As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets and notices concerning various wizarding careers appeared on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which read:
All fifth‐years are required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.
It had been a subject of some discussion amongst all the students but it was clear that some careers needed more academic skill than others. But it was Ginny that caught something of a disturbing trend: Poor defense professors for four of the past five years, would mean fewer students in the NEWT classes, meaning the slim pickings for the Auror Training Program would get a lot slimmer. Harry couldn't help but wonder exactly whose side Dumbledore was really on.
Not that the Twins gave a damn about their exams: They were ready to raise nine shades of hell, "business as usual tomorrow," Fred said briskly, "going to be more than a bit of an uproar."
"Do we want to know?" asked Colin.
George grinned, "Take a walk along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor at around five tomorrow afternoon."
"We're going out with a bang!"
Harry however had his career's counseling with Professor McGonagall to attend but he was confident he could clear the one o'clock appointment long before all hell broke loose. He knocked and entered, "Professor McGonagall," he said politely, ignoring the sniffing sound from the far corner of the room where Umbridge sat, clipboard on her knee with a horribly smug smile on her face.
"Sit down Harry," she gestured to the two vacant chairs opposite and to the Professor's surprise, he took the seat next to her, instead of the one opposite her that most students opted for.
"My apologies professor," said Harry, "for invading your personal space," he sent Umbridge a withering glare, "But I have been, advised never to leave an enemy where I cannot see them." Almost immediately, Umbridge's quill began to scratch its way across the clipboard, "Nor do I see how my career choices are anybody's business but my own."
"While I do agree with that sentiment, Mr. Potter, her authority supersedes my own as Headmistress," replied the professor, "Not the most charming of situations." It was the way she said the word "charming" that got his attention, as he raised an eyebrow.
"Swish and flick and Wingardium Leviosa" he replied, wandlessly and silently casting privacy and muting charms, forcing the charm over the two occupied chairs and small table covered in various leaflets and pamphlets, "So Professor McGonagall, now that we and every other student you see will be able to have this conversation in private without the toad in the corner overhearing. How's this supposed to work?"
The pair paused for a moment, as Umbridge frowned in confusion and then drew her wand and began trying to figure out exactly why she could not hear the conversation taking place a scant few feet from her. Harry bit his lip to hide a smirk, and he was sure he saw Professor McGonagall do likewise as they proceeded, "Well, Harry, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into the sixth and seventh years," said Professor McGonagall. "Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"
"Besides the obvious?' he deadpanned.
"Yes?" Professor McGonagall prompted Harry.
"International playboy and man of mystery sounded like a good idea," he said with a devil may care smile.
"Youʹd need top grades for that," said Professor McGonagall with a laugh as Umbridge sat in her corner fuming, "however, on a more serious note."
"Was thinking about joining the Aurors… maybe…" he said as he pulled the small dark leaflet from the mass on the desk.
"Five NEWTS, nothing under an Exceeded Expectations: Defense, Charms, and Transfiguration are core requirements, Potions tends to be the fourth what with poisons and antidotes playing a part in the job. The fifth is entirely up to you, but is normally something that helps round out your character. Muggle studies, Care for Magical Creatures, even Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, something you enjoy." said McGonagall. "Academically, you won't have a problem, there are stringent character and aptitude tests and it is one of the most difficult career paths." Harry's Auror dreams had been torpedoed by one bat git Severus Snape, "Any questions, Potter?"
"What sort of character and aptitude tests does the Ministry do?"
"Well, you'll need to demonstrate the ability to react well to pressure and so forth," said Professor McGonagall, "Perseverance and dedication, because Auror training takes a further three years, not to mention very high skills in practical Defense. It will mean a lot more study even after you've left school."
Professor Umbridge stood up. She was so short that this did not make a great deal of difference, but her fussy, simpering demeanor had given place to a hard fury that made her broad, flabby face look oddly sinister but whatever she about to say or perhaps do was interrupted by a string of explosions that echoed through every floor of the castle.
Suffice to say all three were on their feet and had dashed out the door to investigate – at least McGonagall and Harry were. The door has swung rather artfully so that Umridge had collided with it face first, breaking her nose for the second time since the Easter holidays with a sharp "crunch!' that made Harry smile ever so slightly. Rowena was still at it.
Harry however, deliberately dropped back, falling several steps behind Umbridge and even stopped to have a momentary chat with the ghosts of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw just to keep the spotlight focused on the twins. Several minutes of polite, inane chatter later, Filch came huffing past, and the cantankerous caretaker was crying, "Permission for whipping! At last! At last! I'll be able to deal with those twin bastards!" Unfortunately, they were tears of happiness.
He left the ghosts with an abrupt excuse me and followed Filch, wand drawn with a stunner ready to fly if necessary until he stopped, forcing Harry to do the same. They were in the right corridor, just a few hours early, he realized. Umbridge stood a few stairs in front of him, looking down upon her prey, "So ‐ you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"
"Pretty amusing, yeah," said Fred, looking up at her without the slightest sign of fear.
Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, "I've got the form, Headmistress," he said hoarsely, waving a piece of parchment "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting… oh, let me do it now…ʺ
"Very good, Argus," she said. "You two," she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."
"You know what?" said Fred. "I don't think we are." He turned to his twin. "George, I think we've outgrown full‐time education."
"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," said George lightly. "Time to test our talents in the real world, dʹyou reckon?"
"Definitely," said George.
Before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together, "Accio brooms!"
Harry heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to his left, he ducked just in time. Fred and Georgeʹs broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor towards their owners; they turned left, streaked down the stairs and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.
Fred reach in to his pocket, "We won't be seeing you!" Fred told Professor Umbridge as George mounted his broom.
"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George, as he held his wand in front of him as the assembled students watched, a silent crowd "If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated, come to number ninety‐three, Diagon Alley ‐ Weasleysʹ Wizarding Wheezes," he said in a loud voice. "Our new premises!"
"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," added Fred, pointing at Professor Umbridge, "Or her Inquisitorial Squad!"
"Stop them!" shrieked Umbridge. The Inquisitorial Squad closed in but Fred and George kicked off from the floor shooting fifteen feet into the air. George carved a circle in the air and stabbed his wand through the middle of it. Harry recognized that particular spell: The twins had taught him that one. It was an activation charm, and could be used to activate… just about anything.
Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd. "Peeves!"
"Yes oh mighty Captain of Mischief?" asked the poltergeist.
"Give them hell, would you?"
Peeves had never taken an order from a student before. Few of the ghosts could keep him in line. Rowena herself had said that keeping Peeves in line was one of her most frustrating tasks. This day, the Poltergeist rose in all of their estimations as he swept himself upright, standing perfectly, ramrod straight and straightened his hat, and snapped a crisp salute, "As you command, mon Capitaine!"
They wheeled their brooms about to tumultuous applause from the students and set off down the corridor. Light fixtures fizzled and popped as fireworks exploded behind them as they banked sharply downstairs heading towards the entrance hall, "Rowena," thought Harry, "Make sure that they have a clear exit."
"Of course Harry," she replied with a laugh, no doubt enjoying the spectacle as much as any of the students, "Perhaps I could, add to their send off?"
He was running, down the steps and could see them, strafing the Great Hall, setting off dozens of pre planted fireworks. They banked sharply above the staff table, a near perfect Immelmann turn with George going low enough to force Snape to duck for cover. Fred had taken a moment in the Entrance Hall and swooping in, high fiving his twin brother as they crossed paths in the middle of the Great Hall.
Umbridge stood in the center of the entrance hall and flanked by the Inquisitorial Squad, ready to unleash a torrent of spells to bring down the escaping duo when the Ministerial Decrees, hung in neat rows on the wall, fizzled and exploded, raining down bits of burning paper as the twins streaked overhead. George pointed his wand at something and they were out through the open doors of the castle, and in to the glorious sunset. "So long bitch!" shouted Fred over his shoulder.
The floor of the Great Hall exploded several feet behind Umbridge, hurling foul smelling, viscous and brown chunky liquid all over the defense professor and her toadies. Harry had heard of these particularly nasty creations but never seen one in action before today: The Diarrhea Deluge.
Suffice to say, it lived up to its name and smell…
In the weeks after the departure of Fred and George, the castle was in a constant state of turmoil. While their reign as Prank Master Generals had been unchallenged during their six year reign, their departure had inspired more than a few people to try and fill the void. Dung Bombs detonated in school corridors at all hours of the day and night. People regularly grew feathers, antlers, and various other animal related body parts at meal times. Professor Umbridge was left to fume in frustration as students would vomit, faint, and develop nose bleeds, all symptoms of "rare disease Umbichitis" and leave her with an empty class room. Even with the OWLs literally around the corner, there was no end to the campaign of sabotage and practical jokes that swept through the school. Ginny had asked Harry if he was ever going to put a stop to the chaos. His response had made his position on the matter crystal clear, "While the enemy still draws breath, there can be no peace."
The castle grounds were gleaming in the sunlight as though freshly painted; the cloudless sky smiled at itself in the smoothly sparkling lake; the satin green lawns rippled occasionally in a gentle breeze. June had arrived, but to the fifth‐years this meant only one thing: their OWLs were upon them at last.
Their teachers were no longer setting them homework; lessons were devoted to revising those topics the teachers thought most likely to come up in the exams. The purposeful, feverish atmosphere drove nearly everything but the OWLs from the minds of most of the students, except for Harry and his cohorts, who didn't face their OWLS just yet, but were definitely going to have an easy time when their turn came. A number of people were acting oddly due to the stress of the approaching exams. Ernie Macmillan had developed an irritating habit of interrogating people about their revision practices.
