The Sorting Ceremony continued in an eerie silence.

Sagres leaned back in the high-backed chair at the Professors' table, his gray eyes sweeping indifferently over each new student.

The entire Great Hall echoed only with the Sorting Hat's announcements and polite applause—everyone at the Slytherin table was visibly tense, even breathing cautiously.

"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" Lockhart suddenly leaned over, his golden curls bouncing with his exaggerated movements.

He lowered his voice, but the excitement in his tone was unmistakable. "Sagres, you really know how to steal the spotlight. That move just now was… truly…"

He paused, searching for adjectives, while the medals on his chest clinked noisily.

Sagres picked up a crystal goblet and took a shallow sip of mead, not bothering to look at him.

"But if you ask me," Lockhart continued, undeterred, leaning closer—his overpowering perfume enough to make one dizzy—"your lines could be more commanding. If it were me—"

He suddenly straightened, striking a dramatic pose. "'In Merlin's name, I will show you what true discipline is!' Then I'd wave my wand like this…"

Sagres ignored him, silently set down his goblet, and stood up, leaving without so much as a glance at the chattering man beside him.

"Wait, where are you going? I haven't finished—" Lockhart's voice abruptly cut off.

Sagres snapped his fingers without looking back, casting a Tongue-Tying Curse on him. He walked toward the side door as if the gesticulating, golden-haired professor behind him were nothing more than air.

…

…

Time passed quietly. In the blink of an eye, Hogwarts welcomed its first make-up exam season since its founding.

Yes, make-up exams! They hadn't existed before—but now they did.

Sagres stood at the front of the classroom, his slender fingers lightly tapping the podium.

Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the classroom and illuminating the nervous graduates seated before him—two of whom were even wearing Ministry of Magic uniforms.

"Advanced Charms Theory and Practice," he announced, his voice calm and steady, without the slightest fluctuation. "A compulsory exam, specially arranged because the Ministry of Magic believes the standard of Hogwarts graduates is… concerning."

A few awkward chuckles echoed through the room.

Sagres paid them no mind. His fingers tapped the stack of test papers on the desk, and the sheets of parchment flew into the air, transforming into flying birds, giant beetles, dragonflies, and other creatures.

"The official remarks of Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), Acceptable (A), Poor (P), Dreadful (D), and Troll (T)... heh~ I don't care about. Those who know me and those who have read about me should know that nothing you do can exceed my expectations because I expect everything and assume nothing."

He paced slowly between the desks, his black robes brushing the floor. "With me, there are only two outcomes—"

He paused, then suddenly turned, his gray eyes sweeping across every student.

"Either pass, or zero points."

The questions remained unchanged—they didn't need to be—because these students had actually learned something in class. They had simply used the wrong methods before.

…

By the time the last student finished the exam, the setting sun had already turned the classroom golden.

Sagres collected the test papers, a barely noticeable smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Congratulations," he said without looking back, "eleven Trolls have successfully evolved into humans."

Several graduates immediately hugged each other, laughing and crying, and began chatting with Sagres about their summer holidays.

To be honest, Sagres had no interest in any of it, but he patiently listened to their chattering.

The Hufflepuff girl who always mispronounced spells even came over with red eyes, stammering as she talked about her internship at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

At last, Sagres raised a hand to bring the early alumni gathering to an end.

"All right, everyone—"

He held up the parchment in his hand and said seriously, "Next time, try learning this before graduation."

Under the students' awestruck gazes, Sagres left the classroom, his black robe billowing behind him.

He moved quickly down the corridor—the next Charms theory class was about to begin.

The topic of the first lesson for the new semester was healing spells. Sagres entered the classroom empty-handed.

"Today we'll cover the distribution of magic nodes in healing spells," he said clearly in the quiet room. "After two theory sessions, we'll begin practical application."

With a tap of his wand, complex spell diagrams appeared on the blackboard.

"Remember these three steps: counter-spell, magical detection, and finally, healing." His tone grew more serious. "I don't expect you to become Healers at St. Mungo's, but at the very least—"

He suddenly drew his wand across his palm, and blood gushed out.

The students gasped.

"Vulnera Sanentur." Sagres recited the spell without a change in expression, and the wound healed visibly. "At the very least, this will help you deal with simple emergencies on your own so you're not completely helpless."

Since the point-deduction incident, the Slytherin students had been particularly well-behaved in his class.

Sagres was quite satisfied with this—although every time he passed Snape in the corridor, the latter's gloomy expression seemed to lower the surrounding temperature by ten degrees.

But Sagres didn't care, since the old bat had never looked at him pleasantly anyway.

After class, he headed straight to Hagrid's hut.

The autumn sunlight filtered through the leaves of the Forbidden Forest, casting shifting shadows across the path—it was a peaceful scene.

Until a golden figure ruined his mood.

"—Just sprinkle some of my special glittering powder around the well, and I guarantee not a single Grindylow will dare come close!" Lockhart was enthusiastically waving his hands, trying to sell one of his "inventions" to Hagrid, his medals glinting blindingly in the light.

Hagrid looked reluctant, his large fingers absentmindedly twisting his beard.

When Lockhart spotted Sagres approaching, his expression instantly stiffened—clearly, the Tongue-Tying Curse from before had left a lasting impression.

"Ah, Professor Greengrass!"

He no longer dared call him "Sagres." Composing himself, Lockhart quickly adjusted his collar. "I suddenly remembered—I've got some fan letters to reply to…"

Sagres merely shot him a cold glance, and Lockhart scurried off like a startled Niffler.

"Thank goodness… he's finally gone!" Hagrid let out a long sigh of relief. "He's even more annoying than he used to be, isn't he?"

Sagres smiled and nodded.

"Is there anything you need, Professor Greengrass?" Hagrid asked.

After Sagres explained his purpose, Hagrid scratched his head. "Creatures for Charms Theory Class? How about the Grindylows in the Black Lake?"

Sagres shook his head. "You know the Forbidden Forest better. Do you have any other suitable recommendations?"

"Gnomes? Or Ghouls?"

He shook his head again.

In the end, Sagres returned empty-handed but asked Hagrid to help him collect some Flobberworms.

As he passed the Quidditch Pitch, a heated argument caught his attention.

The Slytherin and Gryffindor team members were squaring off at the center of the pitch.

Even more striking—Snape stood in the shadows of the stands, his black robes blending into the darkness, his eyes flickering with an unreadable light.

___

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