The New Term

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The Sorting Ceremony continued in a strange and heavy silence.

Sargeras leaned back in the high-backed chair at the high table, his gray eyes sweeping indifferently across each and every new student.

All that remained in the Great Hall was the Sorting Hat's proclamations and the scattered applause of the students—those seated at the Slytherin table sat stiff and rigid, barely even daring to breathe.

"Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!" Lockhart suddenly leaned in, his golden curls bouncing wildly with every exaggerated movement.

He lowered his voice, though the excitement in his tone couldn't be hidden. "Sargeras, you really know how to steal the spotlight! That bit just now was… was…"

He struggled to find the right words, digging deep into his vocabulary as the medals on his chest jingled and clinked.

Sargeras picked up a crystal goblet, took a small sip of mead, and didn't even bother to spare him a glance.

"But if you ask me," Lockhart pressed in even closer, unwilling to let it go, the strong scent of his cologne making one's head spin, "your line could've been delivered with more oomph. If it were me—"

Suddenly, he straightened up and struck a dramatic pose, "I would've said this: 'In the name of Merlin, I will show you what true discipline means!' And then, just like this, I'd sweep my wand like…"

Sargeras didn't even acknowledge him. Without saying a word, he quietly set down the wine goblet and rose from his seat, walking away without so much as a glance at his babbling colleague beside him.

"Wait, where are you going? I wasn't finished…" Lockhart's voice cut off mid-sentence.

With a casual snap of his fingers, Sargeras cast a Tongue-Tying Curse, silencing the man completely. Without pausing, he strode toward the side door, as if the gesticulating, golden-haired professor behind him was nothing more than a puff of air.

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Time slipped by quietly, like a gentle stream winding beneath a still and silent sky. And before anyone quite realized it, Hogwarts welcomed its very first ever make-up exam season since the founding of the school.

Yes... make-up exams. They had never existed before, but now… they did.

At the front of the classroom, Sargeras stood tall and composed, his slender fingers gently tapping the surface of the lectern.

Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, casting golden beams across the rows of anxious graduates seated below — some so tense they hardly blinked, and two of them had even shown up in full Ministry of Magic uniforms.

"Advanced Charms Theory and Practice," Sargeras began, his voice calm and flat, not a single note of emotion in it. "This examination was specially created at the request of the Ministry of Magic, who believe the skill level of Hogwarts graduates is… concerning."

A few awkward chuckles echoed in the classroom, brittle and forced.

Sargeras paid them no mind. With a single tap of his finger on the topmost exam paper, the neatly stacked rolls of parchment lifted into the air, transforming as they flew — some became fluttering birds, others shifted into enormous beetles, dragonflies, and other creatures that darted and danced through the air.

"I don't care whether your performance is excellent, decent, or downright abysmal," he said, strolling slowly between the rows of desks, his black robes whispering across the stone floor with every step. "As far as I'm concerned, there are only two outcomes…"

He paused mid-step and turned abruptly, his gray eyes sweeping coldly over the room.

"You either pass… or you get a zero."

The questions hadn't been changed from the original set. There was no need to. After all, these students had learned something in class — it was just that, somewhere along the way, they'd chosen the wrong approach.

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By the time the last student finally set down their quill, the setting sun had already turned the entire classroom into a warm golden glow. /Sargeras collected the exam papers, and at the corners of his mouth, the faintest hint of a smile flickered… so subtle it almost wasn't there.

"Congratulations," he said without turning around. "Eleven trolls have successfully evolved into human beings."

A few of the graduates burst into laughter and tears all at once, throwing their arms around one another as they cheered and cried. They even started chatting excitedly with Sargeras about their summer plans.

Truth be told, Sargeras couldn't have been less interested… but still, he forced himself to stay and listen to their endless rambling, bearing it all with reluctant patience.

That Hufflepuff girl—the one who always botched her incantations—came over with tears brimming in her reddened eyes. Shyly, she began stammering through a story about her internship at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

At last, Sargeras raised a hand, bringing the prematurely started alumni gathering to a gentle but firm close.

