The room fell silent except for the soft scratching of quills on parchment. Alex stood on the platform, watching over them, ensuring no one was distracted. The exams were rigorous but efficient. Students in the second through fifth years were given four to ten minutes per subject, while sixth and seventh years only took tests for their OWL-level subjects, with an hour allocated for each. Elective courses were included, meaning most students had to take tests for nine subjects, while the upper years had a lighter load of three to six subjects.
By lunchtime, Alex led the group back to the Great Hall in the same orderly fashion as before. After an hour’s rest, they returned to the common room to resume their exams. The first-years, having returned from their castle tour, were ordered to stay quiet and head to their dormitories without disrupting the others. By four in the afternoon, the exams were finally over. Alex dismissed the students, allowing them to rest while summoning the subject representatives to help grade the papers.
That evening, Alex reviewed the results. Sitting at his desk, he frowned slightly as he analyzed the grades. The overall performance left much to be desired.
Nineteen percent of subjects were marked “P” for Poor, with another thirty-eight percent barely achieving “A” for Acceptable. Thirty-four percent reached “E” for Exceeds Expectations, but only nine percent achieved the coveted “O” for Outstanding. In total, over half the subjects were below “E,” an alarming statistic. The disparity between year groups was also stark. Sixth and seventh years generally scored above “E,” reflecting their OWL-level proficiency. However, younger students struggled, their foundations clearly weak.
Alex leaned back in his chair, tapping the table thoughtfully. This would need addressing, and soon. After excluding students with fewer subjects, who accounted for a relatively small number, the grades of the remaining second to fifth-year Slytherins looked even worse. Among these students, fewer than twenty had all A-Pass or above, and only two managed all E-Good or higher. One was David, a third-year, and the other was Jenny, the fifth-year prefect.
“It seems the lower and middle years are where the grades hit hardest,” Alex muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “If that’s the case, we’ll need to adjust the plan a bit.” He glanced over the parchment filled with his notes. “Seventh-years can’t be disturbed—they need to prepare for their final exams. That leaves the sixth-years. They’ll need to assist the department representatives in tutoring younger students, all while keeping up their own studies.”
After a moment of contemplation, Alex began organizing his thoughts aloud. “We’ll form study groups based on grades and subjects. First and second years have similar course loads, so they can be combined into one group. Third and fourth years will form another group. Fifth years, preparing for OWLs, will need a separate group to handle the heavier workload.” He tapped his quill on the parchment, emphasizing his next point. “Each subject representative will be assigned two sixth-year assistants as ‘assistant representatives.’ Together, the three will oversee their assigned study groups. This way, every struggling student will have targeted support.”
Alex continued, “Evening self-study will run from seven to nine o’clock for general homework and review. From nine to eleven, supplementary lessons will be held for the study groups. Each night, one subject will be the focus. With seven core courses and two electives, we’ll rotate through all subjects in a three-week cycle, including weekends. This should sync well with the monthly exams.” Confident in his plan, Alex called for a meeting of all department representatives. Once gathered, he laid out the details.
Vivian, looked horrified. “Wait—does this mean I have to join the remedial groups for subjects I’m bad at? And I have to teach History of Magic remedials, too? That means staying in class until eleven every night! I’ll get wrinkles from all that late-night stress!”
Alex rolled his eyes at her melodramatic outburst. “You only have yourself to blame. If you improve in your other subjects, you won’t need remedial lessons. Your fate is in your own hands.” Ignoring Vivian’s exaggerated sulking, Alex turned to Louis and Wendy. “Go invite all the sixth-years. We’ll need their help.”
The two prefects nodded and left. Not long after, the sixth-year Slytherins filed into the office. Alex repeated his plan, addressing the senior students directly. “Here’s the situation: for the sake of the house’s performance, I need your assistance. Due to limited numbers, some of you will need to take on multiple roles as assistant subject representatives.”
Alex gestured to a small wooden box on the desk. “I’m not asking this for free. Inside are nourishing potions. They’re nothing fancy, but they’re an incentive. For each subject you assist with, you’ll get one bottle.”
Even without the potions, most of the sixth-years were eager to contribute. The revitalized sense of purpose in Slytherin House had lifted spirits. Still, the offer of tangible rewards made them even more motivated, and they quickly volunteered for various tasks. Satisfied, Alex maintained a serious expression. “I appreciate your willingness to help. However, don’t think your efforts here will earn you leniency for breaking rules. Discipline remains strict.”
“We understand,” one sixth-year replied with a grin. “It’s all for Slytherin. We just want to see our house banner at the top in the Great Hall this year.” Hearing this, Alex stood and placed his hand over his chest solemnly. “May the flag of Slytherin fly high. Glory to our house, and victory above all!”
“May the flag of Slytherin fly high. Glory to our house, and victory above all!” the group echoed in unison, their faces equally serious. With the arrangements finalized, Alex dismissed everyone but called Welen, the Quidditch team captain, to stay behind.
“What’s this about?” Welen asked, curious.
Alex gave a knowing smile. “Don’t tell me you forgot. Yesterday, we discussed meeting Gryffindor about Quidditch.”
“Already? Isn’t it a bit soon?”
“I don’t like delays,” Alex replied, gathering his notes. “When Louis attended the prefects’ meeting earlier, I had him arrange a meeting with Gryffindor’s prefects. It’s set for eight o’clock at the Astronomy Tower. They agreed.”
“You sure it’s safe? Gryffindors aren’t exactly our biggest fans,” Welen said warily.
Alex chuckled. “If it’s a trap, even better. A simple problem calls for a simple solution. But from what Louis told me, they’re sending Charles and the seventh-year male prefect. It sounds like they’re serious.”
When Alex took Welen out, Charles accompanied Pascal Hawke, the seventh-year Gryffindor prefect, to the Astronomy Tower. Pascal seemed unusually nervous, constantly wiping the cold sweat off his forehead and taking deep breaths as they walked. "Charles, what do you think Alex wants to talk to us about? Is he planning to ambush me in the dead of night?" Pascal asked, his voice tinged with unease. He glanced nervously at his companion, dabbing his forehead once more.
"Prefect, you’re overthinking this. Alex isn’t the type to cause trouble," Charles replied with a helpless shake of his head.
"That’s easy for you to say! We’re talking about Alex Wilson here," Pascal muttered, his anxiety growing as he said the name aloud. Pascal’s nervousness made sense—Alex’s reputation in Gryffindor was far from low-key, even if he kept a more subdued profile in Slytherin. This was partially due to Charles and Bill, who had unknowingly contributed to the legend surrounding Alex.