HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Professor Flitwick's voice trembled slightly, with a hint of barely perceptible emotion. "When I was young, I also dreamed of writing a monograph on this... Unfortunately, I didn't have your talent and perseverance, and I eventually put it aside."

“It’s not too late now, Professor Flitwick…” Sagles looked at him and said very seriously, “The best time to plant a tree was ten years ago, the second best time is now!”

“You make a good point, Sagres…” Professor Flitwick sighed, his small shoulders seeming to slump a little, “but these old bones of mine simply don’t have the courage to put pen to paper anymore.”

"Don't you want to leave behind a book with your name on it?" Sagres asked softly, his usually calm tone unusually encouraging, "a monograph written by you, a work that embodies your wisdom?"

"A monograph..."

Professor Flitwick repeated softly, his voice filled with regret, "Yes, what a tempting idea. But I'm not like you; I've spent most of my life interpreting other people's spells for my students..."

Then a bright light appeared in his voice again, "But seeing you put those theories and ideas on those parchments into practice completely makes me more gratified than if I had finished several books myself, even though my ideas are now outdated..."

“Don’t say that, Professor…” Sagres lowered his head slightly, his voice gentle and sincere, “After all, without your inspiration and guidance back then, this tree would not exist today. You not only taught me what magic is, but you also taught me the essence of magic.”

"The essence of magic..."

Professor Flitwick murmured the word, straightening his small body slightly, his eyes glistening with tears—tears of pure pride and joy.

He picked up a napkin and quickly, almost imperceptibly, dabbed at the corner of his eye.

“You’re right, Sagres, it’s about essence! We’re not looking for dazzling techniques, but rather understanding the power that flows through all things and using it to create…”

He looked at the radiant magic tree in the center of the hall, a tree that constantly gave birth to surprises, and at the pure joy, curiosity, and occasional confusion on the faces of the young wizards beneath it. A genuine, utterly satisfied smile spread across his face.

Professor Flitwick's voice regained its former vibrancy, even becoming louder, "This is the best Christmas present, Sagres! For all of us!"

The boxes on the magic tree continue to open and solidify silently, carrying the clear or vague wishes in the hearts of the young wizards, quietly radiating a wondrous light in the hall.

Chapter 109 Christmas Gifts (Part 2)

When Malfoy finished his meal and lazily strolled to the Christmas tree, Crabbe and Goyle had already been standing there for quite a while. A small pile of empty boxes lay scattered at their feet, as if swept away by a hurricane, but the few trinkets they were clutching looked rather...unpleasant.

"A pile of garbage!"

Gore grumbled in a muffled voice, throwing a giant rubber object that made a strange noise back onto the ground.

Malfoy ignored them, casually plucked a glittering silver box from a drooping branch, and opened it without a second thought.

Inside lay a small bottle containing a clear, pale blue liquid—a tranquilizer, a magical potion that could provide limited relief from anxiety and was said to bring moments of peace and pleasure.

A subtle, complex look flashed across his eyes. He pursed his lips, but ultimately stuffed the small bottle into his robe pocket.

Just then, a mocking voice, drawn out and deliberately mimicking his, rang out clearly:

"I believe that those who are forced to stay at school for Christmas are homeless..."

Ron Weasley crossed his arms, perfectly replicating the sarcastic words Malfoy had once said to Harry.

His loathing for Malfoy ran deep – the man had repeatedly caused trouble, insulted his family, and mocked his poverty… He had always wanted to find an opportunity to beat him up.

Malfoy whirled around, his pale face tense, his grey eyes sharply fixed on Ron.

“Weasley, you…”

His lips twitched as if he wanted to spew out his usual venom, but in the end he just pursed them into a cold, hard line.

He said nothing, only leaving behind a cold, warning look, before abruptly turning around and striding away from the auditorium.

“This is not normal, it’s not normal at all!” Ron immediately leaned closer to Harry and Hermione, lowered his voice, and said with a serious expression as if facing a formidable enemy. “He didn’t even retaliate? Malfoy is definitely plotting something. That crazy ball-walking player from the last match might just be his appetizer.”

“Uh, Ron, that ball-running ball was cast by Dobby, it had nothing to do with Malfoy.”

"Not him? Really?" Ron and Hermione exclaimed in unison, their faces filled with astonishment. "And who is Dobby?"

"It's the house-elf I mentioned to you before...

