Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon
The four Heads of House, joined by Madame Maxime and Karkaroff, looked variously bewildered at the scene before them. Snape in particular wore a thunderous frown as he glared down at the sizzling, rubbery genome squirming in his hand. With a sharp flick of impatience, he tried to cast it aside, only to discover that it refused to leave his palm.
The wretched thing had stuck fast to him!
BAAANG—!
The gnome bomb exploded at once. With a burst of blindingly bright smoke, a ridiculous-looking winged gnome shot out from the blast, whizzing in frantic circles around the cluster of "adults" who stood gathered at the doorway.
Pffft, pffft, pffft, pffft!
The sound of farting rang out again and again, echoing through the hall with shameless vulgarity. Yet not a single person laughed.
Instead, the Great Hall was swallowed by a mournful hush, so heavy it pressed upon every heart like a weight too great to bear.
Snape's face darkened until it was the color of iron. Professor McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin, trembling line. Professor Flitwick covered his face with both hands in sheer despair, while Professor Sprout let out a heavy sigh that carried all the weight of weary resignation.
Madame Maxime and Karkaroff were no better; their expressions soured as their eyes fell sharply upon the students of their own schools, faces taut with embarrassment and disapproval.
Peeves, however, gave a shrill cry, like the strangled squawk of a chicken having its neck wrung. With a whoosh, he dissolved into a streak of gray smoke and darted neatly into the hollow of the nearest candlestick, vanishing without a trace.
Snape drew his wand in one swift, fluid motion. He aimed it coldly at the gnome still buzzing overhead, and with a sharp flash it crumbled into nothing more than a harmless puff of colored dust that drifted down and scattered across the floor.
Then his eyes lifted. That glacial gaze, sharp as a polar wind that could freeze the breath in a man's chest, swept slowly across the chaos of the hall before narrowing, keen and merciless as a blade, on the two red-haired "arms dealers" still standing triumphantly atop a table.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," he said flatly, his voice stripped of the slightest trace of warmth. "Professor McGonagall, I trust you have no objection to that?"
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips tightly together and held her silence. She was just as furious as Snape, though her anger showed itself in restraint rather than words. It was instead a Gryffindor student who broke the tense quiet, her voice carrying indignation.
"Professor Snape, it was Malfoy who threw it at you! He's one of your Slytherins. Why should Gryffindor be punished for something we didn't even do?"
"Answering back to a professor? That will be another five points from Gryffindor," Snape replied without the faintest change of expression.
With a faint flick of his wand, the wreckage scattered across the hall stirred as if awakened, and the Great Hall began slowly to return to order, the chaos vanishing piece by piece.
The other professors, seeing this, joined in as well, each raising their wands to assist in repairing the damage. The students, however, stood rooted in place, subdued like quail in a storm, waiting in silence for the punishments that might yet fall upon them.
Thus the spectacle, which had begun with Peeves's meddling, been whipped into near-catastrophe by the Weasley twins, and nearly resulted in several venerable and respected school leaders being subjected to the disgrace of a farty gnome baptism, came to an abrupt and wholly unexpected end.
————————————————————
Unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded in Hogwarts' Great Hall, Sargeras was at that very moment seated within the safehouse hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest, holding a meeting with the members of the Bronze Feather.
The flickering candlelight danced across the polished surface of a wooden table, casting restless shadows along the walls. The air inside carried a mingled fragrance of pine resin and damp earth, the very breath of the forest pressing close around them.
Stork slid a freshly delivered copy of the Daily Prophet across the table toward Thunderbird. Thunderbird took it in his hands and, bending over beneath the wavering light, began to read.
"THE TRIWIZARD DUELING TOURNAMENT CONCLUDES: DURMSTRANG CROWNED CHAMPIONS!"
Beneath the headline ran the subheading: "Krum Triumphs Over All Challengers, While Diggory and Delacour End in a Historic Tie — An Unprecedented Duel Tournament Draws to a Close, and the 'Magical Dueling Platform' Stun the Wizarding World!"
Beneath the words were three dynamic photographs. The first captured Viktor Krum's strong profile as he raised his wand high to accept the roaring cheers of the crowd. The second showed Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour standing together upon the frozen lake, smiling at one another the very instant both their wands were struck from their hands. The third displayed a sweeping panorama of the grand and ever-changing Magical Dueling Platform, its shifting landscapes gleaming with dangerous beauty.
A bold passage of text, printed thick and dark, claimed a place of prominence: "…This magical marvel, the 'Magical Dueling Platform,' constructed by Hogwarts itself, is without question the brightest star of this Tournament! Not only does it flawlessly reproduce a dazzling range of extreme environments, but the deep and mysterious spells woven into its foundations left even the most seasoned of wizards gasping in awe. According to reports from within, the design blueprints for this dueling arena may well set the standard for all future magical combat competitions…"
"What a grand spectacle," Thunderbird exclaimed as he set the paper aside, a hint of admiration passing across his eyes. "Perhaps I ought to suggest to Headmaster Fontaine that Ilvermorny students take part in such events as well. This looks absolutely brilliant."
