Chapter 929: The O.W.L.s Year of the Fifth Year


    “Really? Have you discussed it already?” Hermione said casually. Like Evan, she was not particrly interested in Quidditch. “I may not have noticed, but, well, Wood leaving will have a significant impact on the team, right?”


    “I suppose so,” said Harry, picking up a piece of bread. “He was an excellent Keeper.”


    “Still, it won’t hurt to have some new blood, will it?” said Ron. “By the way, Evan, your new broom?”


    “Not much of an issue. I can have one made before the selection, but it will take some time for mass production.”


    Just then, with a whoosh and a tter, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside.


    Evan received today’s <i>Hogwarts Magic News</i>, he nced at it and handed the newspaper to Hermione.


    After a while, Hedwig brought back the reply letter from Evan’s parents, along with arge bag of sweets.


    Evan’s mother had prepared plenty, enough for Evan to share with everyone and establish good rtions. These Muggle sweets were very popr, and from what she wrote in the letter, she was proud of Evan bing the Head Boy.


    “I like this Muggle brand of chocte!” said Ron, stuffing the candy into his mouth.“Well, then take a few more!”


    While Evan was reading the letter, Hermione had to move her orange juice aside quickly to make way for arge damp barn owl bearing a sodden <i>Daily Prophet </i>in its beak.


    “What are you still getting that for?” said Harry irritably, thinking of Seamus, as Hermione ced a Knut in the leather pouch on the owl’s leg and it took off again. “I’m not bothering … load of rubbish.”


    “It’s best to know what the enemy are saying,” said Hermione darkly.


    She unfurled the newspaper and disappeared behind it, not emerging until everyone had finished eating.


    “Nothing!” she said simply. “Nothing was said.”


    “There’s nothing new about Rita either!” Evan said, putting down the <i>Hogwarts Magic News</i>.


    Professor McGonagall was now moving along the table handing out schedules.


    Evan hurriedly stood up and took the opportunity to tell her that he was going to organize activities over the weekend to familiarize the first-years with the campus.


    Besides being the Head of Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall was also the Deputy Headmistress of the school, responsible for such daily affairs.


    “I think it should be fine. Although the school doesn’t have such a precedent, your idea is good. It’s necessary to help the new students get acquainted with the campus, and it falls within the responsibilities of the Head Boy,” Professor McGonagall said, lowering her voice. “By the way, Professor Umbridge didn’t talk to you, did she?”


    “No!” Evan shook his head, but it was only a matter of time.


    Considering Evan’s identity and the strength he disyedst night, Professor Umbridge couldn’t simply ignore him.


    Regardless of whether it was to show off or win over, she would talk to Evan alone.


    “Alright, Evan, although it’s not appropriate for me as a professor to say this, I have to warn you…”


    While Evan was talking with Professor McGonagall, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Colin were studying their newly received schedule.


    “Too bad our first ss is Defense Against the Dark Arts with that scary woman,” Colin said.


    “That’s nothing. Compared to what we have in the fifth year today, you are pretty lucky. Just endure one ss and you’re done,” Ron sighed, waving his schedule in his hand. “History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts … Binns, Snape, Trwney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George could hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted…”


    “Do mine ears deceive me?” said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing onto the bench beside Harry. “Hogwarts prefects surely don’t wish to skive off lessons?”


    “Look what we’ve got today,” said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred’s nose. “That’s the worst Monday I’ve ever seen.”


    “Fair point, little bro,” said Fred, scanning the column; this is the worst schedule I’ve ever seen. “You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like.”


    “Why’s it cheap?” said Ron suspiciously. Fred and George’s products were very popr and came with a price tag.


    Except for Evan, who got a lot of freebies every year, no one else could get their hands on their pranks for free, not even a discount. This included Ron, their own younger brother.


    “Because you’ll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven’t got an antidote yet,” said George, helping himself to a kipper. “I suspect we put too many Devil’s Snare seeds in them!”


    “Cheers,” said Ron moodily, pocketing his schedule, “but I think I’ll take the lessons.”


    “And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes,” said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, “you can’t advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board.”


    “Says who?” said George, looking astonished.


    “Evan and I decided on it.” Hermione red at him; then added, “And Ron.”


    “Leave me out of it,” said Ron hastily.


    Hermione turned her head and red at him. Fred and George sniggered.


    “You’re going to change your tune before long, Hermione!” said Fred, thering butter on a piece of toast. “Know why we’ve even thought about making Skiving Snackboxes? The two of us have vivid memories of fifth year…”


    “Yeah, you’re starting your fifth year, you’ll be begging us for a Snackbox before long,” George said.


    “And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?” asked Hermione.


    “Fifth year’s O.W.L. year,” said George waving his hand dismissively, as though he thought it was something that didn’t need to be exined.


    “So?”


    “So you’ve got your examsing up, haven’t you? They’ll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they’ll be rubbed raw,” said Fred with satisfaction.


    “Half our year had minor breakdownsing up to O.W.L.s,” said George happily. “Tears and tantrums… Patricia Stimpson kepting over faint…”


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