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chapter 157 part 2
"This question," Hermione was stuck halfway through the exam paper, stunned—the newly renamed Defense Against the Dark Arts course was already her weakness, and this year Professor Lockhart had introduced a new textbook. Even with her diligent self-study, she was still stumped by the tricky questions.
'Don't panic, calm down, calm down, skip it, next question,' she recalled the so-called secret techniques for dealing with difficult exam questions that she had never needed to use before.
As a result, the next question was even harder.
'The one after that!'
She cheered herself on, only to be stumped by a completely out-of-syllabus question—even if a professor taught the material diligently in class, this question wouldn't be easy to answer.
"This question… I still don't know it..."
Although in theory she should have moved on to the next question, her vision was already blurry.
"What's the use—after putting on the diadem, wouldn't she just obediently fall to second place?"
The girl's voice echoed repeatedly in her ears, and combined with the utterly unanswerable questions before her, it began to sting her tear ducts.
—
"Plop."
The sudden sound broke the long silence, rousing William from his contemplation. He'd been puzzling over a magical demonstration for half the day.
"Drip, drip, drip."
The sound of water drops hitting the parchment grew so rapid they merged into one, making William look up in surprise at the girl working on the test beside him. 'It can't be that bad, can it? Fifth-years just get red-eyed. A second-year shouldn't be reacting so intensely, right?'
You didn't cry when you jumped off the train last time, and you were quite spirited even when controlled by magic and unable to speak the whole way, looking like you wanted to curse someone. What's going on today?
"Waaah..."
The sound of obvious sobbing startled William. He quickly stood up, abandoning his unhurried demeanor.
"Don't cry, don't cry..." he lowered his voice. "Tell me what's wrong. If the exam paper is too hard, just study harder. I'm telling you, most fifth-years couldn't even pass this when they first tried it. And they're fifth-years. It's nothing to be ashamed of if you can't solve them; there's no need for this."
William decisively sold out his students—people are comparative, and once they hear others are also unlucky, their own misfortunes don't seem so painful.
'No, I thought you were quite tough last time,' William began to reflect. 'I should have given her the first-year exam paper; the second-year one does seem a bit too difficult.'
He had plenty of tricks for disobedient students, but for those who burst into tears at the slightest disagreement, he truly had no good solution at the moment—students in their fifth year and above were all too concerned with their dignity to cry like this. It was his first time dealing with such a situation.
'Why did I major in science and engineering in college? I should've studied education if I knew I'd become a teacher. The student gender ratio would be more balanced!'
He complained to himself, then rummaged through his trunk for a new, unopened towel—the school had distributed many at once.
"Wipe your tears, girl. Crying is useless, isn't it? It won't help you solve the questions. I've taken a quick look, and you've already passed the exam. You should know that most fifth-years would fail these questions—"
"I'm the top of my year!"
Perhaps that comparison stung a nerve, as the crying girl finally became willing to communicate with William.
'Crying like this would make any top student lose face. The fifth-years are so much better behaved; they get over it themselves.'
But obviously, he couldn't say that to her face—now that she had finally quieted down a bit, William wanted to save his eardrums.
"Wipe your tears. Getting a passing grade on this exam is already very good." William then conjured a hot chocolate with his wand—anyway, no matter what others said, he thought this stuff was most effective when one was feeling down.
'Honestly, Professor McGonagall... what is this child so upset about? And she sent her to me to 'rein in her temper'? Is she trying to cause trouble for me?'
William refused to admit that his exam paper could make someone cry like this. He began to ponder why Professor McGonagall had sent this child over—from the looks of it, she wasn't sent here for an exam.
"Tell me about it. Even though I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'm prepared for other things too. What happened today? Why are you so distressed?"
William offered a kind smile—back in Azkaban, he often used this smile to quell disputes, though the stories he told afterward were currently irrelevant.
"Nothing, Professor."
"Not getting along well with other students?"
William made a guess—the top student of the year is either exceptionally good with people or exceptionally bad—it's one extreme or the other. It's usually a safe bet.
"No."
That answer clearly betrayed her guilt.
"Look ahead, little girl. At least you still have two good friends, don't you?"
As he spoke, William himself felt a pang of heartache—'So good that they'd all hate me after a few words from you.'
"Geniuses are always somewhat lonely, and talented students are probably the same. Don't be petty; either learn to get along or ignore it. You're the top of your year, so there won't be school bullying, at most you'll be isolated, but you have two good friends, don't you?"
Her expression didn't change much—it seemed that wasn't it.
