Harry Potters Twin Book One

Through the Trapdoor

The exams have finally come, and I was more than prepared. True, may not have known a simple spell like sending sparks up in the air, but that didn't make me inadequate. During my studying, I've learned quite a bit about all of my subjects, and I was positive that I'd pass with flying colors.

Hermione, however, wasn't so confident. She was furious with herself for not studying more, and she kept telling the boys how they've “should have listened to Nixie.” She spent most of her time in the pages of a book now, and her studying habits were even more extreme as mine. Somehow, watching her freak out over the exams made me more relaxed, as though she had taken a burden off my shoulders. But that could also be from visiting the kitchens every day.

Bonnie wasn't stressed about exams. She told Hermione that she didn't sit in class every day to not learn anything, and that some knowledge must have rubbed off on her. Harry and Ron were the exact opposite; they couldn't remember anything they'd learned in class, and Harry was even more worried because he was still thought that Snape was trying to kill him.

“Ronald Weasley!” Professor Flitwick called. He was sending the students in one by one so that they could take their exams separately. Harry and Ron had showed their distress about this, but Hermione was pleased because it gave her less distractions.

After ten short minutes, Ron came out with his red hair singed.

“What happened?” Hermione's hand was over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

“It caught on fire,” Ron looked dazed, staring at Hermione but not really seeing her. “Just poof and it caught on fire.”

I raised one eyebrow.

“Nixie Potter!” I took a deep breath, assured myself that I was intelligent and could get through this, then marched into the classroom. It was empty except for a table with a pineapple on it. Next to it, Professor Flitwick was sitting on a chair, his legs dangling off the sides. “No need to be nervous, Miss Potter,” Flitwick giggled excitedly. “Your mother was a natural at this!”

I forced my tenseness to go away, and looked determinedly down at the fruit. “I'm not nervous,” I said. “What do I have to do?”

“Simple, really,” Professor Flitwick motioned toward the pineapple. “You will be making the pineapple dance across the desk...” he was looking at me expectantly, so I nodded to show that I was listening. “You may... begin.”

“Pinaless,” I muttered, pointing my wand at the pineapple. It then sprouted green vine feet; after standing there for a long second, it began to tap dance on the table.

“Bravo!” Professor Flitwick yelled, clapping his tiny hands happily. His eyes were glittering with pride, as though I were his child and I had accomplished an impossible feat. “Bravo! You have 150 points! That's over average!”

“Thank you, Professor!” I smiled brightly, then left the classroom without my hair singed.

In Professor McGonagall's class, we had to turn a rat into a snuffbox – points were added if the box had pretty designs, but points were taken away if it had whiskers.