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"I know the confusion in your hearts," Sagres's calm voice rang out at the right mont. He gently tapped his temple with a long, slender finger. "Don't worry, the knowledge etched into your minds will not disappear. What you have temporarily lost is rely precise control over yourselves."
His voice drowned out all the noise. "You have personally experienced successful spellcasting and clearly rember that feeling. It's very simple to regain that state—practice."
His tone was rational, without a trace of warmth, even seeming a bit cold. "Those who are diligent might regain the feeling after ten attempts; those who are lazy might need thousands of repetitions to barely grasp it. That's fair, isn't it?"
After speaking, he casually waved his wand, and the transfigured puppets and practice area instantly reverted into neat rows of oak tables and chairs.
Sagres gave a slight nod to everyone.
"Class dismissed. Go eat."
The students imdiately surged like a tide toward their respective House tables, and the Great Hall erupted in a noisy mix of exhaustion and excitent.
Professor Flitwick scurried over to Sagres, his high-pitched voice filled with uncontainable awe. "Sagres! What… what kind of magic was that? It's your own creation, isn't it?"
"That's right," Sagres confird calmly with a nod.
Although the other professors didn't crowd around, their ears were clearly pricked, and even Snape's hand, as he adjusted his sleeve, paused for a mont.
"rlin's beard! That's simply… breathtaking!"
Professor Flitwick was so excited he nearly jumped, waving his small hands. "When I first heard about it, I thought it was just a simple emotional magic, but clearly I was wrong. It's truly brilliant; your mastery of Charms has already… already far surpassed mine!"
"You will always be my teacher," Sagres's voice was steady, and then he dropped a bombshell. "Do you rember my days imprisoned in Azkaban? The inspiration for this spell ca precisely from my observation and study of Dentors."
"Oh my goodness!" Professor Flitwick exclaid in shock.
Not only him, but even the usually stern Professor McGonagall and the kindly Professor Sprout covered their mouths in astonishnt.
anwhile, Kestrel wondered if she should also take so ti to visit Azkaban; perhaps she could research a powerful magic there as well?
Only Snape's pupils suddenly constricted, his thin lips pressed into a hard, straight line.
Just as I thought!
A sudden realization dawned on him.
No wonder this man had ekly surrendered and willingly entered that fortress of despair—it was to study those monsters that even Dark Wizards avoided!
Azkaban… that was indeed a unique "laboratory" for studying Dentors.
So, what had he returned to Hogwarts to study now? The secrets hidden within this ancient castle itself?
…
At the long tables, although the students were drained, as if they had just run a marathon, their excitent boiled over like a cauldron.
Many were even eagerly waving their wands while forking food, trying to recapture that wonderful feeling from class.
The entire Great Hall was filled with the clatter of cutlery and the clamor of lively discussions.
Among the most excited was Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor. The second-year boy, who had always lacked confidence, now wore a glow on his face he had never shown before.
Although his wand could only emit a small, weak spark now, the essentials of spellcasting—the angle of the wrist, the rhythm of the incantation, the feeling of magic condensing—were vivid and etched in his mind.
This was nothing short of a miracle!
Even his strict grandmother couldn't have done this, Neville was certain.
…
Sagres's exemplary practical Charms class was like a huge stone thrown into Hogwarts' calm lake.
Precise and efficient guidance, along with imdiate results, completely ignited the long-dormant dueling passion in the students' hearts.
The orderly scene in the Great Hall, with its flashing spell-lights, quickly beca a hot topic of discussion throughout the castle.
A fervent "dueling craze" swept through the school.
Corridor corners, empty classrooms, and even the edges of the Quidditch Pitch turned into temporary dueling grounds.
Students gathered in groups, imitating Sagres's concise commands—"Target! Movent! Will!"—and beca increasingly proficient in casting Expelliarmus, the Shield Charm, and Stupefy.
In the common rooms, discussions about spellcasting techniques and counter-strategies replaced gossip.
Even Professor Flitwick was surprised to find that the quality of younger students' Charms assignnts had significantly improved, especially in practical application.
However, beneath the fervor, undercurrents stirred.
