April brought the Easter holidays.
The Starry Sky Cup was in full swing, with virtually every match packed to capacity.
It was a test of resilience and adaptability.
Fortunately, Hogwarts' inter-house matches had already given its students plenty of experience with such a frequent competition schedule.
Stephens scratched his hair. He had not washed it in a week.
The sixth-years had it even worse. They looked as shabby as beggars who had wandered over from Hogsmeade.
Between the pressure of their N.E.W.T. exams and the relentless match schedule, these sixth-years scarcely went a day without falling apart.
This was where the fourth-years' advantage became apparent.
Even Professor McGonagall tactfully told Stephens that his fourth-year grades could wait, but he absolutely could not lose the Starry Sky Cup.
The avid Quidditch enthusiast was remarkably generous on that score.
Some fourth-years were getting by just fine, but certain third-years were living through hell.
Thanks to their study plans, the Three Little Ones had worked until their eyes were bloodshot.
For the first time, Draco discovered just how far his daughter could push herself.
To some extent, it even reminded him of the terror of living under John, the Study Maniac.
Lewis had fallen asleep because he was simply too exhausted. When he woke the next morning, he found his lips swollen.
They would only return to normal once he finished his History of Magic work.
"Why didn't you wake me?" Lewis demanded indignantly.
Well played, Stella. You looked so honest, but you went and studied behind my back.
Stella gradually caught on. Gryffindor could only have one top student.
"Lewis, I want to be number one. Will you support me?" Stella asked, her lips trembling.
Lewis caught on too. At the thought that Stella had not even woken him when he fell