Purgato leporem maxima.
Sagres waved his wand, and a soft blue light flashed, instantly restoring the grimy corridor to a spotless state.
Even the thick ink clinging to the mop head vanished, leaving behind only the worn, but now clean, cloth strips.
The mop seemed to hesitate, as if puzzled by the sudden disappearance of its "water," but then instinctively attempted to dip itself into the ink-filled iron bucket again.
"...I suggest you check your mop, Mr. Filch. Its magical sensing appears to be completely malfunctioning. Professor Lumina's modifications are clearly flawed."
His tone was terse, offering no repair advice.
"I... I'll deal with this blasted mop!"
Filch ground out the words between clenched teeth, his voice laced with suppressed rage, and kicked the still-creaking automatic mop.
The mop toppled over with a metallic groan and finally fell silent.
Sagres remained impassive, as though Filch's reaction had unfolded exactly as expected.
He gave a slight nod, his movements elegant and detached. "Then I'll be going, Mr. Filch. I have class."
...
When Sagres stepped into the classroom, books tucked neatly under his arm, the room was already full.
Since that duel, his classes had become increasingly popular, with many students requesting permission from their Heads of House to audit.
Sagres himself remained completely indifferent to this.
So when the Heads of House handed him the long list of applications, he approved them all without even glancing at it.
Sagres simply didn't care whether these young wizards were genuinely eager to learn or merely wanted to join the excitement.
After all, it made no difference whether he was herding one sheep or two. Besides, he never assigned homework, so there was no additional burden—it didn't matter either way.
He scanned the new faces in the classroom: Ginny Weasley and ...sigh.. her close friend Astoria Greengrass, Luna Lovegood from first year, Neville Longbottom from second year—even Draco Malfoy sat up straight, with his sidekick Goyle squeezed into the back row.
"Professor, is that ink bottle in your hand... does it contain Peeves?" Penelope Clearwater asked, raising her hand.
Sagres didn't hide it. He simply nodded and passed the ink bottle down for the students to examine.
"Say goodbye to him. You probably won't see Peeves for quite some time."
"Really?"
The students were surprised and delighted.
It seemed no one was upset about Peeves's temporary absence—and if there was any disappointment, it was only because he might return someday.
"Probably," Sagres replied, opening his textbook without looking up. "He's going to assist a researcher on a project about poltergeist ecology."
The students eagerly passed the ink bottle around, occasionally giving it a shake and enjoying the sight of Peeves inside—grimacing, pounding the glass, and flailing about in vain as he was jostled.
Estimating that enough time had passed, Sagres retrieved the ink bottle, placed it steadily on the podium, and announced the start of class.
But halfway through the lesson, the classroom door was gently pushed open again.
Professor McGonagall's stern figure appeared in the doorway.
"Excuse me, Sagres." Her sharp gaze fell directly on a boy in the back row.
Sagres raised an eyebrow, signaling her to speak her mind.
"Mr. Longbottom," Professor McGonagall's voice carried an undeniable urgency, "please come with me."
Neville Longbottom's face instantly turned pale, and he quickly began packing up his textbooks.
The surrounding students, especially Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looked at him with concern.
Sagres merely nodded slightly, indicating Neville could leave.
The boy nearly stumbled out of the classroom. The moment the door closed, a wave of hushed discussion spread through the room.
"Quiet."
The single word was like a basin of ice water, instantly silencing all chatter. The Mechanical Mind once again enveloped the classroom, and the students immediately refocused on the lesson.
...
...
The next morning, as Sagres returned to his simply furnished office from the Library, he saw The Daily Prophet that had just been delivered to his desk.
A massive headline practically covered the entire front page:
"Medical Miracle! St. Mungo's Solves Crucio's Permanent Damage Problem! 21 People, Including the Longbottoms, Regain Consciousness!"
Below the headline was a photograph: in a bright ward at St. Mungo's, Frank and Alice Longbottom—the Auror heroes who had been driven to mental collapse by Death Eater torture using the Cruciatus Curse—now, though still looking sickly, no longer had empty, dazed eyes.
They held each other's hands tightly, weak smiles on their faces, while Neville stood between them, wiping away tears in the photo, though his lips struggled to form a smile.
The article detailed how Mirabella Rolson, a senior Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, after years of research, had recreated an ancient soul-repairing spell, successfully reversing what had previously been considered permanent mental damage.
The Longbottoms were among the first patients to receive full treatment and achieve groundbreaking recovery.
The final paragraph of the article was phrased with the usual cautious optimism of official statements:
"...Given the epoch-making significance of this breakthrough in magical medical research, and the immense blessing it brings to victims of Dark Arts torture, Ministry of Magic officials have revealed that Healer Mirabella Rolson, the researcher behind this project, is highly likely to be nominated for her 'pioneering contribution' and is expected to receive an Order of Merlin (rank to be determined).
Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge will issue a formal statement this Thursday."
Sagres's gaze lingered for a moment on the line about the Order of Merlin.
His fingers unconsciously tapped lightly on the smooth mahogany desk, creating a soft, rhythmic patter.
So Neville's parents had been among the Hummingbird's patients. That was something he hadn't known.
There was no visible joy or excitement on his face.
Deep down, regarding the Longbottoms' recovery, he might have felt a trace of approval for Neville—his student who was always somewhat clumsy but remarkably resilient. This child's long-suffering path had finally reached a turning point.
But that approval remained buried beneath his usual calm.
As for the Order of Merlin, so heavily emphasized and hyped by The Daily Prophet...
Sagres picked up the cup of now-cold tea from the desk and took a sip. A bitter taste spread across his tongue.
A medal? An honor?
A faint curve tugged at the corner of his mouth—tinged with a knowing irony.
Neville's parents were back. That was good. A broken family restored.
St. Mungo's breakthrough? Worth recognition.
Order of Merlin? A grand performance was about to begin.
He casually pushed The Daily Prophet—with its headlines on "medical miracles" and "medal speculation"—to the corner of the desk and picked up a blank piece of parchment to begin writing a letter:
~~~~~~~~~
To Mr. Lyle Lupin
Mr. Lupin,
I hope this letter finds you well.
Enclosed is a special package.
You will find it contains Hogwarts' resident troublemaker—Peeves.
Perhaps he has recently had a change of heart and wishes to contribute to the advancement of magical research. Or perhaps he simply wants to experience the world beyond the Castle.
In any case, at the unanimous request of the Hogwarts staff, students, and ghosts, I have decided to temporarily send him away.
Your prior research on the nature of poltergeists left a strong impression on me, especially your conjectures regarding their energy core and their anchoring mechanisms to specific locations.
I believe Peeves, as a live specimen, may offer some unique and practical data for your unfinished work.
Please feel free to observe as needed—and I hope Peeves's noble sacrifice will not be in vain.
Important Note: The seal on the bottle's mouth was applied by me. Once the cap is removed, the contract bond between Peeves and the Castle will activate immediately, drawing him back here.
Therefore, please limit your observations to non-invasive methods—unless, of course, you wish for his immediate return to Hogwarts.
Sincerely,
Sagres Greengrass
Professor of Advanced Charm Theory and Practice
~~~~~~~~~
Sagres folded the letter neatly, placed it along with the ink bottle into a secure package, and then summoned Noctis.
After sending off the raven, he prepared to visit Professor McGonagall—the Deputy Headmistress had witnessed him imprisoning Peeves in an ink bottle the day before.
He felt it necessary to inform her, as she oversaw all of Hogwarts' financial expenditures.
After all, Peeves was technically considered part of the school's property, wasn't he?
~~~~~~~
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