After Transfiguration, I was preparing for Defense Against the Dark Arts. The DADA exam was more interesting than Transfiguration. Professor Kember carried himself in such a way that you involuntarily forgot his advanced age. He was a man you could trust with your back in a fight. His voice was not loud, but it had such a steely tone that everyone in the class sat still, as if at a roll call in formation. I don't know why, but I looked at him with genuine respect. I literally hung on his every word, understanding the value of his advice. It's a pity he won't be teaching next year.
"You have long known that I taught at the auror training school for twenty years," he began, pacing along the desks, "and during that time I realized one simple thing: a spell can be taught in a day, discipline in a couple of days, but diligence and a head on your shoulders must be there from the start. Today I will check if you have the rudiments of what is called common sense."
The theory was as expected:
1.The difference between active and passive defense,
2.In what cases a spell can be used against a human / against a werewolf / against other races,
3.Classification of creatures by danger level. Kappa, Red Caps, Pixies…
The last question had a whole list of creatures we had studied, and at the end there were a couple more questions about werewolves and centaurs.
It would seem, few questions and generally boring, but this was not just a written test. What we wrote down had to be explained orally to Kember, and then he would ask additional questions. Let me put it this way: he knew how to ask them as if it were not a "test," but an interrogation. Many got confused and started to hesitate. I answered calmly — after all, I knew the topics perfectly, and my mind had endured oral exams more difficult than this. Not a single question tripped me up.
Sometimes it seemed he was deliberately looking right into your soul, expecting the slightest tremor in your voice. Several students literally had their throats go dry under his gaze. One boy from Hufflepuff got so tangled up in his words that he called a Red Cap a subspecies of goblins three times, which caused laughter from the whole class. Kember just snorted, wrote something in his journal, and said dryly, "Sit down."
For the practical part, there were three small tasks. The first was to create Lumos and extinguish it with Nox on command. He commanded quickly and tried to confuse the examinee. As you might have guessed, we took the exam one by one, which is why for our year alone it lasted more than three hours.
The second practical task was testing the spell against arachnids, namely Arania Exumai. This spell literally destroys ordinary spiders, but it repels and deters Acromantulas so much that even large specimens often prefer to run away.
When it came to testing this spell, a light murmur ran through the classroom. Many girls winced, and one Gryffindor boy recoiled when a huge, hairy spider the size of a fist crawled out of a box. The professor, of course, assured everyone they were harmless, but the spider's eyes burned with a malevolent red light, which comforted few.
It's worth explaining that we were let into the office in groups of five from each house — and so on until all examinees were finished. That's why representatives of all four houses were now sitting in the office.
The last of the practical tasks was testing the most recently studied spell — Protego. Yes, we studied it in DADA as a basic defensive charm. Actually, we covered many charms in several subjects at once. For example, the same Incendio was first in the DADA curriculum, then with Flitwick, and later we applied and practiced that spell in Herbology against some dangerous plants.
So, Protego was supposed to be covered in Charms and even DADA only in the second year. But the professor, as a former auror, perfectly understood how important it was to be able to use at least one type of magical defense, as theory won't save you from a stray spell. Therefore, the last studied spell concluded the course, and it also closed the practical part of the final exam.
Every time the turn came to the last task, a special silence fell in the classroom. Everyone knew: the Shield Charm was the pinnacle of the course, and it was where people most often failed. So everyone tried to be quiet so the examinee wouldn't be distracted. Several students were already openly trembling, because failing the final part meant wrecking the entire final grade.
Right now, it was my turn to be examined, and I had already finished the first two practical tasks. The professor raised his wand and whispered the spell Rictusempra. This spell caused intense tickling, a sparing one, but fast enough to test reaction.
"Protego," I responded, and the shield flared up in front of me, quenching the flash of the spell. The tickling charms vanished like a drop of water on a hot frying pan.
Kember looked at me intently, and then without warning attacked me again… with a tickling charm. Fortunately, my reaction was good, and I hadn't even had time to fully drop the Protego. In short, Protego was deployed again.
"Not bad. For a first-year — even too good. It's clear your wand isn't for decoration. But remember, young man: a shield is not protection, it's a delay. True protection is the ability to not be in the place where the spell is flying."
