On his way back to Hogwarts Castle, Sagres made a detour to Hagrid's hut to retrieve the Flobberworms he had asked him to collect earlier.

As a token of gratitude, he deliberately left a bag of Galleons on Hagrid's wooden table.

Although Hagrid repeatedly waved his hands in refusal, Sagres insisted — some of the materials were quite valuable, and fair compensation was only appropriate.

The next day in class, Sagres entered the room carrying a basket of Flobberworms. Practical lessons had no outside auditors, except for Hermione Granger, so only a few dozen students were present.

"Today we will have a practical lesson, and each of you will have a chance at redemption."

The students immediately perked up. With a wave of his hand, the sticky worms floated to each person's desk.

Flobberworms were fragile and dull creatures; their bodies secreted mucus, which looked somewhat unpleasant, but they posed no threat.

"Be warned: if anyone's Flobberworm is harmed due to careless handling, that person will have to participate in the upcoming Trauma Roulette."

The students didn't know what Trauma Roulette was, but it definitely sounded more like a punishment than a game.

Sagres paced across the podium as the young wizards below watched with interest and eagerness.

"In the last two lessons, we covered the basics of healing spells. If you were paying attention, today's practical should be quite simple."

He slashed the air with his wand, and instantly, a wound appeared on each Flobberworm, causing them to writhe slowly in pain.

He added, "Of course, to properly assess your actual skill, I will not use Mechanical Mind on you during this lesson. This is standard practice."

Hermione Granger gripped her wand tightly, her knuckles turning white.

She stared at the injured Flobberworm on her desk. A shocking wound had split its fluorescent green skin, and pale blue bodily fluid was slowly seeping out.

"Begin, everyone," Sagres's voice rang through the classroom. "If you can't save your patient within half an hour… you'll have to participate in Trauma Roulette."

A fine sheen of sweat formed on Hermione's forehead. She took a deep breath, recalling the instructions from their previous lesson: Your wrist should rotate as if drawing a spiral…

The tip of her wand trembled slightly, emitting a faint glow.

All around the classroom, spellwork filled the air—along with chaos.

"Reparo!—No, why did its leg grow on its back?!"

"You have to stop the bleeding first! Wait… why is the wound glowing?"

"Ahh! My flobberworm is depressed!"

Oliver Wood's Flobberworm simply flipped over, looking like it had given up on life entirely.

Half an hour later, with a sharp rap on the podium, all the Flobberworms floated to the front of the classroom.

Sagres waved his wand, separating them into two piles: one of healthy, wriggling worms, and the other stiff as dead branches.

"A regrettably high casualty rate," he said, prodding the pile of "fallen" Flobberworms. They immediately turned to ash. "It seems some of you are more suited to being executioners than healers."

Then he picked out a few deformed ones from the pile of "survivors": one had grown six pairs of prolegs, and another's wound had healed, but its entire body had twisted into the shape of a bow…

"As for these…" Sagres used a Levitation Charm to raise the bow-shaped Flobberworm, its head drooping in despair, into the air. "If they could speak, they'd surely be begging for the Avada Kedavra curse."

Hermione lowered her head in shame—hers was the bow-shaped one.

With a sweep of his wand, Sagres traced a silver arc through the air. The classroom walls began to shift and ripple as if alive.

The stone floor slowly sank, and circular platforms rose around it, transforming the room into a miniature magical arena in an instant.

"All those who failed to heal, please step into the arena and form a circle," Sagres instructed, waving his wand once more.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, lifting everyone's hair, and ten flashing red lights appeared in the center of the arena—floating curse marks.

"The rules are simple," Sagres's voice echoed through the transformed space. His long fingers tapped lightly, and the names of ten curses burned into view in midair:

[Densaugeo]

[Furnunculus]

[Locomotor Wibbly]

…

"The person hit by the spell—" he continued, just as the red lights began to dart randomly around the arena, "—the person to their left will have twenty seconds to cast a healing spell. Succeed, and you may return to the stands. Fail…"

He offered a meaningful smile. "—and inherit the curse until someone can break it."

The students formed a circle, some with trembling knees, desperately trying to recall everything from the past two lessons.

Suddenly, a red light shot out like a venomous snake, striking Terence Higgs squarely on the nose—his face instantly erupted in a mass of boils, spreading at a visible rate.

"Merlin's beard!" he cried out, barely intelligible.

Marcus Flint, standing to his left, gasped and nearly dropped his wand. He had twenty seconds—and his mind was still stuck on those Flobberworms.

The seconds ticked away, and the chaos in the arena quickly escalated. As soon as the boil curse transferred from Terence Higgs to Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch captain let out an inhuman howl.

Angelina Johnson, standing to his left, already had her wand raised, ready.

"Reparo!"

Her wand burst with green light, and for a brief moment the swelling seemed to ease—only to rebound even worse than before. The boils erupted with renewed force, like miniature volcanoes, spewing tiny red sparks.

The moment her twenty seconds ended, the curse passed to Angelina Johnson. Oliver Wood, standing to her left, held his wand nervously.

"Vulnera Sanentur!"

The Gryffindor Keeper's wand shook like the handle of a broomstick in a storm. The spell hit—but instead of healing, the boils ballooned to the size of a baby's fist, releasing a sulfurous stench as smoke curled from their tips, like smoldering craters.

A deafening roar of laughter erupted from the stands—even the usually serious Percy Weasley burst out laughing, as a second curse had already appeared in the arena.

Marcus, who had just escaped the first curse, was now desperately tugging at his rapidly growing nose hair, while Angelina, her face still resembling a lava field, had to cast a healing spell on him once again.

Of course, there were one or two who were "promoted" to spectators after successfully casting a healing spell. But most of the students in the circle had very weak practical skills.

They inherited the curse again and again, cast spells frantically again and again, and failed—again and again.

Yet it was through this relentless cycle of curses that their spell-casting technique slowly improved. Their spell-light grew steadier and more controlled.

Some even began to use other spells effectively—Cooling Charms and Soothing Charms to ease the pain, Depilatory Charms to counter the out-of-control hair growth…

"Now that's more like it."

Sagres watched the gradually stabilizing spellwork in the arena and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

___

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