HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

All the students instantly stopped attacking, not daring to breathe. They looked at the Slytherin with complex emotions that seemed to say, "You're finished" and "You're a hero."

Even the two large snowmen temporarily stopped rolling snowballs, and their giant carrot noses seemed to be crooked, as if they were confused.

The kestrel slowly turned around and wiped the snow off its face.

Instead of getting angry, she flashed a truly "radiant" smile, revealing her white teeth that gleamed in the snow.

"Brilliant!" Her voice boomed, filled with undisguised admiration. "Slytherin, twenty points! For that precise,... uh... intelligent strike! What's your name, kid?"

“Mike Warrington, Professor.” The short man’s face flushed red, and his voice was somewhat excited.

“Alright, Mike…” Red Falcon raised his wand, pointing at the giant snowman that had just chased the Gryffindors so hard they were crying for their mothers, “Now it’s yours! Go and give your Gryffindor ‘friends’ some warm Slytherin greetings!”

Before the young wizard could react, he felt a cold, powerful force connect to his mind. He clumsily raised his wand, mimicking the kestrel and pointing it at the snowman over Gryffindor.

"Uh...snowman...go up?"

The giant snowman suddenly turned around, its hollow, coal-filled eyes "staring" at the Gryffindor students.

Then, under Mike's clumsy command, it took heavy steps, moving slowly and awkwardly towards the screaming, scattering little wizards.

"No, Mike!" a Gryffindor who had previously attacked the other with a snowball cried out as the snowman gently buried him in his chest with a newly rolled snowball, leaving only his head outside to shout in vain, before he was hit in the face with another large snowball.

The kestrels stood with their hands on their hips and shouted:

"See? Controlling power is clearly harder than gaining it. Hey? Mike, where's your Ironclad Charm?"

"Gryffindor, use obstacles to trip it up, don't just shout!"

"Slytherins, stop grinning like idiots! Help your allies, defend yourselves, cooperate! Otherwise, you'll be the next ones turned into ice sculptures!"

Amidst the chaos and laughter, the students unleashed a variety of spells.

The Gryffindor students instinctively threw "Clean Up" at their "buried" classmate, then used "Obstacles" to block the snowman, while desperately trying to control snowballs to attack Mike himself and distract him.

Mike was in a flurry of activity, trying to control the snowman's pursuit while also fending off stray retaliatory snowballs.

For the first time, he deeply understood how difficult it was to control magic and be distracted on the battlefield.

When the shrill school bell finally rang, the school grounds were a complete mess.

The two large snowmen had been riddled with holes and were on the verge of collapse after being bombarded by various spells.

The students looked like drowned rats pulled from a snowdrift. Some had bruises and swelling from being hit by snowballs, while others had ice crystals stuck in their hair and eyebrows. But without exception, their eyes burned with a strange light—exhausted yet inexplicably excited.

Red Falcon hopped onto a chair, clapped his hands, and said in his still energetic voice, "Alright, rookies, well done..."

She looked at the disheveled students, smiled brightly, and waved her wand. "But I must remind you, if anyone still doesn't know how to use these simple defensive spells in the next class..." She then revealed a malicious smile, "Hmph!"

Then the young professor suddenly swung his arm and shouted, "get out of class dismissed..."

The students immediately began to discuss and groan. They helped each other up, brushed the snow off each other, and argued about whose spell was used most timely and whose backside hurt the most from the snowman's kick.

"That was so exciting!"

When is the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class?

"I blocked several tracking snowballs!"

The students discussed excitedly, and despite some twists and turns, everyone clearly felt that the dry defensive spells in the books had never been so deeply imprinted in their minds as they were today.

The school clinic was packed with students who had sprained their ankles, frostbitten their fingers, had their noses bleed from being hit by snowballs, or had their faces smeared by snowmen after playing too wildly.

Mrs. Pomfrey in the school infirmary will probably be working overtime tonight.

The students were excited, however, because they discovered that many of them could cast spells while running. Angelina of Gryffindor even had a basic grasp of the silent spell "Obstacles."

