After Charlie left, the office returned to silence.
In a good mood, William walked to the corner and pulled Otto, the creature curled up and snoring in its nest—into his arms, and idly played with its three heads.
Charlie had said he would think about it, but judging by the expression of sudden realization on his face earlier, William was already confident of the outcome.
Of course, William hadn't offered that advice on a whim, nor was he simply bored and playing life coach.
After seeing Charlie's stunning dive and catch during Saturday's match, he understood that the boy's talent was exceptional—national-team potential.
And that inevitably led back to the system's Student Level module and its "Special Contribution" bonus.
If Charlie went into dragon research, the reality was that dragons had already been studied to the limit. Any research would likely be for personal interest rather than groundbreaking progress.
But Quidditch players were different.
In the entertainment-starved wizarding world, Quidditch stood unrivaled in popularity. Europe's top players were more famous and influential than many Ministers for Magic. They were true celebrities.
If Charlie entered the professional path with William's help and shone at the World Cup in four years, leading England out of the group stage—William expected a substantial reward in points.
If England reached the finals… or even won?
William could hardly imagine the spectacle across the country. Charlie Weasley's name would be etched into history.
Even if Cornelius Fudge stood beside him, it would be obvious who held greater prestige in the eyes of the British magical public.
Minister for Magic?
Who?
Ordinary students were none of William's concern, but letting a talent like Charlie waste away feeding dragons in the Romanian mountains would be a loss for both the wizarding world—and himself.
---
The excitement and heated discussions from the Quidditch match lasted only a few days before fading with the winter winds.
Reality soon arrived.
Despite their reluctance, Hogwarts' first-ever monthly comprehensive examinations... covering Years One through Four—arrived right on schedule.
The atmosphere throughout the castle became unusually tense. Aside from the constant scratching of quills in classrooms, even the usually damp dungeons and earthy greenhouses were filled with anxious students.
Practical exams like potion brewing, herb handling, and spellcasting—were graded on the spot. But the theory papers took professors several days to finish marking.
Surprisingly, the overall pass rate exceeded last year's O.W.L. results.
Most professors weren't pleased. They suspected the first exam had simply been easier.
Soon, the Owlery in the West Tower emptied dramatically—nearly ninety percent of the owls flew off carrying report cards across Britain.
As parental reactions returned to the school, Hogwarts became livelier.
Howlers exploded everywhere:
Six in the Great Hall
Ten in the corridors
Fifteen in the common rooms (the hardest-hit areas)
Nearly ten more scattered around bathrooms and the library entrance
For two days, red ash drifted through the castle, and several unlucky students walked around with ringing ears.
---
At the professors' table that evening, the exams were the obvious topic.
Professor McGonagall cut her fried egg into neat pieces and sighed.
"The third-year practical exam, teapot into turtle—was identical to the classroom exercise. Yet fewer students succeeded in the exam than during practice."
"Some turtles still had teapot heads and were crawling across desks while emitting steam."
She cast a stern glance at the feasting students below.
"It seems most students did not practice at all outside class."
Other professors quickly joined in, venting about similarly absurd mistakes.
While the others chatted, Snape leaned slightly toward William and spoke in a low voice only he could hear.
"I've found a female Runespoor."
William paused mid-bite, swallowed, and wiped his mouth.
"That's excellent news, Severus. Fast work. So… she's already in your office? I hope she isn't too temperamental."
Snape shook his head.
William frowned, assuming a black-market price dispute.
"If the seller is overcharging, negotiate—or trade potions. A live female is in high demand. If you hesitate, another buyer might snatch it first."
"That's not the situation," Snape said irritably. "It's someone's pet. Not for sale—but available for breeding."
"Borrowed?"
William was intrigued. He hadn't seen anyone else in Britain keeping Runespoors.
"Who owns it?"
Snape met his gaze and said clearly:
"Newt Scamander."
William gave him a strange look.
Snape bristled. "What is that expression supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," William said. "I just didn't expect your social circle to include Newt Scamander. He's a legend in magizoology—and retired."
"I don't know him," Snape replied coldly. "But Dumbledore does."
He stabbed his food with a fork.
"I asked Dumbledore to write to him. He replied this afternoon—he agreed."
William glanced at Dumbledore, who was happily squeezing lemon over a lamb chop, then turned back with a smile.
"Well done, Severus. Impressive efficiency."
Snape clearly disliked the praise.
"Saturday, eight in the morning. Headmaster's office. Dumbledore will take us there personally. Few people know Scamander's residence."
"Understood," William said cheerfully. "You did great, Severus."
"If you continue speaking to me in that tone, Shafiq, I won't hesitate to add something unpleasant to your tea."
===================
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