HP: Dangerous Professor from Azkaban

The moment the time-turner restarted, Sagres felt a strange sense of disjunction—!!

His mind felt like it was sinking into sticky honey, every thought struggling to push through layers of resistance; yet his body was incredibly light, as if every movement had been accelerated by a spell.

The scene before him began to fast-forward at an insane pace:

The four founders' wands wove a dazzling, flowing net, and the castle's foundation stones burst from the ground like bamboo shoots under the surge of magic.

The crater was instantly filled with azure lake water, reflecting the silhouette of the rising tower spire.

Figures flickered past like a revolving lantern: young wizards carrying heavy tomes darted through the corridors, newly hired professors in fluttering robes crossed the courtyard—some of them glanced curiously in Sagres's direction, but it was as if they were looking through frosted glass.

When the torrent of time finally subsided, Sagres stumbled and collapsed into the armchair in his office.

"Ugh.."

He rubbed his brow hard, and his mind and body finally resynchronized.

Trembling slightly, he unbuttoned his collar and checked the skin on his chest—no scars, no curse marks. Even the silver thread embroidery on his cuffs was intact.

The Ptolemaic armillary sphere lay quietly in his palm, its bronze surface still holding a warmth not belonging to this era, as if silently proving that none of it had been a dream.

"Wait!" Sagres frowned, confusion clouding his face. "Why am I in the office?"

He suddenly turned, sharply swinging his wand—the oak door burst open with a loud bang. In the corridor, another version of himself was gradually becoming transparent, like a faded oil painting.

"Tsk, it really was one minute!"

He closed the door and carefully put away the time-turner.

Then, in an uncharacteristically quiet moment, the always energetic professor drew the curtains before collapsing heavily onto the bed and falling into a deep sleep.

…

…

Time passed quickly, and Hogwarts soon entered a new school year.

During this period, Sagres didn't forget to take covert action to root out the cancerous remnants of the Bronze Feather Guild.

Not long ago, he received a letter from Nightingale. It simply stated that she had officially begun her tenure as the Potions Professor at Beauxbatons, and enclosed with it was a newspaper.

On the front page of The Pathfinder Daily, Aurors from the French Ministry of Magic proudly displayed the confiscated bronze badges.

"A Three-Year Pursuit Finally Concludes!" The gilded headline danced merrily. "The Notorious 'Bronze Feather' Organization Has Been Completely Wiped Out!"

In the corner of the photo, a mask pierced by a spell lay quietly in a pool of blood.

The report detailed the "thrilling encirclement"—how the stronghold was discovered through "reliable intelligence," and how deadly spells were "unavoidably" used during the engagement.

It was worth noting that all the deceased just happened to have corresponding records in the International Confederation of Wizards' wanted archives… With that, the matter was closed perfectly.

…

Over the summer, Sagres had nearly crossed the entire European continent searching for clues about the sands of time.

From the dragon blood black market in Bulgaria to the Ancient Runes research institute in Norway, he found nothing.

If it really came to it, he would just have to temporarily infiltrate the Department of Mysteries and borrow some for research—but it was fine; his study wasn't urgent at the moment, and he had plenty of time.

In the final week before school started, he held onto a last shred of hope and went to Diagon Alley, where he unexpectedly ran into a familiar figure in the rare book section of Flourish and Blotts—Gilderoy Lockhart, who was adjusting his golden curls in front of a mirror.

In Sagres's memory, this man's magical talent had always been unremarkable.

If he stood out in any way, it was due to his flair for self-promotion rather than academic merit.

Sagres had seen him many times in the Ravenclaw common room as a student, loudly boasting about achievements that clearly didn't exist.

When he graduated, he even left a message in magical ink on the wall of the common room: "When you see my name in the newspaper one day, don't be surprised—that's just the beginning of my brilliant life."

At the time, most of his classmates described him as "a joke who should be committed to St. Mungo's mental health ward."

But later developments surprised everyone—including Sagres.

Lockhart had been traveling the world since graduation and published his first book during that time—Voyages with Vampires—which made him an overnight sensation.

He then published Break with a Banshee, Gadding with Ghouls, Travels with Trolls, Year with a Yeti, and even an autobiography—Magical Me.

Sagres had skimmed through the books. Except for the last one, the others contained at least some genuine content, and he had begun to think this former upperclassman might not be entirely useless.

But now, this Ravenclaw alumnus seemed even more flamboyant than he had been back then—

His violet robes were adorned with at least twelve glowing medals, and every step he took left a trail of shimmering gold dust.

Sagres instinctively wanted to avoid him, but the other man spotted him immediately.

"Merlin's flawless beard! Isn't this our genius junior?" Lockhart's voice was like honeyed cheese—so cloyingly sweet it made Sagres's scalp tingle.

The freshly published hardcover edition of Magical Me hovered against his chest, its pages flipping on their own to show off exaggerated illustrations.

Sagres clearly remembered that when he had first entered school, this sixth-year senior was almost expelled for using a Memory Charm on his roommate—to make him forget he had cheated on an exam.

At the time, when caught, Lockhart had used this same nauseatingly sweet tone to beg the professors for leniency.

Sagres wanted to say something that would shut him up, so he casually asked, "It's you. About the Romanian demon hunter you mentioned in Year with a Yeti…"

Lockhart's mouth twitched unnaturally.

"Oh! My dear junior actually read it carefully!" he suddenly exclaimed, clapping Sagres warmly on the shoulder—so warmly, in fact, that the "Honorary Member of the Anti-Dark Magic League" badge on his chest dug painfully into Sagres's shoulder. "Speaking of which, I'm currently preparing a new book…"

He glanced left and right to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in close and whispered near Sagres's ear, "Have you seen the newspaper? Not The Daily Prophet, but France's The Pathfinder Daily—about the Bronze Feather!"

Sagres raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

Lockhart's voice carried an unmistakable smugness. "Those incompetent Aurors in France only solved the case thanks to my behind-the-scenes maneuvering. Although…"

He shrugged regretfully. "Although I may have been a bit heavy-handed in the end—well, when you're dealing with such vicious Dark Wizards, who can guarantee no mistakes?"

Sagres subtly pushed him back, a rare smile on his face. "Is that so? Then are you truly certain that every member of this so-called Bronze Feather has been apprehended?"

Lockhart's smile froze.

Sagres continued, "After all, they're dangerous Dark Wizards. What if someone escaped? Aren't you worried about retaliation?"

"Uh, haha…" Lockhart gave a dry chuckle, but quickly plastered his greasy smile back on. "Don't worry, Sagres. I didn't drive away the Banshee of Bandon with a grin for nothing. You know, even though I've won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five years running, I never brag about it."

Sagres smiled faintly. The Lockhart before him was exactly as he remembered. As for those books—well, perhaps the events were real, but they likely had little to do with Lockhart himself.

"Oh, by the way, my book signing is about to begin!" he said eagerly, grabbing Sagres's sleeve, his eyes gleaming. "Sagres, come along! Really, even though The Daily Prophet never says anything good about you…"

He lowered his voice, a hint of pride slipping in. "I'm an expert at dealing with those annoying reporters. I could teach you a few tricks—after all, geniuses should help each other, right?"

Sagres frowned slightly and impatiently pulled his sleeve away.

His long fingers swept lightly at his side, and an invisible Confundo silently settled over the babbling author.

"You've mistaken me for someone else," Sagres said calmly, his voice perfectly even. Then he turned and walked away—dealing with Lockhart was a complete waste of time.

Lockhart blinked in confusion, his gaze suddenly vacant. By the time he came to his senses, the black-robed wizard had already vanished around the corner.

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