Sagres's emphasis on "depriving threats" and "decisive precision" was misinterpreted by so students as pure aggression and the worship of power.
The ancient rivalry between the Houses found a new outlet in this trend, disguised as "sparring."
Problems began to erge.
At first, there were minor frictions: Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor was "enthusiastically invited" to spar by two older Slytherins on his way to the greenhouses. He ended up hit by Expelliarmus, falling into the mud with his wand flying far away.
Susan Bones of Hufflepuff was grazed by a sudden red flash of Stupefy behind the library, startling her and scattering her books. The culprits only grinned and apologized: "Just practice, don't be so tense!"
Victims, constrained by the excuse of "sparring" and lacking solid evidence, often had to swallow their anger.
But soon, the conflicts began to escalate.
Robert Hilliard of Ravenclaw was ambushed by three hooded students in a secluded corridor, subjected to a barrage of Expelliarmus and Stupefy.
Although he managed to shield himself with a Protego, he was cornered, his wand nearly snatched, and the attackers slipped away before succeeding.
Even worse, so began to deliberately "hunt" certain targets—like Goyle, who had shown weaknesses in class and happened to belong to a "rival" House.
He was cornered by several Gryffindors at the entrance to the Trophy Room who, under the guise of "helping him improve," knocked him down with Expelliarmus and then bound him completely with Petrificus Totalus, leaving only after he had been thoroughly humiliated.
Bruised and swollen, Goyle chose to remain silent out of sha, anger, and fear of being labeled "weak" by Slytherin.
However, his disheveled state did not escape one person's notice.
When Draco Malfoy saw him in that condition in the Slytherin common room, ice instantly ford in his long-dormant eyes.
"Goyle!" Malfoy's cold voice echoed through the nearly empty common room, and several first-year students imdiately fell silent.
"Co here! Explain that… 'look' on your face."
He strode over, glaring down at Goyle's battered appearance.
Goyle flinched and mumbled vaguely, "N-nothing, Draco. Just… accidentally fell…"
"Fell?" Malfoy let out a sharp, derisive laugh. "Fell into this state? Do you think I'm blind?"
He suddenly leaned closer, his voice extrely low but laced with an undeniable threat. "It was those idiotic Gryffindor lions, wasn't it? How many of them?"
Goyle stiffened, his eyes darting away, his lips trembling, but he remained silent.
Malfoy's anger flared; he felt a deep sense of insult and humiliation.
Gregory Goyle was part of his Slytherin circle. Although he hadn't let them follow him around much lately, Crabbe and Goyle were, without question, Malfoy's friends.
Attacking Goyle was the sa as slapping Malfoy in the face, a direct challenge to Slytherin's authority.
He had dealt with enough trouble recently—did they really think he was easy to bully just because he had been quiet?
"Speak, Goyle!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Tell , who did it…?"
His fingers unconsciously tightened around the handle of his wand, knuckles turning white.
"Don't ask, Malfoy… there are too many people here. I want to go back to the dormitory…"
Goyle's hulking fra now seed timid, his downcast expression filled with sha.
Malfoy straightened, his cold gaze sweeping over the few students secretly listening nearby, and snapped, "What are you looking at?!"
The young wizards imdiately averted their eyes, then hurried toward the dormitory.
"Stop!" Malfoy barked, following behind them. His voice was low and sharp with warning. "Mind your own business!"
Turning back, Malfoy frowned and drew his wand. At the sight, Goyle instinctively took a step back.
"Tell , who was it?"
"Didn't… didn't see clearly… several of them… said… said they were 'helping improve'…"
Malfoy felt a surge of fury. He wasn't bullying anyone anymore, and now others were starting to bully him!
"A bunch of cowards! Cowards who only dare to hide and ambush!"
He then fixed Goyle with a cold glare. "Rember this—Slytherin will not silently endure such humiliation. Weakness only invites more bullying. Next ti, no matter who it is, fight back! Use what you've learned! Don't act like a Hufflepuff."
Goyle stayed silent, but Malfoy strode over, seized his robes, and dragged him toward the hospital wing.
"When we get back, you'll practice with . Practice seriously. If there's a next ti, you hit them back hard…"
Goyle nodded sullenly.
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