HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

“Demstrang…Professor Greengrass graduated from there, right?” Harry asked thoughtfully.

“That’s right.” Ron curled his lip. “Durmstrang only accepted pure-blood students. At that time, Voldemort had just fallen, and many places were still hostile to Muggle-born wizards. In fact, Hogwarts was the same—just like Malfoy and his gang always felt that mixing Muggle blood would taint their ‘noble bloodline’.”

He scoffed sarcastically, "But if you ask me, where in all of Britain are there any truly purebloods left? If they only intermarried with pureblood families, they would have gone extinct long ago."

"Wait, who are those two people following behind the headmaster?" Hermione suddenly narrowed her eyes, her gaze fixed on the figures behind the two headmasters.

Ron followed her gaze: "I haven't seen the man before, but that woman... wait, could it be..."

"Who is it?" Hermione pressed.

Although the other person was wearing an exquisite silver veil, her elegant figure made her feel as if she had seen her before.

“It’s Miss Veela, Professor Greengrass’s friend!” Harry recognized her too. “Have you forgotten? She saved our lives in the Forbidden Forest!”

“Oh my god! It really is her!” Hermione’s eyes lit up. “I would have recognized her even with the veil on! So she’s teaching at Beauxbatons now? I just saw her get off that fancy carriage.”

"I wonder what subject she teaches..." Harry interjected thoughtfully.

"Shh!"

Hermione suddenly held up a finger, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Look, their students are coming in!"

The students from Beauxbatons entered the venue in a neat line, like a gentle breeze. The vast majority of them were girls, each with an upright posture.

They walked with elegant steps, every turn and nod seemingly meticulously designed, their silver-blue school uniforms gleaming softly in the candlelight.

Durmstrang's students, on the other hand, were entirely male.

They marched in with perfectly synchronized steps, forming a square formation. All of them had neat short hair, and their sharp eyes revealed determination. Their deep red school uniforms made them look like a well-trained army.

These students were undoubtedly elites carefully selected by both schools, with outstanding qualities, but in Sagres's eyes, they were nothing special.

If others don't know, how could he not know?

The students in Durmstrang's formation were his juniors from his school days. He remembered that back then, these guys weren't even worthy of being beaten by him.

Sagres was lost in memories.

Back then, he used almost every means to get into Durmstrang. He even had to bring up his status as a recipient of the Order of Merlin to barely open that door that was tightly closed to "nobody" people.

As for Igor Karkarov?

Sagres's gaze lingered on the gloomy and cunning man for a moment.

This so-called principal is nothing but a complete opportunist at heart. He's in that position less for teaching and nurturing students and more for personal gain.

What was Karkaroff's feigned attempt to persuade him to stay after graduation?

Ha. If it weren't for the three groundbreaking papers he published in "Spell Innovations," and if it weren't for the uproar his solo book "Advanced Magic Topology" caused in the magical world.

Given Karkaroff's snobbish nature, how could he possibly treat a graduate with no background any differently and generously extend an olive branch?

Staying at Durmstrang to teach would have been a good choice, but he had already explored all of Durmstrang's libraries. In order to continue pursuing the true meaning of magic and enrich himself, he had no choice but to go to Evamony in America.

……

Chapter 128 Dameyo

In the center of the auditorium, a brand-new long table gleamed in the candlelight.

The students of Beauxbatons, like a flock of elegant swans, gracefully took their seats on the left.

Durmstrang's students, like a disciplined army, occupied the right-hand seats in perfect unison.

As the last guest took his seat, Dumbledore gently tapped the crystal glass, the clear sound instantly silencing the noisy hall.

Good evening, everyone!

He stood up, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles gleaming with wisdom. "First of all, please allow me, on behalf of all the teachers and students of Hogwarts, to extend our warmest welcome to our friends who have traveled from afar!"

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping gently over the two principals and the eager students below the stage.

"As one of the three oldest magic academies in Europe, we should shoulder the important responsibility of promoting the exchange of magical culture. However, since the Three Kingdoms Tournament was discontinued more than two hundred years ago, exchanges between the schools have become increasingly rare..."

The old headmaster's voice suddenly became enthusiastic, "But today, a contracted arena will become the bond that rekindles our friendship! Therefore, I propose that after tomorrow's exhibition match, we might as well add a more challenging three-school joint duel?"

A hint of surprise flashed in Mrs. Maxim's eyes, which quickly turned into intense interest; Karkarov, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes, his fingers unconsciously rubbing his chin, clearly weighing the pros and cons.

Sagles observed coldly, understanding perfectly—this was their true purpose for the trip.

Otherwise, who would go to such lengths, bringing together all the school's elite students, just to participate in a trivial exhibition match?

The overwhelming news in the newspapers had already made them extremely uneasy. If they didn't do something soon, next year's enrollment season would likely be very difficult.

Although everyone tacitly agrees not to recruit students in each other's territory, they can't stop parents from sending their children to Hogwarts.

After all, there are only three core magic schools in Europe. With Hogwarts making such a grand entrance this time, if they remain indifferent, what difference would they make from being idiots? (Wouldn't they become complete fools?)

When others are in trouble, we must share their burdens; when others are in good fortune, we must share in their joy.

They understand this principle.