"Problems with your studies? Don't be too ambitious. It's already remarkable that you've pre-learned some new material; don't put too much burden on yourself. There's a reason why Hogwarts is divided into seven years. You can't expect to finish seven years' worth of material in your second year. Dumbledore studied for seven years; are you thinking of graduating even earlier than the Headmaster did?"
William waggled a finger. "Don't think about it, child, unless we get a new headmaster, like McGonagall—cough."
William quickly corrected himself—jokes about Professor McGonagall kicking Dumbledore out were fine to tell other professors, but telling them to a student was too irrational. He had a raise that was verbally agreed upon, and if he messed it up, it would truly be gone.
"Anyway, early graduation is impossible. Don't think about mastering seven years of material in your second year. You should know, some professors in the castle haven't even properly mastered parts of their courses. For example, me—my skill in Divination is practically at an imbecile's level."
William was unreserved in self-deprecation—as far as he knew, most professors in this castle weren't good at Divination, including even the Divination Professor.
Since he wasn't proficient in it, he felt no pressure at all, and there was no shame in admitting it publicly.
These words successfully comforted the crying student—for a professor to dare reveal their own embarrassing moments was a great source of comfort for any student.
'She's smiling, so it's fine now. Comforting a child is really tiring.'
"Alright, take a good look at the exam paper and see where you made mistakes. You'll still have to take this exam in your upper years, so you can't take it with you. But I congratulate you, you've passed."
William rarely offered her such encouragement.
"'Passed'? Professor? Does that mean I can see the diadem now?"
The word 'passed' was met with a series of counter-questions.
'You should have said so earlier! If you wanted to see the diadem, just ask. That's Dumbledore's problem. Why did I spend all this time comforting a kid?'
William's previously prepared lines caught in his throat—he quickly thought of the diadem's impact on top students.
'Professor McGonagall, too... if she wanted me to agree, she should have just said so instead of being so roundabout. Was this her way of showing that the school hasn't just pocketed the diadem?'
"Go to the Headmaster's Office, Miss Granger. Thanks to Professor McGonagall's recommendation, you have passed your special exam. Whether you can access it depends on what Headmaster Dumbledore decides."
William effortlessly uttered the most comforting words at that moment—'This troublemaker is all yours, Headmaster. I'm out!'
(end of chapter)
"This question," Hermione was stuck halfway through the exam paper, stunned—the newly renamed Defense Against the Dark Arts course was already her weakness, and this year Professor Lockhart had introduced a new textbook. Even with her diligent self-study, she was still stumped by the tricky questions.
'Don't panic, calm down, calm down, skip it, next question,' she recalled the so-called secret techniques for dealing with difficult exam questions that she had never needed to use before.
As a result, the next question was even harder.
'The one after that!'
She cheered herself on, only to be stumped by a completely out-of-syllabus question—even if a professor taught the material diligently in class, this question wouldn't be easy to answer.
"This question… I still don't know it..."
Although in theory she should have moved on to the next question, her vision was already blurry.
"What's the use—after putting on the diadem, wouldn't she just obediently fall to second place?"
The girl's voice echoed repeatedly in her ears, and combined with the utterly unanswerable questions before her, it began to sting her tear ducts.
—
"Plop."
The sudden sound broke the long silence, rousing William from his contemplation. He'd been puzzling over a magical demonstration for half the day.
"Drip, drip, drip."
The sound of water drops hitting the parchment grew so rapid they merged into one, making William look up in surprise at the girl working on the test beside him. 'It can't be that bad, can it? Fifth-years just get red-eyed. A second-year shouldn't be reacting so intensely, right?'
You didn't cry when you jumped off the train last time, and you were quite spirited even when controlled by magic and unable to speak the whole way, looking like you wanted to curse someone. What's going on today?
"Waaah..."
The sound of obvious sobbing startled William. He quickly stood up, abandoning his unhurried demeanor.
"Don't cry, don't cry..." he lowered his voice. "Tell me what's wrong. If the exam paper is too hard, just study harder. I'm telling you, most fifth-years couldn't even pass this when they first tried it. And they're fifth-years. It's nothing to be ashamed of if you can't solve them; there's no need for this."
William decisively sold out his students—people are comparative, and once they hear others are also unlucky, their own misfortunes don't seem so painful.
'No, I thought you were quite tough last time,' William began to reflect. 'I should have given her the first-year exam paper; the second-year one does seem a bit too difficult.'
He had plenty of tricks for disobedient students, but for those who burst into tears at the slightest disagreement, he truly had no good solution at the moment—students in their fifth year and above were all too concerned with their dignity to cry like this. It was his first time dealing with such a situation.
