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Today, Sagres was explaining the distribution of magical nodes and the development of the Shield Charm.
This spell was notoriously difficult for younger students, and even many Ministry of Magic employees struggled to cast a proper one.
However, with the aid of his Mechanical Mind, less than half an hour into the lesson he had already imprinted all the key points of the Shield Charm into the students' minds.
But that did not mean they had mastered it. There was always a vast gap between knowing and using—just as a map could show the way, but reaching the destination still required traveling step by step.
Another problem was that many younger students' magic was not yet stable enough to form into a solid barrier.
So Sagres chose another approach.
During the lesson, he had used his Mechanical Mind to strip away the noisy, scattered thoughts of the classroom, leaving the students calm and efficient.
Now, he would employ it again—this time to transform their rationality and calm into unwavering persistence.
He waved his wand, and invisible magical ripples spread outward.
The students immediately felt as though their minds had been plunged into a cold forge.
"You may have heard it said that magic is power born of the heart," Sagres's gaze swept over the slowly hardening expressions below the podium. "So when emotions are deliberately stirred, the release of magic becomes twice as effective."
As his words fell, he flicked his wrist casually, and in front of him a nearly transparent barrier formed, its edges shimmering faintly with flowing silver light.
Its flawless form and condensed magic made every student hold their breath, their eyes shining with pure longing.
"Therefore, I believe what you need right now is not absolute calm, but unwavering determination."
With that, he dispelled the circular shield and turned his gaze back to the Young Wizards, whose eyes now burned with fervor.
"The Shield Charm is a mirror of will—hesitation, fear, or distraction are cracks in the barrier."
"And the core of a successful Shield Charm lies in unwavering belief." Sagres's voice was calm as still water, a sharp contrast to the students' blazing determination. "You must believe completely that this barrier can block all threats, and believe that your will alone is enough to protect your safety—that belief itself is the spell's strongest foundation."
Under the powerful guidance of the Mechanical Mind, reinforced by Sagres's words, the cool, detached rationality from earlier in the class was being transformed into something else: persistence, resolve, and a nearly fanatical determination.
"Remember the feeling you have now; this will be the key to casting the Shield Charm successfully…" Sagres stepped down steadily from the podium, his authoritative gaze sweeping across the rows of Young Wizards.
"Now—"
The very air in the classroom seemed to freeze.
Every student instinctively straightened their back, their eyes stripped of hesitation, filled only with focus and obedience.
"Raise your wands!"
...
...
Early the next morning, on his way to the Library, Sagres happened upon Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall "blocking" Headmaster Dumbledore, both women speaking heatedly.
"You must stop this immediately!" Madam Pomfrey's voice carried fatigue and exasperation. "The hospital wing is overflowing with little ones, bruised and battered! The injuries may not be serious, but I'm just one person—I can't manage it all…"
Sagres understood at once—this was clearly a complaint about Kestral's "unique" teaching methods, which had placed an unbearable burden on the already understaffed hospital wing.
That was indeed a problem.
The Hogwarts hospital wing relied solely on Madam Pomfrey. Once a large wave of casualties struck, being overwhelmed was unavoidable.
He thought as he walked forward, and the three fell silent at his approach.
"Good morning, Professor Greengrass!" Professor McGonagall greeted first.
Sagres gave a slight nod in return, exchanged pleasantries, then steered the topic toward the new Professor and the constant stream of injured students.
Finally, his calm gaze settled on the school nurse. "Madam Pomfrey, have you considered recruiting assistants?"
"Assistants?"
The Headmaster, the Deputy Headmistress, and the nurse all stared at him in collective bewilderment.
So Sagres continued, "Many of the sixth- and seventh-years (Because of the Trauma Roulette) have already mastered basic healing spells, but they lack real opportunities to practice. Isn't this the perfect chance?"
He gave a meaningful glance. "It would ease your burden considerably while letting them refine their spell control in actual situations. And it would be very beneficial for their own growth as well."
Even Professor McGonagall looked somewhat persuaded, though her usual caution made her ask, "Can the students' spellwork… be relied upon for safety?"
"Even if their results aren't flawless, Madam Pomfrey will still be there to back them up," Sagres replied with quiet confidence. "And we're only talking about simple injuries—sprains, chilblains, nosebleeds. The risk is minimal. The worst that might happen," he added evenly, "is a rash or a harmless blister or two."
Madam Pomfrey's eyes brightened. "This is an excellent idea! And it gives me the chance to observe whether any of them show promise in healing magic—potential candidates for St. Mungo's in the future."
She turned eagerly to Dumbledore. "Albus, what do you think?"
"Ah, a very good and creative solution," the Headmaster said with a smile. "But, Sagres, do you think the students will be willing to come to the hospital wing and help?"
"Rest assured," Sagres's lips curved into a knowing smile. "They'll probably be hoping for more 'casualties,' just to put their newly learned skills to use."
And so, the plan was settled.
Fortunately, in the wizarding world, performing healing spells doesn't require a medical license, and treating minor cuts or scrapes wouldn't cause any major issues—at most, a few overenthusiastic "Young Wizard healers" still learning the craft might leave behind some harmless, temporary "souvenirs" on their unlucky patients.
...
Meanwhile, the Castle caretaker, Filch, found himself in a bind.
The corridors and courtyards were littered with melted ice shards and the remains of broken snowballs.
As a Squib unable to use magic, cleaning up these enchanted messes cost him an immense amount of effort.
But rather than complain to Dumbledore, Filch went straight to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor—Iresa Lumina.
"Professor Lumina, I think you should do something about this…"
His hoarse voice was edged with suppressed anger. "Ice shards, slush, everywhere! And if that weren't enough, I've got to clean up rat guts, toad entrails, and Merlin-knows-what other stains and filth! I'm scrubbing and mopping all day long—I don't even have time to stop and eat!" His sallow face twitched with fury.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Filch." Iresa Lumina apologized quickly and sincerely, her expression full of guilt. "But don't worry, I can teach you two very practical cleaning spells—they'll be absolutely effective against all this!"
Filch's face stiffened, his tone blunt. "Professor Lumina, I think you've forgotten—or maybe you don't know—I'm a Squib! I can't use magic!"
Since Madam Norris had been petrified, Filch had nearly revealed his identity as a Squib before the entire school, and now he spoke of it as though he didn't care—though deep down, he cared more than anyone.
"Oh… well…" Iresa's face creased at once, clearly struggling with the tricky situation.
"I've got it!" She suddenly clapped her hands, the sharp sound echoing down the corridor and making Filch jump.
"I can enchant your cleaning tools to move on their own—then the work won't be so heavy for you!"