Sagres stood at the window high in the castle, expressionless as he looked down at the group of disheveled yet unusually excited students, and at the red falcon standing on a chair, its hair disheveled and covered in snow, grinning as if it had pulled off a prank.

He sighed softly, but the corners of his mouth curved slightly upwards.

Although the kestrels are still not very reliable, this edutainment approach has unexpectedly been quite effective.

Of course, only she could get along with students like that. If it were Snape... Sagres thought of the Potions professor's gloomy face and quickly stopped imagining it.

That afternoon, the number of young wizards auditing Sagles's theory class reached a new high.

Because everyone had heard about Professor Lumina's "novel" teaching methods, the lower-year students were frantically absorbing knowledge in order to be able to cast Barrier Charms and Armor Charms normally, all in order to gain an advantage in the upcoming Defense Against the Dark Arts class—or rather, to get less beaten up.

Chapter 118 A Series of Trouble

Today, Sagres is explaining the distribution and evolution of the magical nodes in the Armor Charm. This spell is quite difficult for lower-grade students, and even many Ministry of Magic staff members cannot cast a decent Armor Charm.

However, with the help of "mechanical mind", he instilled all the key points of the Ironclad Charm into the minds of the young wizards in less than half an hour of class.

However, this does not mean that they have mastered the spell. There is a huge gap between "knowing" and "applying" it. Just as a map can only point people in the right direction, they still need to walk step by step to reach the destination.

Another problem is that the magic of many younger students is not stable enough to form a solid barrier.

So Sagles decided to try a different approach.

During class, he used "mechanical mind" to filter out the noisy thoughts in the classroom, making everyone rational and efficient. But now he is going to use this magic again to transform the students' rationality and calmness into firmness and determination.

He waved his wand, and invisible ripples of magic spread out. All the students instantly felt as if their thoughts had been thrown into a cold furnace.

“You may have heard that magic originates from the power of the mind,” Sagres said, his gaze sweeping over the increasingly determined faces below the stage. “Therefore, when emotions are positively aroused, the release of magic will be twice as effective.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he casually flicked his wrist, and a nearly transparent circular barrier with silvery edges instantly solidified in front of him. Its perfect shape and concentrated magic made all the students hold their breath, their eyes filled with pure longing.

"Therefore, I believe that what you need right now is not absolute calmness, but unwavering will."

As he spoke, he removed the circular shield and turned his gaze back to the eager young wizard.

"The Ironclad Curse is a mirror of the will—hesitation, fear, or distraction are all cracks in the barrier."

“The core of a successful Ironclad Spell lies in unwavering faith.” Sargeras’s voice was calm and even, a stark contrast to the students’ determined gazes. “You must firmly believe that this barrier can isolate all threats, and that your will is strong enough to protect yourself—this faith itself is the most solid foundation of the spell.”

Under the powerful guidance of "mechanical mind" and the repeated tempering of Sagres' words, the somewhat indifferent and detached rationality that was previously present in the classroom is being replaced by an almost fanatical persistence and determination.

“Remember your emotions right now, this will be the key to your successful casting of the Ironclad Charm…” Sargeras walked steadily down from the podium, his authoritative gaze sweeping over all the young wizards.

"Now--"

The air in the classroom seemed to freeze. All the young wizards instinctively straightened their backs, their eyes showing no hesitation, only pure focus and obedience.

"Raise your wands!"

……

……

The next morning, on his way to the library, Sagres happened to run into Ms. Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall "intercepting" Headmaster Dumbledore, the two ladies talking excitedly.

“You must stop this immediately!” Ms. Pomfrey’s voice was visibly tired and annoyed. “The school hospital is overflowing with little guys with bruises and swelling! The injuries aren’t serious, but I’m just one person and I can’t keep up with them all…”

Sagres immediately understood – this was undoubtedly an accusation against the Red Falcon's "unique" teaching methods, which added an unbearable burden to the already short-staffed school hospital.

