Chapter 64: Final Exams
"Well… about that," Russell said with a smile, choosing not to answer.
He doubted the two of them could handle the truth.
Time passed quickly, and before they knew it, final exams arrived.
For some reason, the weather had turned oppressively hot. The large hall where they sat their written exams was stifling, making concentration difficult. The teachers handed out special quills enchanted with anti-cheating spells.
In addition to written tests, there were also practical exams—but for Russell, none of it posed any real challenge.
For Charms, they were required to make a pineapple tap-dance its way across a desk.
Russell dressed the pineapple in a black tuxedo, a bowler hat, and oversized dress pants, which made it look rather comically bloated. He even transfigured its leaves into a gentleman's cane.
The pineapple tipped its hat politely to Professor Flitwick, then danced back and forth across the desk with Chaplin-like flair.
Professor Flitwick was utterly captivated and clapped enthusiastically.
"Absolutely perfect!" he exclaimed, awarding Russell full marks without hesitation.
The Transfiguration exam required students to turn a mouse into a snuffbox—the more beautiful the box, the higher the score. Unfortunately, Russell had never seen a snuffbox before. After some intense deliberation, he ended up transfiguring the mouse into an incense burner.
It was palm-sized and cast in antique bronze, shaped like a three-legged ding. The legs ended in beast-claw feet, the body slightly rounded with a narrow waist, and the hemispherical lid was carved with cloud patterns and lotus-petal motifs in openwork relief.
"Professor McGonagall, I'm afraid I don't actually know what a snuffbox looks like, so…"
Russell shrugged slightly, uncertain whether his work would be accepted.
"Fythorne, that's not an issue," Professor McGonagall said, a rare smile touching her lips.
"This should be an incense burner—and it's a flawless transfiguration."
"If you're interested, you may join my Transfiguration Club next year."
"I'd be delighted," Russell replied at once. That was exactly what he'd hoped for.
The Potions exam was the Forgetfulness Potion. Snape stood directly behind Russell the entire time, watching every movement with hawk-like focus. Only when Russell finished brewing the potion perfectly—using his own improved method—did Snape give a barely perceptible nod.
"Fythorne, it appears you do possess some talent in Potions."
"I owe that entirely to your notes, Professor," Russell replied sincerely.
Snape's notes truly had taught him a great deal.
For Defense Against the Dark Arts, the test involved casting the Knockback Jinx (Flipendo) on Professor Corvey's animated mummy. The mummy stood inside a ring, and scores were based on how far it was blasted away.
Even holding back, Russell sent the mummy flying clean out of the circle.
As Russell was preparing to leave, Professor Corvey stopped him.
"I imagine that exam was far too easy for you," he said quietly.
"I'll be leaving Hogwarts the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I'll give you one final lesson. Meet me here."
With that, he slipped a small note into Russell's hand.
As for the History of Magic exam—Russell, the only student who had never once slept through Professor Binns's lectures, calmly filled the entire paper.
"Finally free!" James said with a grin, his steps practically bouncing with relief. Rosen looked just as relaxed—they were already daydreaming about the joys of the holidays.
Exams were over at last.
Russell looked at the expressions on their faces and suddenly frowned, a troubled look crossing his own.
"Say… if someone didn't do well on their finals, would Hogwarts make them retake the exams like Muggle schools do? And would report cards be sent home too?"
"Damn it, Russell!" James groaned instantly, his face falling.
"We literally just finished the exams—could you not ruin my happiness for even five minutes?"
Rosen looked slightly less devastated, but he still shot Russell an accusing glare.
Smiles never disappear—they just move to someone else.
Watching their reactions, a grin immediately spread across Russell's face.
The end-of-term feast was lavish as ever, yet Russell was absent-minded.
Professor Corvey's words kept echoing in his head—he would be leaving tomorrow.
Russell couldn't help feeling reluctant. A teacher like Corvey was truly rare.
Still, there was no point dwelling on it. Forcing him to stay might only make the curse flare up again—who knew what it might turn him into? Leaving without harm was probably the best possible outcome. Surely the curse wouldn't strike that very night.
At least, Russell hoped so.
Just as they were chatting and laughing, a figure suddenly burst around the corner ahead and charged straight toward them. Russell barely had time to react before they collided head-on.
Russell was solidly built for his age and didn't fall—he only staggered back a couple of steps.
The other boy, however, went straight down.
"Watch where you're going! Can't you dodge earlier or what?" the boy snapped, rubbing his head.
Russell was about to check if he was hurt—but being blamed instead immediately soured his mood.
When the boy looked up, Russell relaxed.
Of course. It was his wonderful roommate, Phineas Fawley.
Not wanting any trouble—because once Fawley latched on, shaking him off would be a nightmare—Russell motioned for the others to go around him and keep walking.
Fawley's face turned red, then pale. He didn't stop them.
But as he stood up, ready to leave, he heard James's voice from behind—cold and dismissive.
"What a joke. Clearly your own fault, and you still blame someone else. Shameless."
Fawley finally snapped.
He wheeled around and drew his wand in one swift motion.
"Furnunculus!"
A red flash struck James square in the back. He screamed as large, swollen red boils erupted across his body—so dense that anyone with trypophobia would have fainted on the spot.
"Rosen, please take him to Madam Pomfrey—now," Russell said, forcing his fury down.
Rosen nodded quickly, supporting the howling James as they hurried toward the hospital wing.
Thankfully, the curse hadn't affected the soles of his feet, or they would've needed to summon a professor.
"Fawley," Russell said quietly, his voice steady as he drew his wand.
"James only said a few unpleasant words. Was this really necessary? Besides, he wasn't exactly wrong."
Rather than panic, Fawley's eyes lit up.
"Fythorne," he sneered softly, "I've hated you for a long time now. Just a filthy half-blood—"
The insult was nothing but a distraction.
Before the last word finished leaving his mouth, his wand snapped upward again. A red spell shot out—identical to the one he'd used earlier.
Russell reacted instantly, ducking low.
The red light skimmed past his hair.
Fortunately, there were no other students behind him—otherwise, this could have turned far uglier.