Harry recounted the entire incident in detail: how Dobby broke into the Dursleys' house to issue a warning, how he sealed off the platform entrance, and how he manipulated the Wandering Ball in an attempt to "rescue" him from Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione listened in stunned silence.

"So... Dobby wouldn't let you on the train and broke your arm because he wanted to rescue you from Hogwarts?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

Ron shook his head, concluding in a tone that was a mixture of absurdity and worry, "Harry, you need to know that if he continues to 'rescue' you like this, you might die!"

Harry understood what the other person meant, but he was also helpless.

……

When Sagres returned to his office, his desk had been transformed into a small hill of gifts. Two dusty owls were still perched on the windowsill, patiently waiting.

He first fed the owls, who had traveled a long way, some water and food, and waited until they purred contentedly before turning to the mountain of letters and gifts.

These past few days, Loctis has been extremely busy, practically never stopping, traveling back and forth to various places to deliver gifts. Although Sagres felt that these holiday exchanges were somewhat formalistic, since he was here, he had no choice but to follow the rules and do as the locals do.

Fortunately, during his travels in the past two years, he had visited many ancient magical ruins and collected many magical artifacts, some practical and some strange.

In addition, he carefully preserved the rare materials on the bodies of the many dangerous magical creatures he personally dealt with.

Frugality is a virtue, and so is making the most of resources—therefore, his private warehouse was indeed stockpiled with quite a few valuable items, which came in handy at this moment.

He picked up the letters and calmly opened them one by one. Most of the gifts were quite practical. Except, of course, for the kestrel.

The little girl's journey is clearly not over yet, and she seems to have recently set foot in England, where she gave Sagles a thick book of "The Complete Book of Traditional English Cuisine" as a gift.

Sagles casually flipped through a few pages and found it much funnier than the "Collection of English Jokes" the other party had given him last year.

Next came Nightingale's letter and gift. This time, the sender had captured a female barrel demon and sent it to her in a specially made magical glass bottle.

The letter confidently declared that this was the most "beautiful" one she could find.

Sagres stared at the chubby, round little creature in the bottle, utterly unable to see any beauty in its bulging belly and fleshy face. However, he wasn't foolish enough to write a letter questioning Nightingale's aesthetic sense.

Last year, the perfume Nightingale gave him included a stubborn wine barrel demon that wouldn't leave. He rummaged through his desk drawer for a moment and found the perfume potion called "Deep Blue Song".

Inside the bottle, the chubby figure was floating comfortably on the surface of the liquid, fast asleep, while the perfume level had clearly dropped by nearly a third.

“You’re living a pretty good life!” Sagres tapped the bottle with his finger.

The vibrations inside the bottle startled the slumbering dwarf barrel demon. It jerked its beady eyes open, saw the magnified human face outside the bottle, and nearly sank in fright.

"Hmph, I've found you a companion." Sagras said expressionlessly, deftly stuffing the newly arrived female barrel demon into the same perfume bottle.

Ignoring the other person's frightened pounding on the bottle, he opened the North American specialty dragon's blood wine that Thunderbird had delivered. He uncorked the bottle and brought it close to his nose to smell it. The strong and unique aroma made him frown slightly—he could only say that he couldn't appreciate this flavor yet.

Other friends' gifts were also laid out on the table:

Lady Snowowl: An ancient and heavy fairy gold coin, with a roaring chimera beast finely embossed on the reverse.

Swift: A heavy stone slab inscribed with ancient, incomplete, and ambiguous incantations.

Robin: A multifunctional sketching quill pen with tiny magical runes inlaid on its barrel.

Hummingbird: A portable and fully functional magical medical first aid kit.

Stork: A thick, yellowed book titled "Atlas of Habitats of Rare and Dangerous Magical Creatures," which not only depicts various terrifying creatures but also provides detailed information on their distribution areas and habits.

In addition, there was a box of syrup monster magic candies given to him by his cousin Astoria, a self-created spell analysis chart called "Magic Missile" given to him by Professor Flitwick, and a large handful of glossy, pure magic-infused top-quality unicorn tail hairs carefully selected by Hagrid...

The work of replying to letters and giving return gifts continued late into the night.

The office finally quieted down once more as the last letter bearing the magical mark disappeared into the night with Lochtis. Sagres, unusually, didn't immediately immerse himself in his research, but instead leaned back in his armchair.

