HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

"However, Professor Greengrass said that there is no harm in having some knowledge."

She frowned and criticized, yet read with great interest.

The atmosphere in the auditorium was relaxed and pleasant, and even the atmosphere on the professors' benches was very harmonious.

Dumbledore, dressed in a deep purple robe adorned with silver stars, his blue eyes gleaming with a benevolent light, was chatting happily with Professor McGonagall beside him.

Professor McGonagall remained sitting upright, but a hint of festive gentleness softened her serious face as she sipped her eggnog.

Professor Flitwick, sitting on a high cushion, excitedly described a spell from his new research to Professor Sprout, who listened with great interest, occasionally letting out a good-natured laugh, while holding a cup of hot mead.

Sagres sat in a corner, talking absentmindedly in hushed tones with Lupin.

He barely touched the food in front of him, and kept fiddling with a clear crystal goblet containing a small amount of mead.

His calm gaze swept over the joyful crowd in the hall, landing on the lively ice crystal animals he had created on the Christmas tree, as if admiring them, or perhaps contemplating something else.

Only Snape sat a little further away, with a glass of water in front of him.

He was still wearing that unchanging black robe, his gaze fixed on his cup as if studying the ripples on the water's surface.

Hagrid squeezed around the table, enjoying a large turkey leg while excitedly describing to Snape how he had successfully calmed the parents of the unicorn cubs, who were waiting patiently at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Snape's lips twitched slightly, as if he was enduring it and was clearly unwilling to listen.

Halfway through the banquet, when the atmosphere was at its most lively, a stumbling figure appeared at the entrance of the auditorium—Professor Sybil Trelawney.

She seemed to have drunk quite a bit of sherry, her body was wrapped in layers of scarves and beads, her glasses had slipped down to the tip of her nose, and her eyes were glazed over.

"Celebrate! Celebrate!"

She shouted something indistinctly, her voice sounding particularly abrupt in the suddenly quiet auditorium.

She staggered toward the professors' table, her gaze sweeping aimlessly across the crowd.

Dumbledore spoke gently: “Sybil, Merry Christmas. You’re late.”

Trelawney stopped.

She seemed not to hear Dumbledore's words; her gaze suddenly lost focus, and she began to mutter in a wavering voice:

"Cold scales roam among the decaying leaves... The loyal servant bears heavy shackles... Fearful sweat soaks his humble body... He is searching... no, being driven towards that lurking shadow... The traitor... is walking towards his destined... cage..."

Her voice grew softer and softer until it was almost a whisper.

Then her body went limp, as if she had exhausted all her strength, and she slumped down onto the nearest empty chair, her head lolling to the side, seemingly falling asleep instantly, and even emitting a soft snore.

The auditorium fell silent. The students looked at each other, some bewildered by the sudden "prophecy," while others thought it was just another drunken rant from Professor Trelawney.

But on the professors' platform, several gazes instantly sharpened.

The benevolent smile on Dumbledore's face faded, and a hint of seriousness flashed deep in his blue eyes as he looked thoughtfully at Sacramento.

Sagres stopped playing with the crystal glass, his gray eyes narrowing slightly.

He realized almost immediately that this was a real prophecy, completely different from the other party's previous nonsense.

But the prophecy was too vague, and every sentence seemed ambiguous.

traitor?

Are you talking about Peter Pettigrew?

But the other party should be unable to cause any more trouble, and didn't the Daily Prophet say that he had already been kissed by the Dementors?

Unless... Fudge is lying.

Or perhaps the traitor in the prophecy is someone else entirely.

Sagres plans to find time to verify this.

Professor McGonagall didn't seem to care much about Professor Trelawney's prophecy. She sighed, shook her head helplessly, and gestured for the house-elves to bring a blanket to cover Trelawney.

Joyful Christmas carols rang out at just the right time, and the house-elves brought out more desserts and hot drinks, filling the hall with laughter once again.

Trelawney's ramblings were quickly drowned out by the flood of joy, and no one paid any attention except for a few people.

Chapter 232 Visit

The corridors of St. Mungo's Hospital for the Injuries of Magic and Wounds were adorned with wreaths woven from holly and berries, and the healers, dressed in emerald green robes, hurried along, their faces bearing rare smiles.

Lucius Malfoy frowned slightly, a hint of barely perceptible annoyance on his face, as his expensive snake-headed cane tapped rhythmically on the polished floor.

Narcissa Malfoy beside him also maintained perfect poise, but a hint of confusion lingered in her blue eyes beneath her blonde hair.

They were dragged here by their son, Draco.

“Draco, I must reiterate,” Lucius said in a low voice, “that visiting a… former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor on sick leave is not a necessary social activity for our family, especially not at a time like this.”

He meant that the Christmas season should have been an important time for pure-blood families to strengthen their networks.

Draco Malfoy walked a step ahead of his father, his platinum blonde hair meticulously styled.

"Father, you don't understand."

Draco lowered his voice, but it was clear, “Professor Lumina… what she taught last semester wasn’t just fancy stuff; it was practical skills that could be used in crucial moments. It was…”

He paused, without mentioning any specific incident.

"Well... anyway, what she taught me helped me a lot. I think it's necessary to come and thank her in person."

Lucius snorted, clearly disdainful of this "pragmatic" gratitude.