"How many hours d'you think you're doing a day?" he demanded of Ron as they queued outside Herbology, a manic gleam in his eyes. Harry merely stood back and watched with no small amount of amusement.
"I dunno," said Ron. "A few."
"More or less than eight?"
"Less, Iʹsʹpose," said Ron, looking slightly alarmed.
"I'm doing eight," said Ernie, puffing out his chest. "Eight or nine. I'm getting an hour in before breakfast every day. Eights my average. I can do ten on a good weekend day. I did nine and a half on Monday. Not so good on Tuesday ‐ only seven and a quarter. Then on Wednesday ‐" Professor Sprout ushered them into greenhouse three at that point, forcing Ernie to abandon his recital.
Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy had found a different way to induce panic: "Of course, it's not what you know," he was heard to tell Crabbe and Goyle loudly outside Potions a few days before the exams were to start, "It's who you know. Now, Father's been friendly with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years — old Griselda Marchbanks ‐ we've had her round for dinner and everything…ʹ
"Do you think that's true?" asked an alarmed Lavander to Harry and Neville.
"Nothing we can do about it if it is," said Harry, "but if you've been studying and revising, no reason why you shouldn't do well anyways."
"I don't think it's true," said Neville, "Because Griselda Marchbanks is a friend of my gran's, and she's never mentioned the Malfoys."
Of course, weird behavior including a near irresponsible desire amongst a number of students for varied brain stimulants that would do everything from enhanced attentiveness to increasing knowledge retention. Powdered Dragon Claw seemed to be very popular until it was discovered to be dried and powdered doxy droppings, "It's the smell," said Neville, "So unless the dragon in question was walking through dung and they forgot to clean its claws…" the black market in brain stimulants dried up after two cases of poisoning that Madame Pomfrey took care of in a matter of minutes.
Their exam schedules were revealed, in all their horrifying glory at the outset of their next Transfiguration lesson. "As you can see," Professor McGonagall told the class as they copied down the dates and times of their exams from the blackboard, "your OWLs are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory papers in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night."
She looked particularly serious, "ʹNow, I must warn you that the most stringent anti‐cheating charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto‐Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs and Self‐Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbor at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority's rules. I can only hope that it is nobody in Gryffindor. Our new ‐ Headmistress —" Professor McGonagall pronounced the word with incredible distaste, as if she had just eaten half a raw onion "has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely ‐ because, of course, your examination results will reflect upon the Headmistress's new regime at the school ‐" Professor McGonagall gave a tiny sigh; Harry saw the nostrils of her sharp nose flare. "‐ however, that is no reason not to do your very best. You have your own futures to think about."
"Please, Professor," said Lavander, "when will we find out our results?"
"An owl will be sent to you in July" said Professor McGonagall.
"Excellent," said Dean Thomas in an audible whisper, "So we don't have to worry about it till the holidays."
Their first examination, Theory of Charms, was scheduled for Monday morning and Harry spent his time reading through the notes he had already memorized just to pass the time. The scene was the same throughout all four common rooms, the library and even down by the banks of the Black Lake. In Gryffindor, Ron was reading two yearsʹ worth of Charms notes with his fingers in his ears, his lips moving soundlessly; Seamus Finnigan was lying flat on his back on the floor, reciting the definition of a Substantive Charm while Dean checked it against The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5; and Parvati and Lavender were practicing basic Locomotion Charms by making their pencil‐cases race each other around the edge of a table.
Dinner was a subdued affair that night, and nobody really talked much, and silence descended. Harry turned to find the source of the commotion to be the arrival of a small group of ancient-looking yet somehow distinguished group of witches and wizards. Harry smirked at the sight of a nervous Umbridge. Done with his dinner, he rose and made his way towards the double doors and into the Entrance Hall, slowing down to walk sedately past the examiners.
Harry thought Professor Marchbanks must be the tiny, stooped witch with a face so lined it looked as though it had been draped in cobwebs; Umbridge was speaking to her deferentially. Professor Marchbanks seemed to be a little deaf; she was answering Professor Umbridge very loudly considering they were only a foot apart, "Journey was fine, journey was fine, we've made it plenty of times before!" she said impatiently. "Now, I haven't heard from Dumbledore lately!" she added, peering around the Hall as though hopeful he might suddenly emerge from a broom cupboard. "No idea where he is, I suppose?"
"None at all," said Umbridge, shooting a malevolent look at Harry who was tying a shoelace at the foot of the stairs, "But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough."
"I doubt it," shouted tiny Professor Marchbanks, "not if Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know… examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did NEWTs… did things with a wand I'd never seen before."
"Yes… well…" said Professor Umbridge, "Let me show you to the staff room. I daresay you'd like a cup of tea after your journey."
Tomorrow, their examinations awaited them.