What's wrong with riding the wave of popularity? So what if you're shameless?

At worst, we can just say we're here to discuss restarting the three-way championship.

So, unsurprisingly, no one objected. Dumbledore, his gaze behind his glasses shifting towards Sagrais, then winked slyly: "Since no one has any objections, then—"

He clapped his hands happily, "Let's kick off this grand event with a sumptuous dinner!"

As the old principal spoke, the long table was instantly piled high with a dazzling array of delicacies.

In the midst of this celebration, a comical figure dressed in harem pants suddenly dangled upside down from the ceiling.

"New here? Have you heard of Master Mischievous Ghost's reputation?"

Peeves rubbed his hands together, his face showing the excited expression that comes with a prank, and then, under the questioning gazes of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, he deftly pulled several dark, smooth dung bombs from his pocket.

Professor McGonagall's face turned ashen instantly, and the young wizards gasped in shock.

If Hogwarts were to use dung bombs to greet guests at the welcome banquet, it would become a laughing stock in the entire European wizarding world!

Peeves grinned as he raised the dung bomb high, while Dumbledore's expression turned serious as he prepared to draw his wand.

However, before either side could make a move, Sagres looked up at Peeves and said calmly:

"Get out of here, you little devil."

This ordinary sentence struck like an invisible whip.

Suddenly, Pippi let out a terrified scream. It trembled and then turned into a blurry gray shadow, fleeing in a sorry state at its fastest speed ever.

Only a series of indistinct curses remained in the air...

"What was that? A ghost?" a girl from Beauxbatons whispered, covering her mouth as she stared in the direction Peeves had disappeared.

“That’s Peeves,” Nightingale explained calmly, “a peculiar peculiar spirit of Hogwarts.”

"What was it trying to do? What scary thing did it throw at us?" another girl asked, her face pale and still shaken.

“It’s a dung bomb!” The Durmstrang student sitting across from her scoffed, a hint of schadenfreude in his voice. “As the name suggests, that thing…”

"Enough! I understand!" the girl from Beauxbatons interrupted immediately, frowning in disgust. "How dare it cause trouble right under Headmaster Dumbledore's nose?"

“The Chaos Spirits are unrestrained,” Nightingale explained calmly. “They are not true life forms, and therefore cannot be killed. And once they have no fear of death, they do as they please.”

As she spoke, she noticed that the kestrel sitting next to Sagres on the professor's bench was winking at her, so she couldn't help but smile.

"But it was still driven away, wasn't it? Who was that young professor?" the girl pressed, her gaze fixed on Sagrais on the professor's seat.

“That’s one of our seniors from Durmstrang,” the Durmstrang student replied with respect. “He was at the school for two years, from enrollment to graduation, and he was always ‘Grozny’.”

"And what is Grozny?"

"The chief duelist! The strongest among all the students!" another Durmstrang student eagerly answered, his eyes gleaming.

“But he looks…” the girl from Beauxbatons looked at Sagrais’s slightly thin figure and calm demeanor, “very different from you guys.”

“A wizard’s power does not lie in his appearance or physique,” ​​Nightingale said at the right moment, her voice gentle yet carrying an undeniable air, “but in the wisdom in his mind.”

“Miss Nikia makes a very good point…”

Professor Bafferos, sitting diagonally opposite Nightingale, interjected with a deliberately dismissive tone, "But if I may be so bold, Sagres is nothing more than an ignorant student; how can he be called a 'powerful wizard'?"

"Oh?" Nightingale raised an eyebrow slightly, turning her gaze to Bufferos with a hint of inquiry. "Professor Bufferos seems to know him quite well?"

“I taught him advanced black magic practices.”

Bafferos puffed out his chest, a disdainful look on his face. "I have to admit he's a bit clever, but magic needs practical application! A bookworm who only knows how to study by rote..."

He curled his lip, revealing an extremely contemptuous expression, as if he were talking about something insignificant.

The two Durmstrang students next to him moved their lips as if they wanted to object, but were stopped by a stern look from an older student.

“I see.” Nightingale’s lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile.

Baffroth caught the nightingale's smiling eyes and mistook it for approval, so he immediately flashed what he thought was a charming smile, his expression eager:

"Velise, may I call you that?"

“No, Mr. Baffroth,” Nightingale replied calmly, without looking up.

Bafferos's smile froze on his face instantly, as if he had been petrified.

This blunt, almost cold rejection caught him off guard and left him completely stunned.

The students sitting nearby who witnessed the whole thing immediately lowered their heads and desperately tried to recall the saddest things that had happened in the past two years before barely managing to suppress the laughter that was about to spill out.

Nevertheless, their shoulders still twitched slightly involuntarily.

Chapter 129 Safety Supervisor

The following morning, while the outline of Hogwarts Castle was still faintly visible in the morning mist, reporters from several well-informed newspapers had already knocked on the school gates.

The news of the three schools' joint duel spread like wildfire, soaring over the castle walls overnight and igniting the passion of the entire wizarding world, drawing countless eyes to this ancient castle.

It has been more than two centuries since the last time all three schools gathered for the Triwizard Tournament.

Now that these three most prestigious magic schools in Europe have reunited for a duel, they have naturally attracted a great deal of attention.