Dumbledore's NEWTs

Dumbledore's NEWTs

A few years before, the Ministry had decided to take things into their own hands: the number of owls from parents, complaining about favouritism and unfair grading, had gotten out of hand. There was nothing left for it but to organize the Hogwarts end of year tests themselves. It had caused a lot of grumbling at the Governor's Board and the teaching staff, but the Minister had been able to negotiate the organization of the seventh year examination, so that at least the Hogwarts diploma was delivered by an impartial authority.

Professor Griselda Marchbanks, delighted of an opportunity to leave the classroom, had immediately applied for the job. She seemed a good compromise for all the parties in question, and after a stern talk from the Minister not to abuse her power, she had been accepted.

She got to work with an enthusiasm that she had thought she had lost forever. In a fit of optimism and good humour, she had called her examination "Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests," N.E.W.T.'s for short. One hour per candidate, verbal questioning. It had sounded perfect at the time. The only flaw in the plan was staying a whole week in an office, alone with a student.

Especially today she wished she was anywhere but in the crammed little office. On the North Pole, for instance, chasing white bears. Or being chased by them. She wasn't fussy, as long as it was cooler than this.

She dismissed John Dumas and took her quill to fill in his form. As she hesitated between an A and an E in Transfiguration, she gazed at the room. It was full with objects to Charm, creatures to determine, cauldrons to brew Potions in. On a pedestal in a corner stood a pearly white Orb for Divination. It was only the second day, and already the mess was unbelievable. Next year, she thought, I'll ask for a House Elf. I can't do this alone.

She settled for an A and threw the file on a pile on her right. She shuffled between the papers on her desk and located the student list. There was only one left before lunch, and it was also the last of the letter D. The student after him was all the way down to G. She dabbed her temples with her handkerchief to take away the sweat. Then she stood up, went to the door, and called "Dumbledore, Albus". A tall, gangly young man with dark red hair stood up and followed her in the office.

Careful not to look at him, Griselda sat down again. A sudden panic struck her: there was something missing. There was something she needed for the test, and for a second she had no idea what it was. The form! The student's form! She began to search frantically on her desk.

Meanwhile, the boy had seated himself in front of her, one leg folded over the other. He had put his elbow on the desk and his chin was now resting in his palm. He was scanning the papers nonchalantly. He fished a sheet of paper from under a pile of Charmed books.

"Isn't this what you are looking for, Professor?"

A remark on his impertinence was nearly on her lips, but she glanced at the paper: it was indeed Albus Dumbledore's form. She took it briskly out of his hands.

"Thank you."

She scanned it:

Dumbledore, Albus. Gryffindor House.

Transfiguration

Charms

History of Magic

Potions

Dark Arts

Defense Against the Dark Arts

Care of Magical Creatures

Ancient Runes

Arithmancy

"Nine subjects! Why, you're quite the little overachiever, aren't you?"

She always hated herself for those sarcastic comments. But she often had no other choice if she wanted to put students back into their place. And this one was really taking a lot of liberties.

The boy, though, remained unperturbed. He raised an eyebrow and said:

"How can you say that when you haven't asked me anything yet? For all you know, I bit more than I could chew and I am now unable to answer a single one of your questions."

"We'll see that soon enough. What can you tell me about Wendelin the Weird?"

He sat back, hands in his pockets. An amused smile was playing on his lips, as if the interview was just a little chat with no consequence on his future.

"Wendelin the Weird?" he mused. "Well, she was born in 1326 in London. Cousin of the French playwright Malécrit. In 1346, she started travelling from village to village. Every time, she let herself get caught and burnt as a witch. She always cast Freezing Charms, and used to say that she enjoyed the tickling sensation it gave her. That's why people started calling her the Weird. But I'm not so sure that she did it just for fun. After all, every time she was burnt, it wasn't a defenseless Muggle being put to death. We also know that Malécrit always said that she inspired the character of Lady Liliane in his famous play La Sorcière au Coeur Pur. I think that she was more a solitary heroine, and that she lied to avoid being stigmatized by the paranoia-stricken Wizarding community. Maybe History should reconsider its judgement on her."

