiny horn was making faces at them, flexing its long, spindly claws. It looked a bit like the legendary water monkey, but it was a Grindylow—one Douglas had personally fished out of the Black Lake.

By magical standards, a Grindylow wasn't especially dangerous—provided you kept your head. They'd attack anyone who came too close, trying to drag them under with their claws. But unlike the water ghosts of Chinese legend, these creatures were very much flesh and blood. If you stayed calm and gave them a good kick to the head, they'd usually let go.

George, crouched at the pond's edge, didn't sense any real danger. He set off confidently, eager to reach the other side and dry himself off with a quick spell.

But almost immediately, he realized something was wrong. The faster he swam, the more resistance the water seemed to offer—like he was being sucked into a swamp.

Years of pranking had sharpened his instincts. He quickly deduced that the pond must be enchanted with something like a Swamp Hex—the more you struggled, the deeper you sank.

A sly grin flickered across George's face. Underwater, he shot Douglas a cheeky middle finger.

He slowed his movements, and sure enough, the resistance faded.

Just as he was congratulating himself, something clamped around his ankle.

His heart pounded. Instinctively, he kicked harder—only to find the swampy enchantment drag him down even faster. Combined with the Grindylow's grip, he was quickly pulled beneath the surface.

Douglas watched the bubbles rise, shaking his head. Not calm at all.

Through the water, he saw George fumble for his wand, aiming it at the Grindylow. But as he opened his mouth, a stream of bubbles escaped.

Finally—his face red from lack of air—George began thrashing wildly. By sheer luck, his foot connected with the Grindylow's head. The creature recoiled in pain, releasing him.

But George's frantic movements only made things worse. The water, thick as a bog, sucked him down.

Douglas checked his watch. Three minutes had passed.

With a sigh, he flicked his wand. A rope snaked into the water, wrapped around the exhausted George, and hauled him to the surface.

Back on dry land, George collapsed at Douglas's feet, coughing violently.

Douglas tapped his back with his wand, and his drenched robes dried instantly. Then he produced a small bottle filled with inky potion and handed it to George.

Pinching his nose, George gulped it down. The coughing eased.

He looked up at Douglas, wide-eyed and wounded.

"Professor, isn't this a bit much?"

Douglas just rolled his eyes and hustled him out the door.

Inside and outside the classroom might as well have been two different worlds.

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