The embers in the fireplace cast a faint glow, illuminating his pensive face.

His teaching plans for Hogwarts then began to unfold in his mind: the Dueling Club twice a week, where he had to effectively teach these young wizards how to protect themselves; and the courses he was already responsible for could not be neglected in the slightest, requiring a more refined teaching plan.

In addition, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the school has become vacant. Although it is none of his business, Sagres is thinking about whether he should recommend someone he thinks is suitable to Dumbledore.

Finally, there's one more problem: his "old friend" Lucius seems to be quite active lately, so he needs to find some time to visit Malfoy Manor, invite him for tea, and ask him what he's up to.

Chapter 110 Job Seekers

It was late at night, and usually Harry and Ron would be fast asleep in bed by this time, but miraculously, they weren't sleepy at all tonight.

The two of them seemed to have been given ten doses of stimulant; their four eyes stared like two pairs of light bulbs in the darkness, fixed on the pitch-black ceiling.

“Are we… cursed?” Ron’s voice echoed in the deathly silence. His body was stiff as if he had been petrified, with only his eyes still moving. “I feel like I could tune into ten chapters of History of Magic right now!”

“It was probably Hermione’s ‘masterpiece’…” Harry said uncertainly. “She seemed to have cast a spell on us when we first woke up this morning… muttering something… and evaporating our sleepiness?”

“Really?” Ron asked, puzzled. “Wasn’t that a spell Professor Greengrass gave us? I thought she was threatening us…”

“No wonder she said, ‘You’ll find out tonight,’” Harry recalled bitterly. “What do we do now? We have to do something, right?”

Ron sat up straight in bed, his movements unusually swift. "Let's play a game of Wizard Chess!"

So, at 1:30 a.m., the Gryffindor common room welcomed two chess players who were unusually excited.

The embers in the fireplace provided a faint light, illuminating two sleepless faces with bright eyes.

The chess pieces were fighting each other fiercely, and their shouts of battle sounded particularly jarring in the silence, as if they were waging a miniature war filled with plastic hatred.

When Hermione appeared in the common room with her newly acquired "Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Defense," this was the scene that greeted her: her two companions were energetically directing a group of chess pieces to "fight" each other, their faces glowing with vitality.

A surge of anger rushed to Hermione's head, making her curly hair seem to stand on end as if static electricity was blowing.

She strode over, her finger nearly poking their noses: "Professor Greengrass taught us spells just for this? Just so you two would be like trolls under a Confusion Charm, having a midnight chess tournament in the common room at 1:30 in the morning?!"

She said angrily, "I thought you guys would have learned something after going through so much, but what's the result? Your only progress is playing chess here in the middle of the night?"

"Uh... calm down, Hermione!" Ron forced a smile that was a mix of fawning and guilt, his hands unconsciously rubbing together in front of him. "We're... testing the effects of the spell... that's right! Of course, we're testing the effects of the spell, and we're also waiting for you!"

He quickly added, trying to widen his eyes to make his gaze appear more "sincere," "After all, you're the top student in the whole grade, a beacon of wisdom! Unlike us, two pathetic wands who can't even hold a magic wand properly, we don't even know where to begin when we want to learn."

“That’s right, Hermione,” Harry nodded immediately, trying to make his green eyes look innocent and sincere. “We’ve thought deeply about this. In the ocean of knowledge, you are our lifeboat…or at least a map? In any case, we desperately need your guidance!”

After saying that, Harry himself was disgusted by the shameless flattery.

"What's a lifeboat?" Ron asked in a low voice. Harry quickly stopped him with a look, and the two of them shut their mouths.

"Really?" Hermione crossed her arms, her eyes filled with undisguised doubt.

“Absolutely true!” Ron slapped his chest so hard he almost choked, his tone as solemn as if he were swearing an oath before Merlin’s grave. “I swear on the shining silver-white character of Headmaster Dumbledore, if there is a single lie, may I… no! May Benban die a violent death!”

"What does this have to do with the class monitor?" Even Harry thought Ron's oath was utterly absurd.

“And you, Harry?” Hermione’s icy gaze turned to him.

"Me?" Harry's mind raced, trying to find a slightly less outrageous foothold next to the deep pit Ron had dug.

In a flash of inspiration, or perhaps out of sheer desperation, he exclaimed, "I... I swear on Hagrid's honor that everything I've said is true!"