Isn't a professor's job simply to teach? Is it really worth the Malfoy family heir personally visiting him?

Draco noticed his father's disapproval, so he stopped, turned around, and dropped the crucial information: "Furthermore, Father, Professor Lumina is Professor Greengrass's friend. A very good friend."

“A friend of Greengrass?” Lucius’s voice suddenly tightened.

He quickly exchanged a glance with his wife, Narcissa, who, upon hearing the name, stiffened almost imperceptibly, her eyes filled with wariness.

"It's true."

Draco nodded firmly. Seeing the instant change in his parents' attitude, he felt inexplicably relieved, and even a little smug.

Lucius took a deep breath, as if making a decision. All the reluctance and arrogance on his face were torn off like a mask, replaced by an impeccable expression of concern.

“Narcissa,” he turned to his wife, his tone unusually serious, “I think we’ve come a bit hastily. How can we visit a patient, especially a friend of Mr. Greengrass, empty-handed? I remember there’s a nice magic flower shop in the lobby downstairs…”

In less than fifteen minutes, Lucius Malfoy himself was carrying a valuable bunch of moonflowers and holly berries that radiated a soft magical glow, while Narcissa carried an exquisitely packaged candy gift box (a Want Want gift pack).

Draco's lips twitched slightly as he watched his parents' drastically different efficiency and "enthusiasm," but he still led them to the Cursed Injury Ward where Professor Lumina was located.

Knock knock knock!

There was a polite knock on the ward door.

"Please come in!"

The kestrel's voice still carried its unique vitality, though it was somewhat lacking in strength.

The door opened, and Draco Malfoy walked in, followed by his parents—Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy.

“Professor Lumina?” Draco cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound natural and polite. “Merry Christmas. My parents and I… have come to see you.”

The kestrel blinked, clearly somewhat surprised.

Her gaze swept over Lucius and Narcissa, finally settling on Draco. A bright but slightly weak smile bloomed on her face: "Oh! Draco Malfoy! I remember you! Slytherin's Seeker, you played Quidditch well, even though you lost to Gryffindor last year..."

She didn't mince words in pointing out his shortcomings, but there was no malice in her tone; it was more like a straightforward evaluation.

Draco's cheeks flushed slightly, and he coughed awkwardly.

“Uh, yes, Professor…” He smiled in a way that was different from usual. “Are you feeling better?”

"Of course, much better!"

Red Falcon waved her bandaged arm nonchalantly, then her gaze fell on the Malfoys behind Draco, especially the obviously expensive magical bouquet in Lucius's hand.

"Oh! You two, this...this is too kind of you! You've come to see me too?"

Lucius Malfoy immediately put on an impeccable, caring smile: "Professor Lumina, Merry Christmas. Draco was very concerned when he heard you were unwell and insisted on visiting you. As parents, we naturally wanted to express the Malfoy family's respect and concern for such an excellent professor. We hope this small gift will bring you joy and a speedy recovery."

His wording was impeccable, subtly attributing the "merit" of the visit to Draco's "filial piety" and the family's respect for an "excellent educator."

Narcissa nodded gracefully in return and placed the candy box on the bedside table: "A little something, Professor, wishing you a happy holiday."

"Oh, thank you so much! You're so thoughtful!" The falcon was clearly very happy, and a blush rose on its pale face.

"Please have a seat! Oh my, I really didn't expect you to come..."

Red Falcon greeted us warmly, “Please forgive me for not being able to stand up. By the way, have you eaten yet? The food at St. Mungo’s is alright, but Sister Rolson always tries to make me eat that green, nutritious porridge, saying it’s good for the remnants of the curse, but the taste… tsk tsk!”

She started complaining about the hospital food, chattering away at a rapid pace.

Narcissa maintained an elegant smile, listening quietly, her gaze occasionally sweeping over the simple furnishings of the ward.

Lucius, however, was somewhat uneasy. His purpose in coming here was not to listen to a patient complain about hospital food.

Finally, taking advantage of a brief pause in the falcon's breathing, Draco casually asked, "Professor Lumina, how are you recovering? Will you be returning to Hogwarts next semester?"

“Ah, this… I guess it won’t work out…” Red Falcon said regretfully. “Headmaster Dumbledore told me that the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is somewhat special, and they don’t accept reappointments…”

Lucius and Narcissa maintained perfect listening postures, nodding in agreement from time to time, but Lucius's eyes were darting around rapidly.

While engaging with the falcon's casual conversation, he subtly steered the conversation to the key point: "Draco has always raved about you, saying your teaching is very practical, especially... well, in some special circumstances. Does Professor Greengrass often visit you? I heard you knew each other before you started teaching?"

“That’s right!” the kestrel said without a trace of guile, “We’ve known each other for many years…”

As she spoke, she seemed to remember something, paused for a moment, and her eyes darted around for a second, as if she were a little guilty.

There was nothing to hide; it was just that there was a gentle knock on the window of the ward.

A raven is pecking at the glass with its beak.

It was also carrying a small, exquisite gift box in its mouth.

"Ah! It's Lochtis!" Lumina exclaimed in surprise, struggling to sit up.

Narcissa went to the window and opened it, and the raven nimbly flew in.

It placed the small gift box on Lumina's blanket, then on the bedside table, tilting its head and surveying the Malfoy family in the room with its intelligent eyes.

Lumina couldn't wait to open the gift box.