"Quiet."
Douglas's voice rang out again, as level as ever, yet every murmur stopped instantly.
He stepped down from the podium and walked slowly along the aisles, his leather shoes making a rhythmic, muffled sound against the flagstones.
He did not look at the students writing furiously, nor did he pay any attention to those scratching their heads in frustration.
He stopped beside the Ravenclaw boy who was on the verge of tears.
"Michael," Douglas said, his tone betraying neither pleasure nor anger, "you said you had studied the entire fifth-year Counter-curse curriculum ahead of time?"
"Yes, Professor. And the theoretical frameworks for counter-jinxes and defensive barriers..."
"Very good."
Douglas nodded, then asked in a conversational tone.
"Then can you tell me, when your enemy holds a poisoned Muggle dagger against your throat and seals your mouth with a Silencing Charm.
What use are all those extensive theories in your head, apart from helping you look back over your brief life?"
Michael Corner's face instantly turned a deep, liver-red, and he could not get a single word out.
Douglas did not look at him again and continued walking.
His gaze swept across the room before settling on the blackboard displaying the countdown.
"I see confusion, anger, and even a sense of injustice written on many of your faces."
His voice was not loud, but everyone heard him perfectly clearly.
"You think I've wasted your precious revision time and set you a worthless piece of paper."
"You believe the O.W.L.s test your proficiency in 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five.'"
Douglas turned around, the corners of his mouth curving into a cold, mocking smile.
"I'm sorry to tell you that you're all wrong."
"What the O.W.L.s-or, rather, the entire world you will face in the future-really test has never been