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HP455- Sir Marvelous
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 20:37:29 +0000 UTCNext day, it was Transfiguration.
The written exam kicked off just after breakfast, and Harry filled three full pages before the room had even settled. He covered principles, counter-effects, variant styles and explained each Transfiguration principle step-by-step, broke down the wand movements, threw in margins about intent, posture, pacing... even what not to do. Honestly, if a Muggle with no magic picked it up and followed his instructions, they might’ve had a fair shot at turning a button into a beetle out of sheer obedience.
McGonagall passed by, saw the length of it, and visibly blinked before moving on without a word.
Lunch came and went, and then it was the practical. Students were shuffled in groups of four. Everyone else had standard instructions... basic switches, inanimate reshaping, and mid-range Vanishing.
When Harry’s name was called, it wasn’t with a group. The examiners waited until the hall emptied, then waved him forward on his own. McGonagall stood off to the side with her usual tight-lipped expression that said she was pretending she wasn’t proud.
“Mr Potter,” said the lead examiner, a greying wizard with square glasses and a clipped voice. “We will start with a Vanishing Spell.”
There was an iguana on the table.
Harry flicked his wand, muttered the incantation, and the animal vanished cleanly. No waver, no residue. Just gone.
“Impressive,” said one of the witches. “Would you be willing to demonstrate any additional Transfiguration work? Optional, of course.”
Harry offered a small grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The examiners leaned in, clearly intrigued. One of the witches pulled her chair closer.
He stepped forward, gave his wand a flick. The change was smooth... his legs shifted, trousers stretching over the now wooden limbs, polished dark and solid. They didn’t crack or splinter, just reshaped neatly from knee down, joints replaced by a curved wheel structure. It wasn’t showy. Just functional.
Then, with one push, Harry rolled clean across the stone floor and stopped neatly in front of the examiner table.
“While self-transfiguring, the danger lies in biological limitations,” Harry said, flicking his wand again. His legs returned to normal, cloth shifting back around them like nothing had happened. “But if you change yourself into a more flexible organic material—rubbery plant fibres, something with natural give... it is easier to bend without things snapping.”
He then thickened the transformation—legs shifting again, this time solid wood sprouting sharp ridges along the calves, then thickening into blunt spikes down the sides. With another flick, the spikes twisted into curved hooks, something meant to stick into uneven ground or dig into a slope. He pushed again, rolling forward over the stones with no hitch.
One more pass. His hair shifted, dark strands weaving together before flattening into vines—sharp ivy, slick and coiled, winding round his skull, looked like brambled wire.
He left the classroom with another “Marvelous” inked onto the sheet, second in a row now. The examiner hadn’t even tried to hide the grin that slipped out when Harry transfigured his own legs into functional wheels and rolled across the stones like it was Tuesday. Which, in fact, it was.
By the time he pushed open the door into the corridor, the usual suspects were already there—Tracey leaning against the wall with a half-eaten apple, Daphne with arms folded like she’d been waiting hours, and Astoria sitting cross-legged on the floor, drawing on the stone with a bit of leftover spell chalk.
Tracey raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
Harry didn’t answer at first. Just tucked his wand away and casually said, “They’re naming the next grade after me.”
Daphne stared. “They didn’t.”
“They did,” Harry said, perfectly straight-faced. “Charms gave me Marvelous. Transfiguration just confirmed it.”
Astoria beamed like she’d personally enchanted the scoring scale. “Can we start calling you that now? Sir Marvelous?”
“Don’t encourage him,” Daphne muttered, already turning away like she needed a break from the idiocy.
“Too late,” Tracey said. “I’m embroidering it onto his pillow.”
“Already on his ego,” Daphne added.
Herbology came the next day. The greenhouse was stuffy by mid-morning, and the Ministry examiners looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. Most students were already sweating through their uniforms before the practical even started.
Written section was standard—identify stages of growth in Devil’s Snare, assess treatment for Venomous Tentacula overexposure, list defensive properties of Belladonna and Monkshood. Harry flew through it with time to spare, skimming the last question twice just to make it look even.
The real part, of course, came after lunch. They were called in groups, but as usual, Harry was pulled in alone.
The greenhouse had been cleared a bit—three tables lined the centre, each with a different station: a large Fanged Geranium snapping irritably at nothing, a cluster of sickly Belladonna plants, and a tangle of mixed growth including Puffapods, Bubotuber vines, and something that hissed when Harry looked too close.
First task was pruning the Geranium without losing a finger. He slipped dragonhide gloves on and didn’t even bother with the wand. One snip, dodge, twist—and it was trimmed before the thing could even wind up a proper lunge. Brows shot up. Harry stepped back with a nod. “Done.”
Next was diagnosing the Belladonna. Leaves were curling, purple veins running along the stems—textbook soil rot with leftover potion residue. Harry adjusted the soil mix, ran a quick cleansing charm, and rubbed a bit of powdered willow bark at the root base. Within seconds, the plant stopped trembling.
The last table was clearly a chaos test. One wand flick kept the Puffapods from popping. Another froze the Bubotuber vines mid-twitch. A final charm sealed him in a clean air bubble as spores hissed through the air..
Herbology's standard practical might’ve been enough to get him an Outstanding, but Harry had no interest in just meeting expectations.
After he cleared the examiners’ setup—the biting Geranium, the twitching Belladonna, and the mixed-table monstrosity—he rolled up his sleeves and pointed to the back corner of the greenhouse, where a forgotten batch of shrivelling Evergrowth Moss sat in cracked pots.
“Do you mind?” he asked, already moving toward it.
The lead sat up straighter.. “Er… no, go on.”
