HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

A sensation mixed with stinging, tingling, and burning came from the point of contact.

Harry stared wide-eyed as the "fake" finger came to life, its edges rapidly merging with his own flesh, nerves, blood vessels, and bones frantically reconnecting under the influence of magic.

A few seconds later, the light faded, and the pain subsided like a receding tide.

Harry raised his left hand in disbelief and moved the finger he had regained.

It is flexible and easy to use, and even the feel is exactly the same.

"This...this is amazing!" Ron exclaimed, his mouth agape.

Hermione watched intently, but her brows furrowed slightly, and she looked somewhat puzzled.

Harry stroked his recovered finger, overwhelmed with emotion, and finally managed to say sincerely, "Thank you, Professor!"

Sagles nodded slightly, then his gaze fell on the back of Harry's hand: "What about this? Do you need me to help you with it?"

Harry's gaze also fell on the grotesque handwriting.

He paused for two seconds, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the uneven scars, before finally shaking his head.

"No need, Professor. Keep it."

"Harry!"

Hermione immediately exclaimed in a disapproving whisper, "This scar is too... I mean, why?"

“Yeah, man,” Ron quickly chimed in, his face showing concern, “Why keep this thing? It’s creepy to look at.”

Harry raised his hand and held it out to the sunlight, his green eyes revealing a calm and clear-headed expression.

"It really does look rather ugly..."

He said, "But I still want to keep it; maybe it can remind me at some crucial moment."

These words left Hermione and Ron speechless for a moment. They could tell from Harry's eyes that this was not an impulsive decision, but a well-thought-out one.

Sagras nodded slightly: "As you wish."

Then he casually asked, "Have you seen Loctis recently? I haven't seen it since I came back."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all wore the same blank expression.

"Lochtis?"

Harry repeated the name, looking at Ron and Hermione with confusion, and they returned the same puzzled look.

Hermione racked her brains, finally shaking her head somewhat sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Professor, we haven't heard of the name 'Lochtis.' Which house is he from?"

At that moment, the air seemed to freeze.

A crack appeared in the usual calm on Sagres's face.

He didn't speak immediately, but his deep gaze slowly swept over the three faces filled with "bewilderment," as if to confirm whether they were joking or whether they had been subjected to a forgetting spell.

But their eyes were clear, and their confusion was undeniably real.

A deep doubt finally flickered across his usually calm eyes.

"Yeah……"

He responded softly, quickly suppressing all his emotions and sealing them away beneath his calm expression. "I must have remembered the name wrong."

Chapter 420 Grass—is a type of plant!

Instead of returning to his office, Sagles headed straight for the Hogwarts Library.

Mrs. Pince was visibly taken aback when she saw him, then nodded to him, a hint of satisfaction flashing in her eyes, similar to that shown to the other faculty members.

Sagres nodded slightly in response, and then headed straight for the area where the books of magical history were stored.

The tall bookshelves cast shadows, and the air was filled with the distinctive smell of parchment and old books.

His fingers traced the spines of the books, finally settling on a rather authoritative set, "Magical Europe: A Study of a Millennium of Rise and Fall."

He pulled out the two volumes that covered nearly six hundred years of history and quickly walked to the reading table by the window to sit down.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting dappled shadows on the open pages of the book.

Sagres flipped directly to the chapter introducing the three major magic schools in Europe.

The descriptions of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts are exactly as I remember them.

However, his fingers paused when his gaze fell upon Durmstrang School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which should have been documented in detail.

The text on the pages is clear and cold:

"...Durmstrang Academy of Magic, located in Scandinavia, was once renowned for its openness to the study of the Dark Arts. However, in the mid-15th century, the academy attracted the attention of the Muggle Church's witch hunts due to its 'heresy' and 'dangerous' magical practices (questionable). In 1454, an unprecedented church witch hunt, aided by several rogue wizards, successfully located and raided its hidden premises..."

"According to survivor accounts (which are disputed), fierce resistance was put up within the academy, but ultimately the defeat could not be averted. The principal and most of the faculty and staff were killed in battle, the school buildings were burned down, a large number of precious magical documents were stolen or damaged, and students scattered and fled..."

"This event is considered a major setback in the history of magical education in Europe, and it also indirectly led to a stricter policy of secrecy towards Muggles in the wizarding world for centuries to come..."

Durmstrang...was wiped out? In the year he left?

Sagres's fingertips tightened unconsciously.

If Durmstrang no longer existed, then countless historical contexts, figures, and events related to him could be completely rewritten, or even erased from their very roots.