I nodded. In the end, I consistently received Outstanding grade after Outstanding grade. In the end, I managed to get the top grade in all subjects for which there was a year-end exam, and finally allowed myself to breathe out calmly… though already at the celebratory feast marking the end of the school year.
The Great Hall was ablaze with lights: hundreds of candles floated under the enchanted ceiling, which reflected the June evening sky. The space was filled with sounds, smells, and anticipation.
When Headmaster Dumbledore rose, the noise was cut off as if by a knife. Even the youngest students stretched their necks and fell silent. Dumbledore looked old, but his voice always held strength, and the words he spoke seemed to settle in the air like heavy stones.
"Another year has come to an end," he said in his calm voice, which, despite its softness, resonated throughout the vast space of the Hall. "For some, it was the first, for others — the last at Hogwarts. A year of trials, mistakes, and discoveries. But all of it is part of our path. And, as always, it is time to summarize the House Cup competition."
The Hall grew even quieter — so quiet that you could hear someone nervously tapping their fingers on the table.
"So," he began, adjusting his half-moon spectacles and unrolling a long piece of parchment.
Dumbledore looked at that piece of parchment as if it contained a whole essay, or perhaps time itself stretched out in anticipation. The Headmaster certainly knew how to command attention.
The Hall froze. Even the ghosts seemed to lean closer to hear. Somewhere in the back row, someone swallowed loudly. The tension stretched like a tight string, ready to snap at any second.
"In fourth place," Dumbledore continued, "Hufflepuff. Three hundred and eighty-two points!"
The Hufflepuffs applauded together, but their joy was restrained; disappointment was written on many faces.
"In third place… Gryffindor! Four hundred and twenty-six points."
A noise of disappointment shook the vaulted ceiling. The Gryffindors buzzed, someone whistled, and someone outright exclaimed: "We were supposed to win!" — and immediately received a couple of angry looks from the professors. Around the tables with red and gold banners, irritation mixed with resentment reigned.
"Second place goes to… Ravenclaw! With four hundred and seventy-two points."
The Ravenclaw table responded with a hum of applause, but some were clearly clapping just for propriety's sake. Several Ravenclaws immediately started whispering, arguing where they had lost the missing points. Meanwhile, discontent was growing at the Gryffindor table.
Dumbledore paused. Tension hung in the Hall like before a thunderclap. It seemed already clear who had won, but everyone held their breath.
"And first place goes to…" Dumbledore allowed himself an even longer pause than usual. "With four hundred and eighty-five points… Slytherin!"
An explosion of joy manifested in applause and happy shouts from our, usually reserved, table. Green and silver banners immediately replaced the others and unfurled with a rumble over the Hall. The older students smiled with particular restraint, but fire burned in their eyes — the fire of winners.
One of my Slytherin classmates, caught up in the general atmosphere, wanted to jump on the bench, nearly overturning a goblet of pumpkin juice, but I stopped him with such a look that for the rest of the day the guy didn't even look me in the eye. I knew him — apparently, he had heard too much from the Gryffindors about how to celebrate victory.
In defense of the Gryffs, I'll say that we would also be upset if the Gryffs had won, though we wouldn't have shown our resentment and displeasure so vividly, but still.
And even our joy was always restrained, almost icy, but that was its strength. While the Gryffindors exploded with emotions and slammed the tables, we celebrated silently — with smiles, short glances, and slight nods. We couldn't jump on the tables and wave our arms, we couldn't shout and squeal with joy, but we could smile proudly and clap a little louder than usual.
I sat, observing. In the noise of applause and joyful words, I felt a strange calm. Slytherin had won — deservedly so. But that wasn't the main thing. The main thing was that I saw Snape allow himself a slight smile in the spirit of: "Well, what else did you expect?" It's not often you see a smile on the face of the Head of House, who even clapped his hands a couple of times.
Gryffindor was in sorrow, but I couldn't care less. Dumbledore soon clapped his hands — and the tables were immediately filled with dishes. The smell of roast, fresh bread, warm pies, and pumpkin juice filled the Hall. But the most delicious feeling was that the Hall belonged to us today.