"Of course they could," Sargeras replied evenly, his fingertips tapping lightly against the tabletop as though weighing the thought. "Provided your school does not object to the small matter of an ocean lying in between."
His gaze then shifted toward Hummingbird, who had been sitting quietly at his side. "And how are your studies in Soul Weaving progressing?"
Hummingbird lifted her head. Her eyes were intent, her tone steady and serious. "I've already mastered it proficiently. I've even begun drafting actual treatment plans for soul-related injuries."
"Excellent." Sargeras gave a slow nod, his eyes warm with genuine approval. "That means your Order of Merlin medal is already on its way to you."
"To be honest…" Hummingbird admitted after a brief pause for thought, "I don't really feel such a strong desire for the medal itself. It reminds me of you, when you improved so many healing charms and yet chose not even to attend the award ceremony."
"That was different," Sargeras answered with his usual composure. "At the time, I decided it was of no use to me. I neither needed it, nor did I wish to entangle myself in the political whirlpools of the Ministry of Magic."
Hummingbird nodded in understanding, acknowledging the truth in his words.
Sargeras' tone shifted as he changed the subject. "How is Lockhart these days? Has his recovery been going smoothly?"
"St. Mungo's has already assembled several of the top specialists for a consultation," Hummingbird replied, her expression clouding slightly with concern. "The conclusion is that the life force drained from him may never be fully restored."
"And his current state…" Robin could not help but interject, his voice tinged with conflicting emotions. After all, Lockhart had once been the idol he adored with blind enthusiasm.
"He looks much older now," Hummingbird described plainly. "His face is lined, his wrinkles deep, and most of his hair is already gone. Still, his external injuries and his magical instability have more or less stabilized."
She paused, then added with a note of curiosity, "What's interesting is that he doesn't seem in any hurry to be discharged. According to his attending healers, Mr. Lockhart actually intends to finish two new books while still in the special care ward; 'Returning to Hogwarts as a Professor' and 'Dueling with the Basilisk.'"
"Dueling with the Basilisk?" Sargeras arched an eyebrow, repeating the title with a puzzled tone, as though the words themselves tasted strange on his tongue.
"Yes," Hummingbird confirmed. "It seems the avalanche of coverage about Hogwarts' dueling has rekindled his so-called 'creative passion.' By all accounts, his ward is now practically buried beneath piles of newspapers on the subject."
Sargeras' mouth curved ever so slightly, the hint of a smile flickering across his face before vanishing just as quickly. "Very well. Let him amuse himself for the time being. It isn't yet the moment to send him off to Azkaban."
He let that thought settle in the room, then after a short pause his eyes sharpened again, fastening once more upon Hummingbird. "And by the way, how are your studies in memory magic coming along?"
"Me?" Hummingbird thought for a moment before answering. "I've got a fairly solid grasp of memory restoration charms. As for the other branches of memory magic… I'd say my level is only average."
Sargeras nodded slowly, his gaze calm but his words carrying weight. "Then for now, you'd better devote yourself to deepening your work on Memory Recollection. It's true that we could force his tongue open with Veritaserum, but the safest course is still to plunge into the chaos of his memories and extract, with precision, the names of every true victim whose life he stole. Only then can we be absolutely certain there will be no mistakes."
Hummingbird nodded with full seriousness, firmly committing the task to memory as though engraving it into stone.
"Other than that," Sargeras' voice rose again, smooth and steady as it broke the brief silence, "is there any other magic you all wish to learn at this time?"
"Me, me, me!" Kestrel shot up her hand high in the air, exactly like an overeager classmate clamoring to answer in class, her excitement bubbling over in her voice. "I want to learn that weather magic you used today! The one that controls the clouds and stops the rain!"
"What do you even want to learn that for?" Nightingale tilted her head, studying her curiously, her tone laced with playful teasing. "Planning to moonlight as a walking weather forecast?"
"No… that's not it at all!" Kestrel's cheeks flushed pink as she scrambled for a more practical excuse. "I spend so many nights outdoors, you know. And when it rains or snows it's miserable, cold, wet, everything turns into a mess. But if I could just sweep the clouds away with a wave of my hand, or stop the rain whenever I pleased, wouldn't that be perfect?"
"Didn't I already give you a magical tent?" Sargeras reminded her, mild puzzlement coloring his tone. "It's enchanted to stay warm and dry inside no matter what. Even in a hailstorm you wouldn't feel a drop, let alone the rain."
"Oh, come on, I'm a witch!" Kestrel threw up her arms with exaggerated drama, her whole body brimming with energy. ""What's the point of hiding in a tent when you can command the weather itself? To sweep your hand and summon wind and rain — now that's what truly shows the dignity of a wizard!"
Sargeras met her bright, yearning eyes and, though he gave a small helpless shake of his head, he did not refuse her.
**
**
[IMAGE]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Chapter End's]
🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍
Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:
Extra Content Already Available