"I was inquiring after facts, not your personal opinion, Mr. Dumbledore. When did she die?"

"Near Rouen, in France."

"Well, that is satisfactory. Now, can you Charm the coffepot on the shelf over there to waltz?"

The boy, who had become a little grave during the story of Wendelin the Weird, brightened up considerably.

"What, on its own?" he asked with a smirk.

"You can Duplicate it, if you like."

If she thought that such a difficult piece of magic would take him down a peg, she was quite mistaken. He sat up and turned to face the coffepot.

"All right."

He took his wand out of his pocket and gave it a lazy wave. A twin of the coffepot revolved in the air and landed gently on the shelf. Another flick, and the coffepots disappeared: they had been transformed into a couple in dress robes, floating a foot above the ground. He gave his wand another short swish, and ballroom music started to play. The couple started dancing a langourous, nearly erotic waltz. Griselda felt the blood rise to her cheeks, mesmerized by the ongoing piece of magic.

The boy turned to look at her, a wide grin on his face. He then gave the couple another flick. The music stopped, and the man kissed the lady's hand. They stood frozen in the air for a moment, while the boy Transfigured a potted plant into a bucket with a lavish bunch of roses. He then made the man retrieve the roses and offer them to the dumbstruck examiner, who accepted them unthinkingly. It was only when he turned the couple back into a single coffepot that she remembered where she was and what she was supposed to do.

"Right," she said angrily, putting the flowers unceremoniously on her desk. "You did everything but the Charm I asked for, but it will do, I suppose."

She straightened up and tried to look at him as severely as she could. She was not going to let him impress her.

It seemed to work, because the boy looked a bit crestfallen. She took advantage of it to shove an Ancient Runes text under his nose.

"Here. Translate."

"On the first Winter Solstice of the new thousand years... Millenium, the Ancient Brotherhood came together again. We discussed the black talk of Boris... Boris's betrayal, I mean. I had, no, he had, stolen the Basilisk and offered it to the Warlock of Warwick. We dicussed the, er, the place where... I mean, the whereabouts of the King of Serpents..."

"That will do. Now if you could Conjure me a chair, please?"

"What kind of chair?"

"What, do you mean to tell me that you can Conjure more than one kind of chair? I was under the impression that it had been established that the objects wizards Conjured reflected their personality, but I suppose you know better?"

He was really getting on her nerves. The boy ignored the sarcasm and shrugged.

"Of course I do. The theory behind Conjuring Spells rests on the hypothesis that people necessarily express their personality when they Conjure something. This is quite true, of course, just like people can't help betraying their personality when they talk. But to say that a personality can only express one object? What a simplification of human nature, really!"

She glared at him but said nothing. The worst of it was that he actually made sense.

"I know that most people can only Conjure one kind of chair," he continued, "but that is only because they don't question what they're taught. But it's quite easy, really. I, and only I, can control who I am, and when I Conjure something I can put forward the part of myself that I choose. For instance, if I decide to be severe..."

He concentrated a few seconds, and then made a complicated wand movement. A simple wooden chair appeared in the room.

"If I want to be flamboyant..."

The chair disappeared to make way for a tall, magnificent, gilt framed chair with a red velvet seat and back.

"If feel lazy..."

The gilt chair became a deep, squashy armchair, which looked very much like one of those you could find in front of the fireplaces in the Hogwarts common rooms.

He grinned again.

"I intend to write a paper about it in Transfiguration Today when I'm out of Hogwarts," he said.

"Right," was all she found to say. She capitulated : the boy was definitely the most powerful and clever wizard of his generation. He was the best wizard she had ever met.

"Well, I... I'll just ask you a few more questions, then, Mr. Dumbledore. Just for formality's sake, you know."

"Go ahead."

"Er... What does an Augurey predict?"

"Rain."

"What are the ingredients of the Draught of Peace?"

"Water, chopped frog liver, beetles, powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, honey and wolfsbane flowers"

"How do you repel a Dementor?"