Harry pulled a vine closer and snapped on his gloves. “Evergrowth Moss is great for long-term restoration. Problem is, it doesn’t survive artificial heating. You try to regrow it in pots, it wilts.”
He dug into his satchel and pulled out a plain bit of rune-scribed cloth. "Made this last term. Keeps moisture circulating and mimics forest floor conditions."
With a flick of his wand, the cloth unfurled and wrapped itself neatly around the pot. He tapped the side. The moss perked up, its colour already shifting back to green.
“And the cloth?” one examiner asked, clearly curious now.
“Enchanted with a passive Moisture Binding Charm layered under a runic filter. Holds humidity without puddling. Useful for transport, too. Doesn’t rot the container.”
They scribbled. A second examiner muttered something under her breath, examining the rune-stitch.
Harry shrugged. “Most people waste powdered rootstock or overwater. Not worth it if you’ve got this.”
He left the room with another “Marvelous."
The following day brought Defence Against the Dark Arts. Everyone knew it’d be Harry’s showpiece. The written exam was straightforward: counter-jinxes, situational spell use, wandless theory. Harry filled the parchment in half the allotted time and spent the rest doodling tiny Stunners in the margins that zapped each other.
Practical started after lunch.
They sent the rest in groups. Three students at a time rotated through boggarts, jinx counters, and defensive shielding. Pansy came back grumbling about her boggart turning into Snape in bunny slippers. Harry was called last.
The examiners didn’t even bother with the script.
“You’re Potter,” one said as he entered. “We’ve been told to expect... variety.”
The Patronus Armour had already earned him another Marvelous, but Harry hadn’t stopped there. He showed a few more variations, a bit of shield fusing, a bouncing counter that reversed a minor jinx mid-air, and the examiners gave up pretending to be neutral. By the end, examiners actually clapped. That made it four Marvelous in a row, with Ancient Runes still to go.
Ancient Runes came at the end of the week. Not the most crowded subject, and the students who picked it weren’t the type to cause noise. Hermione had barely slept the night before. Su Li had gone pale halfway through breakfast.
The written exam ran long, three full hours of deciphering sequences, comparing rune families, and identifying corrupted patterns in old Norse spells. Nothing outlandish, just tedious. Harry worked through it at a decent pace. Left margin notes in a few places when the question wording was vague. Spotted a dodgy runic syntax on one of the provided plates and corrected it in red.
When the time was up, most dragged themselves out. Harry stretched, pocketed his quill, and gave Hermione a quick glance. She looked like she’d been through battle and back.
“That bad?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, just mumbled something about transitive sigils and stumbled toward the nearest bench.
They held him back again after lunch. The examiners called him in last, just as the shadows were starting to stretch along the hall floors.
Ancient Runes practicals weren’t flashy. No dramatic spellfire or animate targets. Just old slabs of stone, half-faded scrolls, and an assortment of carved objects placed on a long table like a museum sorting room.
“Mr Potter,” the examiner began, flipping open a worn file. “You will be asked to translate, identify the root origin of each inscription, and provide possible applications if applicable. You may also present any additional work.”
Harry nodded once. “Understood.”
First task was interpreting an Anglo-Saxon script carved into a curved blade. Most of it was intact. He read through the first few runes aloud, then traced the charm embedded in the etching with his wand... not to cast, just to show how the reinforcement pattern folded back on itself.
“Looks like someone tried to merge reinforcement and binding,” he said. “Common in ceremonial weapons, especially when not meant for actual battle. More for oath-taking or symbolic execution. The structure is flawed, though. Bind-rune here clashes with the reinforcing anchor. Could crack on backlash.”
The examiner blinked, then nodded and scribbled something down.
Next, they brought out a scroll half-covered in smudged hieroglyphics layered with Icelandic runework.
Harry tilted his head, squinting. “Layering is sloppy,” he said, tapping one edge. “The Egyptian section is meant to bind memory into objects, but whoever added the Norse runes didn’t stabilise it. You get echo drift like this.” He muttered a small charm and the scroll shimmered slightly. “See that? The glyph stutters. You would get ghost image interference in anything it was used on.”
The witch next to him made a small noise in her throat, clearly impressed.
“Any suggestions?” the man asked.
“Use neutral filler runes to separate the lines,” Harry said. “A triple-sigil weave would hold both, though you would lose about twenty per cent efficiency. Worth it to avoid a backfire.”
They nodded again, scribbling faster now.
The last standard test was oral... identify runes by sight. They flashed a dozen at him, quick succession. Some were reversed. Some had modifiers half-worn off. He got all twelve.
Then came the real part.
“Do you have anything additional to present, Mr Potter?” one examiner asked.
Harry pulled out a small leather-bound book from his satchel and flipped it open to a marked page. “Modified ward schema,” he said, laying it flat. “Combines basic home protection runes with a variant of the old Germanic storm-binding sequence.”
He placed a palm-sized bit of slate on the table. The carved runes glowed faintly as he tapped them with his wand.
“Normal wards break under sustained magical interference. This one layers adaptive runes—shifts pattern when it detects prolonged pressure.”
The slate pulsed once. Then again. Each time slower, like a heartbeat.
“So it learns?” one of the witches asked.
“In a way,” Harry said. “Doesn’t store data, just modifies its rhythm to disrupt patterns. It’s not perfect, but it holds against simple disruption charms for longer.”
“Very clever,” said the lead examiner. “Did you come up with this alone?”
“With help,” Harry said. “Worked with goblins last summer. He let me test a few ideas. This one stuck.”
The examiner nodded, mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but wasn’t ready to admit it. “Thank you, Mr Potter. We will submit your results to the board.”
He didn’t ask for the grade. He didn’t need to. He saw the parchment stamped before he walked out.
Marvelous. Again.
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