'Why did I major in science and engineering in college? I should've studied education if I knew I'd become a teacher. The student gender ratio would be more balanced!'
He complained to himself, then rummaged through his trunk for a new, unopened towel—the school had distributed many at once.
"Wipe your tears, girl. Crying is useless, isn't it? It won't help you solve the questions. I've taken a quick look, and you've already passed the exam. You should know that most fifth-years would fail these questions—"
"I'm the top of my year!"
Perhaps that comparison stung a nerve, as the crying girl finally became willing to communicate with William.
'Crying like this would make any top student lose face. The fifth-years are so much better behaved; they get over it themselves.'
But obviously, he couldn't say that to her face—now that she had finally quieted down a bit, William wanted to save his eardrums.
"Wipe your tears. Getting a passing grade on this exam is already very good." William then conjured a hot chocolate with his wand—anyway, no matter what others said, he thought this stuff was most effective when one was feeling down.
'Honestly, Professor McGonagall... what is this child so upset about? And she sent her to me to 'rein in her temper'? Is she trying to cause trouble for me?'
William refused to admit that his exam paper could make someone cry like this. He began to ponder why Professor McGonagall had sent this child over—from the looks of it, she wasn't sent here for an exam.
"Tell me about it. Even though I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'm prepared for other things too. What happened today? Why are you so distressed?"
William offered a kind smile—back in Azkaban, he often used this smile to quell disputes, though the stories he told afterward were currently irrelevant.
"Nothing, Professor."
"Not getting along well with other students?"
William made a guess—the top student of the year is either exceptionally good with people or exceptionally bad—it's one extreme or the other. It's usually a safe bet.
"No."
That answer clearly betrayed her guilt.
"Look ahead, little girl. At least you still have two good friends, don't you?"
As he spoke, William himself felt a pang of heartache—'So good that they'd all hate me after a few words from you.'
"Geniuses are always somewhat lonely, and talented students are probably the same. Don't be petty; either learn to get along or ignore it. You're the top of your year, so there won't be school bullying, at most you'll be isolated, but you have two good friends, don't you?"
Her expression didn't change much—it seemed that wasn't it.
"Problems with your studies? Don't be too ambitious. It's already remarkable that you've pre-learned some new material; don't put too much burden on yourself. There's a reason why Hogwarts is divided into seven years. You can't expect to finish seven years' worth of material in your second year. Dumbledore studied for seven years; are you thinking of graduating even earlier than the Headmaster did?"
William waggled a finger. "Don't think about it, child, unless we get a new headmaster, like McGonagall—cough."
William quickly corrected himself—jokes about Professor McGonagall kicking Dumbledore out were fine to tell other professors, but telling them to a student was too irrational. He had a raise that was verbally agreed upon, and if he messed it up, it would truly be gone.
"Anyway, early graduation is impossible. Don't think about mastering seven years of material in your second year. You should know, some professors in the castle haven't even properly mastered parts of their courses. For example, me—my skill in Divination is practically at an imbecile's level."
William was unreserved in self-deprecation—as far as he knew, most professors in this castle weren't good at Divination, including even the Divination Professor.
Since he wasn't proficient in it, he felt no pressure at all, and there was no shame in admitting it publicly.
These words successfully comforted the crying student—for a professor to dare reveal their own embarrassing moments was a great source of comfort for any student.
'She's smiling, so it's fine now. Comforting a child is really tiring.'
"Alright, take a good look at the exam paper and see where you made mistakes. You'll still have to take this exam in your upper years, so you can't take it with you. But I congratulate you, you've passed."
William rarely offered her such encouragement.
"'Passed'? Professor? Does that mean I can see the diadem now?"
The word 'passed' was met with a series of counter-questions.
'You should have said so earlier! If you wanted to see the diadem, just ask. That's Dumbledore's problem. Why did I spend all this time comforting a kid?'
William's previously prepared lines caught in his throat—he quickly thought of the diadem's impact on top students.
'Professor McGonagall, too... if she wanted me to agree, she should have just said so instead of being so roundabout. Was this her way of showing that the school hasn't just pocketed the diadem?'
"Go to the Headmaster's Office, Miss Granger. Thanks to Professor McGonagall's recommendation, you have passed your special exam. Whether you can access it depends on what Headmaster Dumbledore decides."
William effortlessly uttered the most comforting words at that moment—'This troublemaker is all yours, Headmaster. I'm out!'
(end of chapter)