He closed his eyes, raised his wand to the ceiling and uttered a ringing "Expecto Patronum!" Swooping down from the ceiling came... a phoenix. Nothing less than a phoenix for this prodigious boy. It was obvious that a great future was awaiting him. Would he be up to it? Would this arrogant little genius, so in love with his power and intelligence, turn out well? If he did not end up with the right masters, masters powerful enough to earn his respect and wise enough to show him the right path, then the Wizarding World was at peril indeed...

She watched the phoenix vanish slowly, and then turned back to the student.

"Well, Mr. Dumbledore, that will be it. You may go now."

He sprang up his feet.

"Thank you, Professor."

When he had gone, she turned her attention to the form.

Transfiguration: successfully Duplicated a coffepot. O.

Charms: Charmed the ceiling to produce music. O.

History of Magic: successfully answered questions concerning Wendelin the Weird. O.

Potions: successfully named the ingredients of the Draught of Peace. O.

Dark Arts: successfully turned two coffeepots into human beings. O.

Defense Against the Dark Arts: successfully produced a Corporeal Patronus. O.

Care of Magical Creatures: successfully answered questions concerning Augureys. O.

Ancient Runes: successfully translated a passage from the Minutes of the Meetings of the Ancient Brotherhood. O.

Arithmancy:

She paused, horrified. She had completely forgotten to interrogate him about Arithmancy. She hesitated a moment. Should she call him back? She was on the brink of doing so when she started wondering what he would think of her. Would he tell his friends, at lunch? If he did, then she would lose all her authority with students, and the rest of the week would be hellish for her. No, it was better to do as if she had tested him on the subject. In all likelyhood, he was just as brilliant at it as at all the other subjects. She sat down again and wrote:

Successfully answered questions concerning Astral Projection. O.

She checked her watch. There were still twenty minutes to go before lunch. That was plenty of time left to go refresh herself in her room. She looked at the roses that still lay on her desk. They were beautiful. They would do well to brighten up her barren room. She picked them up and took them with her. Smiling slightly, she left the office for her well deserved break.

* * * * *

It was an exhilarated Albus who crossed the Great Hall. On the top of the Entrance staircase, he scanned the lawn. He then made a line for a distant figure that was sitting leisurely on the grass.

"I did it! I did it! I did it, William!" he called.

The lanky William closed the book he had been reading and stood up. He was almost as tall as Albus.

"Albus, you lucky dog!" he said phlegmatically. "Tell me all about it. How did you convince the dried up old maid that you really were an Arithmancy genius?"

"I didn't have to."

"What? William's countenance betrayed quite some surprise. "Did you bribe her?" he added, as if it were the only possible explanation to the fact.

"No." Albus looked amused at his friend's wide-eyed expression.

"You Confused her?"

"No. Well, not with a Confundus Charm. It was my natural charm that did the trick. She started with History of Magic - easy question. Then she asked me to make a coffepot do the waltz. So I did it the fancy way, because otherwise it would have been just boring. For a moment I thought I had her wrapped around my little finger, but no. The next question was a real stroke of luck. Guess what?"

"She asked you to Conjure a chair?" By now, William was indulging unabashedly in delight at Albus's good luck.

"Yes."

"Ha! I bet she was properly flabbergasted by your little show!"

"She was... She had no idea what to ask me next! So she manages a few simple questions, but then, my friend... La cerise sur le gâteau! She asked me how to repel a Dementor. So I showed her my phoenix..."

He waggled his eyebrows with a naughty grin. William snorted.

"And did you leave her... contented?"

"Of course I did. I'm the great Albus Dumbledore, after all. So that was it. She had completely forgotten about the Arithmancy! And I bet she'll give me an O anyway. Dad will be happy, and I will never, ever have to pretend that you can predict the future with stupid numbers. From now on my life will be one long, uninterrupted stretch of doing exactly what I like."

"Albus, what can I say? You're a genius." William put his hand on Albus's shoulder. He lowered is voice. "But if I were you," he added, "I wouldn't talk too loudly about the Arithmancy. You never know who can remind her of it."

He gave his friend a meaningful look, but Albus just shrugged, too happy to mind warnings.

"Oh, come on. Who would do such a thing?"

"Well, you never know. Come on, it's lunchtime. I'm starving."