This is indeed a problem. Hogwarts' hospital relies entirely on Madam Pomfrey, its sole caretaker. In the event of a large-scale influx of wounded, it will inevitably be overwhelmed.

He walked forward thoughtfully, and the three of them stopped their discussion when they saw him arrive.

"Good morning, Professor Greengrass!" Professor McGonagall greeted him first.

Sagres nodded slightly, greeted the group, and then steered the conversation toward the new professor, mentioning the wounded soldiers that could be seen everywhere.

Finally, he turned his gaze to the school doctor: "Ms. Pomfrey, have you considered recruiting some assistants?"

"assistant?"

The principal, vice-principal, and the school doctor all looked at him with puzzled expressions, not understanding what was going on.

So Sagres continued, “Many of the sixth and seventh grade wizards have already mastered basic healing spells, but they obviously lack opportunities to practice them, so isn’t this a perfect opportunity?”

He winked meaningfully, “It will greatly reduce your burden and allow students to hone their control over spells in real combat. Moreover, I believe it will be of great benefit to their own development.”

Even Professor McGonagall was somewhat tempted by this, but her usual caution led her to ask another question: "Can the students' spellcasting skills... guarantee their safety?"

“Even if the results aren’t ideal, Ms. Pomfrey is there to back us up,” Sagles said confidently. “Besides, it’s just treating simple injuries like sprains, frostbite, and nosebleeds; the risk is negligible. At worst…”

He added casually, "It just causes the patient to develop a few rashes or a few painless blisters..."

Ms. Pomfrey's eyes lit up instantly: "That's a brilliant suggestion! I can also take this opportunity to observe and see if there are any promising talents in healing magic who can be trained to excel in the St. Mungo's direction in the future."

She turned eagerly to Dumbledore. "Headmaster, what do you think?"

“Ah, a very good and creative solution,” the old headmaster said with a smile. “But Sagres, do you think the young wizards will willingly come to the school hospital to help?”

“You can rest assured about that,” Sagles said with a knowing smile. “They’d probably love to have a few more ‘wounded’ people so they can put their new skills to good use.”

The plan was thus finalized. Fortunately, in the magical world, casting healing spells on people does not require a medical license, and treating minor injuries will not cause any major trouble—at most, some enthusiastic "little healers" who are not yet proficient in their skills will leave some unfortunate people with some "harmless" temporary souvenirs.

……

……

In addition, the castle caretaker, Filch, has been having a major headache lately. The corridors and courtyards are littered with melted ice and broken snowball debris.

As a Squib who doesn't know magic, cleaning up the mess created by magic really took a lot of his effort.

But Filch didn't go to Dumbledore to complain; instead, he confronted the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Irisa Lumina.

“Professor Lumina, I think you should solve this problem…”

Filch's voice was hoarse, filled with suppressed anger. "Ice shards, snow water, everywhere! And that's not all, I also have to clean those damn rat intestines, toad entrails, and all sorts of filth and dirt of unknown origin! I'm scrubbing and washing all day long, I don't even have a moment to stop and eat!" His sallow face twitched slightly with rage.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Filch.” Red Falcon apologized readily and sincerely, his face full of guilt. “But don’t worry, I can teach you two very useful cleansing spells that will be absolutely effective against these!”

Filch's face hardened, his voice stern. "Professor Lumina, I think you've probably forgotten, or don't even know—I'm a Squib! I can't use magic!"

Ever since Mrs. Lorris was petrified, Filch had practically revealed his Squib identity in front of the entire school, so he seemed indifferent when he talked about it now, even though he actually cared more than anyone else.

“Oh, okay…” The red falcon frowned, clearly trying to process this extremely tricky problem.

"I've got it!" She suddenly clapped her hands, the crisp sound echoing in the corridor, startling even Filch.

"I can cast some magic on your cleaning tools to make them move on their own, which will lighten your load!"

Chapter 119, The Duel Course, Officially Begins

Filch stared at her suspiciously, his cloudy eyes filled with distrust. Making the broom move by itself? It sounded like some kind of prank by mischievous kids.