He forced himself to calm down and quickly flipped through the history books in his hands, looking for other points in time when things might have changed.

He saw many familiar names and events, but also discovered many unsettling differences: some magical inventions that should have existed had disappeared, the life stories of several famous historical figures had taken different turns, and the signatories of some far-reaching magical treaties had changed...

Closing the book, Sagres leaned back in his chair. The library was so quiet that the only sounds were the faint footsteps of students between the bookshelves and the rustling of pages turning in the distance.

It seems he didn't just return to a place he had left for a while.

The ripples of time seem to have stirred up a storm, so much so that they have quietly altered the course of history.

The disappearance of Lochteus, the downfall of Durmstrang, and the subtle discrepancies in those historical records... all point to one fact: the "present" in which he exists has become significantly different from the "past" in his memory.

What caused all of this?

Was it an unintentional act during his time travel? Or was there some other force involved?

He sat there quietly, his deep eyes reflecting the densely packed books on the bookshelf, as if trying to see through the words to uncover the mystery of time hidden within.

"Grass!"

The suppressed curse sounded particularly clear in the quiet corner of the library.

Mrs. Pince, the librarian who was tidying up the bookshelves not far away, immediately turned her sharp gaze over.

Sagles quickly regained his composure, giving a slight nod in Mrs. Pince's direction, as if his earlier outburst was merely her imagination.

"—It is a plant."

He added in a low voice as if nothing had happened, as if finishing a sentence that had been interrupted, his fingertips lightly brushing over the illustrations of some medieval magical herbs on the pages.

Mrs. Pince frowned in confusion, but eventually turned her head back.

The crisis was over, but the storm raging in Sagles' heart was far from over.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air, mixed with the scent of old paper and wood, carried a heavy, suffocating sense of history.

He reopened his eyes, forcibly suppressing all the emotions in them.

Speculation and doubt are meaningless; only by tracing back to the source can we find out the truth and correct it one by one.

Over the next few hours, Sagres transformed into a highly efficient reading machine.

He flipped through all the books that might be related to the mid-15th century, Durmstrang, and major historical turning points at an astonishing speed—official histories, unofficial histories, biographies, and even some adventure notes categorized as "possibly fictional."

His brain was working at lightning speed, extracting, comparing, analyzing, and organizing countless fragmented pieces of information.

A historical picture that was completely different from what he knew gradually became clear before his eyes.

It wasn't just Durmstrang's downfall; many subtle details were altered, like a famous painting being poorly restored. The overall outline remains, but the colors and brushstrokes in the details are distorted, and some important elements are even completely covered up.

As the last rays of the setting sun disappeared from the window, soft, magical lights illuminated the library. Sagres closed the last thick book beside him.

He sat quietly in the chair for a moment, as if digesting all the information he had absorbed.

Outside the window, Hogwarts Castle was brightly lit, and the faint sounds of students' laughter could be heard; it was a peaceful night.

No one knew this was a completely different world except himself.

Finally, he stood up, carefully put away the books he had read, and then turned and left the library without hesitation.

He decided to go back to 1454.

Let's go back to the year Durmstrang fell.

Then, at all costs, we will restore history to its rightful state.

Chapter 421 Raze to the Ground

The agonizing feeling of time receding like the tide, Sagres regained his footing, and the strong smell of gunpowder and blood instantly filled his nostrils.

He was standing in the village of Brudel, which was adjacent to Durmstrang and had now become a scene of hell.

The once deserted village was engulfed in flames, and the towering flames tore a scarlet hole in the night sky.

The wooden building crackled and groaned in the flames as it continued to collapse.

Cries, screams, frenzied battle cries, and the clanging of metal mingled together, creating a piercing noise storm.

The sign of the inn where he had stayed was now falling from the sky on fire, shattering into pieces on the ground.

In the firelight, the most striking figures were the priests of the witch-hunting team, dressed in bright red robes.

Like sparks of death, they led squads of heavily armored "Purifying Knights," ruthlessly clearing away all living things within their sight.

Those who resisted were mercilessly cut down with enchanted swords or burned to ashes; the villagers who dared not resist were chained together with thick iron chains and herded together like livestock, their faces filled with nothing but despair.

Amid the chaos, the dark wizards hiding in the shadows also took the opportunity to cause trouble.

Like hyenas smelling carrion, they looted property and abducted lone women and children, exacerbating the spread of the disaster.

Sagres glanced around casually and found that the dark wizard who had previously controlled the undead was now lying on the ground, a corpse.