Chapter 149: Holiday

The exams were over, and the days before the holiday passed under brilliant sunlight.

To others, such bright weather was delightful, but Silven could not bring himself to feel happy. He would have preferred to see lightning and thunder, ideally followed by a storm.

The Animagus potion only completed its transformation during a storm. Before that, he had to recite the incantation toward his heart every morning and evening—even though the second heartbeat was now clear as if pulsing right beside his ear, this step could not be skipped.

Because if he interrupted it, the second heartbeat might vanish instantly, forcing him to start all over again.

And according to Professor McGonagall, experiencing the second heartbeat was far more difficult than the first; she had repeatedly warned him not to interrupt the process unless absolutely necessary.

The day he encountered the Basilisk, Silven had missed sunset—he had planned to return to his dormitory later, but as soon as he entered the castle, he met the Basilisk.

Fortunately, that mistake had only weakened the second heartbeat slightly; it had not disappeared entirely.

Silven had also considered whether he could use the Room of Requirement to simulate stormy weather, and he had tried.

The Room of Requirement had indeed delivered: the moment Silven opened the door, he stepped into a forest crackling with lightning and thunder.

But Silven quickly realized the storm conjured by the Room of Requirement was entirely magical—its difference from natural weather was like comparing Vernon Dursley to Snape in a potion-brewing contest.

The gap was too vast; they were two entirely unequal things.

So Silven could only wait.

…

Soon, the results came out.

Silven was surprised to find his grades were quite good—he had three O’s: Transfiguration, Potions, and Herbology.

The rest—Defensive Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and History of Magic—were all E’s.

This ranking placed him among the top in Gryffindor, especially in Potions.

“Unbelievable…” Hermione stared at Silven’s grade slip, “You’re probably the second Gryffindor ever to get an O from Snape.”

The first was Hermione herself—last year, her Potions grade had been an O, meaning Snape had found no flaw in her potion.

“He gave me a P (Poor),” Ron held his grade slip up to the window, examining it again and again. “He’s definitely targeting me. I swear my sequence was correct—I should’ve gotten at least an A.”

“Are you sure your sequence was correct?” Hermione asked.

She and Ron had been in the same exam room, and after the test, she had glanced at Ron’s cauldron by instinct.

How to describe it? It was like digging up a large clump of muddy soil after rain, then squeezing a tube of glue into it—the color and consistency were bizarre, and it emitted a foul, burnt odor.

The Forgetfulness Potion they were supposed to brew should have been pearly white, with faint blue specks shimmering inside.

So Snape’s grade for him was actually quite fair.

But Ron didn’t think so—he insisted Snape was retaliating, and Harry agreed.

Harry’s Potions grade was even worse: a D (Dreadful), barely better than Neville’s T (Troll).

Yet this minor incident did not dampen everyone’s spirits.

At the evening feast, Gryffindor won the House Cup again, leading Slytherin by nearly three hundred points.

Professor McGonagall, rarely smiling, chatted with Snape across Dumbledore.

But Snape looked anything but pleased—he kept his face stiff, nodding only occasionally and half-heartedly.

He had little reason to be happy: the Basilisk’s eyes were gone, its heart devoured by Fluffy, only one of its four fangs remained, and even that was broken off at the tip.

Now Slytherin had lost the House Cup too—how could Snape possibly be happy? He was already doing well just to sit there without leaving early.

The day after the feast, school officially closed. As usual, students received the notice prohibiting magic use during the holiday and then boarded the Hogwarts Express to go home.

Silven met Professor McGonagall at the Hogsmeade platform.

“I asked a few friends for their notes on their Animagus transformations—perhaps they’ll help you.”

She handed Silven a thick notebook. “Also, don’t slack off on your daily Transfiguration practice—maintaining proficiency is essential.”

“But Professor, we’re forbidden to use magic during the holiday,” Silven said.

“Of course I know that,” Professor McGonagall replied. “But you live in Diagon Alley, don’t you?”

Silven could hardly believe what he’d heard—Professor McGonagall, always fair and rule-bound, was subtly suggesting he break the rules?

Was this really Professor McGonagall—or someone using Polyjuice Potion?

“Don’t forget to recite the incantation at sunrise and sunset.”

Professor McGonagall acted as if she hadn’t noticed his expression and added: “If a storm occurs during the holiday, I’ll send an owl to inform you. If nothing urgent comes up, come back to Hogwarts as soon as you can.”

“Oh, you can use the fireplace—I’ll open the Hogwarts Floo Network in advance… in my office.”

Professor McGonagall seemed to have other matters to attend to and left quickly.

Silven boarded the train.

Harry and the others had already claimed a compartment; they were playing Exploding Snap.

Silven didn’t join—not because he wasn’t interested, but because he didn’t trust Fred and George.

The deck they were using had been provided by Fred and George, and the two sat nearby, watching with unhidden anticipation.

Knowing Fred and George, Silven was certain they had tampered with the cards.

Sure enough, when Ron flipped his third card, he revealed two mismatched faces.

“Oh, unlucky,” he sighed, closing his eyes to brace for the explosion.

“Boom!”

Silven had never imagined an Exploding Snap card could produce the effect of a Blast Curse—Ron was stunned, his red hair standing on end like a hedgehog, his face and body covered in soot.

“Ha ha!”

“It worked!”

Fred and George high-fived.

“Did you do this?” Ron demanded, furious.

“Of course…” Fred blurted out, “Of course we did.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” George said. “Traditional Exploding Snap is too mild—it’s supposed to be punishment, but it does nothing.”

“So we made a slight improvement,” Fred said.

“You call this a slight improvement?” Ron pointed at his hair. “I can already smell the burning.”

Fred and George pretended not to notice Ron’s growing anger and merely raised their eyebrows at Harry.

“How’s that? Doesn’t the new version feel more thrilling?”

Harry nodded instinctively.

Before, he hadn’t cared about the outcome—win or lose, it was just for fun.

But now, seeing Ron’s state, a sudden urge to win stirred in him.

Playing with this mindset felt entirely different from before.

…

(End of Chapter)