"That's enough, all of you…"

He lifted the parchment in his hand and looked at them seriously. "Next time, make sure you've learned all this before graduation."

And with that, Sargeras turned and left the classroom under the awestruck gaze of the students, the hem of his long black robes swirling behind him as he strode away.

He moved briskly through the corridor—there was another Charms class about to begin.

The topic for the first lesson of the new term was Healing spells. Sargeras entered the classroom empty-handed.

"Today, we're going to talk about the distribution of magical energy nodes in healing spells." His voice rang especially clear in the quiet room. "After two sessions of theory, we'll begin practical training."

With a light wave of his wand, the blackboard lit up on its own, revealing a detailed diagram of the spell's structure and energy pathways.

"Remember these three steps," Sargeras said, his tone more serious than usual. "First, cast a counter-spell. Second, scan for residual magic. Only then do you begin the healing process. I don't expect you to become St. Mungo's Healers, but at the very least…"

Without warning, he drew his wand across his own palm and blood gushed out instantly.

A sharp gasp swept through the classroom.

"Vulnera Sanentur," Sargeras recited the spell without flinching. The gash closed rapidly before their eyes, healing clean and smooth in mere seconds.

"At the very least," he continued calmly, "you should be able to handle some of life's minor emergencies on your own. I don't want to see you standing there with your hands in the air, helpless."

Ever since that point-deduction incident, the Slytherin students had been unusually well-behaved in his classes.

Sargeras found that quite satisfactory — although every time he crossed paths with Snape in the hallway, the man's gloomy expression could make the temperature drop by ten degrees.

Not that Sargeras cared. The old bat's face had never looked particularly cheerful towards him in the first place.

After class, he headed straight for Hagrid's hut. The autumn sun filtered through the shifting shadows of the Forbidden Forest, casting dappled light on the path and filling the air with a soft, peaceful warmth.

And yet, that good mood didn't last long.

It was promptly ruined by a gleaming golden figure.

"…All you have to do is sprinkle some of my specially crafted Sparkle Powder around the well, and I guarantee not a single Grindylow will dare come near it!" Lockhart was waving his arms dramatically as he tried to pitch his latest "invention" to Hagrid, the medals on his chest catching the sunlight and gleaming with exaggerated brilliance.

Hagrid looked thoroughly miserable, his broad face etched with reluctance while his thick fingers twisted at his beard in silent protest.

The moment Lockhart noticed Sargeras approaching, his whole expression froze up… clearly, the Tongue-Tying Curse from last time had left a deep impression on him.

"Ah, Professor Greengrass!"

No longer daring to call him just "Sargeras," Lockhart awkwardly straightened his collar, forcing a strained smile. "I just remembered… I still have a stack of fan letters I haven't answered yet…"

Sargeras merely gave him a cold glance, and that was all it took — Lockhart scurried off like a startled Niffler, vanishing almost immediately from sight.

"Thank Merlin… he's finally gone!" Hagrid let out a long sigh of relief. "He's more annoying than a pack o' Crups, isn't he?"

Sargeras gave a small nod, the corners of his lips curling faintly in agreement.

"Did yeh need somethin', Professor Greengrass?" Hagrid asked, his tone shifting back to earnest curiosity.

After Sargeras explained why he had come, Hagrid scratched his head. "A creature for yer Healing class, eh? What about the Grindylows in the Black Lake?"

Sargeras shook his head at the suggestion. "You know the Forbidden Forest better than anyone. Do you have anything else in mind that might be more suitable?"

"Er… gnomes? Or maybe a ghoul?"

He kept shaking his head.

In the end, Sargeras left empty-handed. But before he went, he asked Hagrid to gather a few Flobberworms for him when he had the chance.

However, just as he was walking past the Quidditch pitch, the sound of a heated argument drew his attention.

Slytherin and Gryffindor players were facing off each other at the center of the pitch. But what truly caught the eye — more than the shouting and the brooms or the uniforms — was the lone figure standing in the shadows of the stands…

Severus Snape!

His black robes melted into the darkness behind him, and in his eyes flickered a light that was difficult to read — cool, sharp, and heavy with meaning.

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[Chapter End's]

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