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The four Heads of House, Madam Maxi, and Karkaroff all looked sowhat bewildered—especially Professor Snape.
He frowned at the sizzling rubber gno in his hand, then casually tried to toss it aside—but it didn't let go.
The thing was stuck to his hand.
"What is..."
Bang!
The gno bomb exploded instantly, and in a puff of colorful smoke, a ridiculous winged gno burst out, buzzing around the "adults" at the doorway.
Pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft!
The farting sounds were nonstop, yet no one laughed.
The entire Great Hall fell into a suffocating silence, as if even the air had frozen.
Professor Snape's face was ashen. Professor McGonagall pressed her lips tightly together, Professor Flitwick covered his face, and Professor Sprout sighed softly.
Madam Maxi and Karkaroff both looked equally displeased with the students from their respective schools.
Peeves let out a strangled shriek—like a chicken having its neck squeezed—and with a "whoosh," he turned into a wisp of gray smoke, darting into the nearest candlestick and vanishing without a trace.
Professor Snape drew his wand and aid at the gno still buzzing around them; it imdiately turned into a small puff of harmless colored powder, disappearing on the spot.
Then his cold gaze, sharp as an arctic wind, swept across the wrecked Great Hall—finally locking squarely onto the two red-haired "arms dealers" still standing on the table.
"Gryffindor, twenty points deducted," he said expressionlessly.
"Professor McGonagall, I trust you have no objections?"
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together and said nothing; she was quite displeased herself. But the young wizards of Gryffindor protested:
"Professor Snape, it was Malfoy who threw it at you—a student from your own Slytherin. What does that have to do with us Gryffindor?"
"Talking back to a professor—another five points deducted," Snape replied, still without emotion.
He waved his wand, and the chaos in the Great Hall imdiately began to reverse, restoring the hall to its original state.
The other professors also stepped in to help, while the young wizards stood still like quails, quietly awaiting their fate.
In the end, this "all-out war"—sparked by Peeves, escalated by the twins, and nearly subjecting several highly respected school officials to a baptism by farting gno—ca to an abrupt and unexpected halt.
...
Sagres was completely unaware of the events unfolding in the Hogwarts Great Hall, as he was currently in a safe house deep within the Forbidden Forest, holding a eting with the mbers of Bronze Feather.
The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the smooth wooden table, and the air was filled with the scent of pine and earth.
Stork slid a freshly delivered copy of The Daily Prophet toward Thunderbird.
Thunderbird took the newspaper and began reading under the dim candlelight.
Three Schools' Contest Concludes, Durmstrang Crowned Victor!
The subheading read: Krum Outshines All, Diggory and Delacour Draw — Unprecedented Dueling Spectacle Ends, 'Magical Dueling Arena' Shakes the Wizarding World!
Below the headline were three moving photographs: Krum's resolute profile as he raised his wand to accept the crowd's cheers; the mont Cedric and Fleur smiled at each other after both were disard on the icy lake; and a panoramic view of the magnificent, ever-shifting Magical Dueling Arena.
A bold black caption stood out prominently:
...This magical marvel, the 'Magical Dueling Arena,' created by Hogwarts, is undoubtedly the most dazzling star of this event!
Not only does it perfectly simulate various extre environnts, but the mysterious magic it contains has left even seasoned wizards in awe!
According to internal sources, the design blueprint of this dueling arena is expected to beco the standard for future magical dueling facilities...
"What a grand spectacle," Thunderbird said, putting down the newspaper, a flash of admiration in his eyes.
"Perhaps I should suggest to Headmaster Fontaine that Ilvermorny students participate next ti. This looks fantastic."
"Of course," Sagres replied calmly, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table. "As long as your school doesn't mind the journey across the ocean."
He then turned his gaze toward Hummingbird, who was sitting quietly to the side. "How is your study of Soul-weaving progressing?"
Hummingbird looked up, her eyes focused and serious. "I've mastered it proficiently and have begun preparing practical treatnt plans for soul trauma."
"Very good," Sagres nodded slightly, his eyes full of approval. "That ans your Order of rlin, First Class, is already on its way."
"Frankly, I don't actually have a strong desire for that dal itself..." Hummingbird paused for a mont, then admitted honestly. "Just like you—back then, you improved so many healing spells but didn't even show up for the award ceremony."
"That was different," Sagres replied calmly.
"I thought it was useless to at the ti. I didn't need it, and I had no intention of getting involved in any Ministry of Magic political swirl."
Hummingbird nodded knowingly, clearly in agreent.
Sagres shifted the topic. "How is Lockhart doing lately? Is his recovery going smoothly?"
"St. Mungo's has brought in several top healing experts for consultation," Hummingbird said, her expression turning slightly serious.
"The conclusion is that the life force that ..Voldemort absorbed from him.. may not fully recover."
"So his current state..." Robin couldn't help but interject, a trace of complexity in his tone.
After all, Lockhart had once been an idol he admired fanatically.
"His appearance has aged significantly—deep wrinkles, and his hair is nearly all gone," Hummingbird said truthfully. "However, his external injuries and magical imbalance have more or less stabilized."
She paused, then added, "Interestingly, he doesn't seem in a hurry to be discharged.
According to his primary healers, Mr. Lockhart plans to finish two new books—Returning to Hogwarts as a Professor and Dueling the Basilisk—right from the intensive care unit."
"Dueling the Basilisk?" Sagres raised an eyebrow slightly, repeating the title in a bewildered tone.
"Yes," Hummingbird confird. "The overwhelming coverage of the dueling events at Hogwarts has clearly reignited his 'creative passion.' His hospital room is practically flooded with related newspapers now."
Sagres's lips curved into a faint smile, but it vanished in an instant.
"Alright. Let him be for now. It's not yet ti to send him to Azkaban."
He paused, his gaze returning to Hummingbird. "Oh, by the way, how are your studies in mory magic coming along?"
"?" Hummingbird thought for a mont. "mory restoration spells are pretty solid, but other aspects of mory magic... I'd say I'm still at an average level."
Sagres nodded slowly, his calm gaze carrying a hint of suggestion.
"Then it would be best for you to focus on deepening your study of 'mory recall' during this period.
Although Veritaserum can be used to force a confession, the most reliable thod is to precisely extract the nas of the real victims—those whose lives he stole—from the depths of his chaotic mory.
That's the only way to make sure nothing goes wrong."
Hummingbird nodded solemnly, committing the task to heart.
"Aside from that," Sagres's voice rang out again, steady and composed, breaking the brief silence, "is there any other magic you all want to learn this ti?"
", , !" Kestrel imdiately raised her hand high, like an eager student in class, her excitent obvious.
"I want to learn that weather magic you used today! The one that controls clouds and rain!"
"What do you want to learn that for?" Nightingale tilted her head and looked at her curiously, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Planning to beco a mobile weather station?"
"Um... no way!" Kestrel's face flushed slightly as she quickly ca up with a more practical excuse. "I often camp outside, and when it rains or snows, it gets cold and wet—it's just such a pain! If I could just wave my hand and clear the sky or stop the rain, how convenient would that be!"
"Didn't I give you a magical tent?" Sagres asked with a trace of confusion. "It's temperature and humidity controlled inside. Even if it hails, you won't get wet—let alone from rain."
"Please, I'm a witch!" Kestrel waved her arms dramatically. "And a tent is nowhere near as useful as magic.. Just a flick of the finger—summoning wind and rain—that's the real wizarding style!"
Sagres looked at the eagerness in her eyes, shook his head helplessly, but didn't say no.
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