I caught the gaze of Prefect Rowley at the other end of the table. He was glad that during his time as prefect, Slytherin hadn't broken its winning streak and had received another Hogwarts Cup. Noticing my look, he nodded to me with a smile on his lips.
I responded with a short nod.
Later, already in the corridor, as the stream of students dispersed to their common rooms, I noticed Albert Rowley. Tall and collected, he looked as serious as always, but he seemed a bit tired, which was unsurprising, considering he had taken the most important exam of his life. Practically the final exam for a schoolboy.
"Congratulations, Rowley," I said, approaching closer. "On your OWLs and on the year's results. You handled all your duties excellently."
He nodded slightly, accepting the congratulations as his due.
"Thank you, Malfoy. I'm glad your first year has concluded honorably as well. I hope next year brings you no less success."
"Undoubtedly," I replied calmly. "Essentially, you've finished Hogwarts. What do you plan to do next, if you don't mind telling me, of course."
Rowley raised an eyebrow slightly, then spoke with that same composure that always made him seem more like an official than a schoolboy:
"I am going to apply to the Ministry of Magic, to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Not a brilliant career, but a stable one. I want to dedicate my life to organizing tournaments, possibly international ones. It's more promising than it seems."
"Sounds reasonable. I've always liked smart and calculating people. I'm sure we'll meet again," I paused and added a bit softer: "I'm glad to have studied with you, I hope our acquaintance will one day prove useful to both of us."
A slight smile appeared on his face.
"Without a doubt. Good luck to you, Malfoy. And I advise you not to refuse the opportunity to become a prefect in your later years."
"I wouldn't refuse."
With that, our conversation ended. Over the entire year, Rowley and I had developed more of a calculated acquaintance: he understood that I would become an important figure in magical Britain's future, and he was useful to me as a guide to school life. Plus, soon he would occupy a good position in the Ministry — especially since his father was the former head of the department Albert was applying to.
Later, I crossed paths with Emilia Greenwood. The female prefect, unlike Rowley, was straightforward and energetic. She met me with a slightly tired but smiling face. I always liked Emilia more than Rowley — maybe because of her character, or maybe simply because she was a member of the fairer sex. Or perhaps both.
"Well, Malfoy, I see you've spun a worthy web," she grinned. "Not every first-year can be praised for that. Although I'm not surprised: Slytherin is the right place for you. And I should have been sent to Ravenclaw…"
She sighed, clearly remembering something.
"At least you were an excellent prefect, and as I hear, you passed your exams brilliantly," I replied lightly. "If you ever need help from a twelve-year-old guy — just ask."
"Ah…" the prefect sighed theatrically. "Everyone around is spiders and snakes, and I'm the only flower in this serpentarium… but thank you for the kind words."
"OWLs are a difficult thing, but they're behind you. The main thing is, don't relax, Emilia. Life after Hogwarts is harder anyway."
"Everything in this world is difficult. Even talking to a first-year. I'm already tired of communicating like this for seven years. In the summer, I'm going on vacation to Italy, and then I can think about the future. And since you mentioned help, I'll remember that."
I liked her directness — without pomp, without pretty phrases. She spoke easily, as if shedding the burden of exams and duties. Her words lacked ostentatious wisdom or feigned seriousness — only honesty and a little tiredness. That's exactly how she differed from most Slytherins: directness was her shield and weapon.
"That's true," I agreed. "You know, I also like directness, but I don't allow myself such a luxury. Character can be shown not only with words. As for me, I suppose I'll continue spinning my own web — I don't fancy someone else's."
"Oh, I never doubted that," she smiled wider. "About the last statement. Have a good studies, Malfoy."
We exchanged short nods. That's how I said goodbye to the prefects, leaving room for maneuver — that is, for further contact with them if it proved useful or necessary.
That evening, under the vaults of Hogwarts, which once again acknowledged the primacy of the house of snakes, my first year was over. When I was already lying in bed, I could finally be alone with the thoughts that washed over me: what had I managed to do this year? And I had managed a lot, though not everything I had planned. I needed to sort it all out and decide what I would do in the near future, especially during the summer.