Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

As the cheers were about to overturn the arena, Vid and Harry quietly retreated from the platform.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick stood not far away, their faces brimming with uncontrollable joy, though Professor McGonagall’s face showed a hint of paleness, still seemingly worried about the students.

They waved to signal the two to come over. As they approached, Professor McGonagall immediately stepped forward, grasping Harry’s shoulders tightly.

”That was magnificent, Potter!”

Professor McGonagall’s voice trembled slightly:

”Outstanding, whether it was the dive past the Fire Dragon or the decisive victory over that Durmstrang... Oh, you need to see Madam Pomfrey... and you too, Gray. Filius, take Gray to the medical tent...”

Professor Flitwick was pulling Vid, almost spinning in excitement and immediately pushed Vid aside upon hearing this:

”Yes, yes, yes, you need to see Madam Pomfrey first.”

”I’m not injured, Professor,” Vid said.

”Oh, my child, not all wounds needing healing are visible.” Professor Flitwick said with a smile: ”Madam Pomfrey knows what to do.”

”Sorry, Professor,” Vid said softly, ”I didn’t follow your advice.”

”No, no, no, dear Vid, I did suggest you keep a low profile in the competition, but there’s nothing bad about this... no, it’s even better.”

Professor Flitwick showed no intention of blaming him; instead, he beamed warmly, saying in a cheerful tone:

”Seeing your performance on the field reminded me of my younger self—spirited, fearless, astonishing everyone with my power!”

”Merlin!”

Professor Flitwick suddenly took out a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at the moist corner of his eye:

”I almost forgot my own youth, asking you to conceal your talents... To ensure the competition went smoothly, I made you endure, even withstand some grievances and gossip...”

”But young people should be as they are, maintain this vigor, child! Let everyone know that Ravenclaw shines at pivotal moments, not just cowards who preserve themselves!”

”Who would dare say you’re cowardly, Professor?” Vid laughed: ”You’re the champion of the dueling tournament, regardless of the opponent, I believe you have the courage to face them.”

”Haha, those are old tales, I didn’t expect you to remember.” Professor Flitwick tried to suppress the curve of his lips: ”Maybe after you graduate, you can also enter the dueling tournament. With your skill, you’re sure to bring back another championship.”

The two chatted and laughed all the way to the medical tent, lifting the heavy canvas door and finding the space inside astonishingly large, with dozens of beds arranged in two rows, over half of which were occupied by patients.

Some people’s robes were scorched, with extensive burns on their bodies; some had thick green ointment covering their faces, moaning in pain; others had arms or legs in slings, sitting on the bed with darkened faces, dejected.

Many injured were still unconscious, emanating the smell of magic potions.

In such a situation, Madam Pomfrey naturally couldn’t handle it alone, so the Ministry of Magic specially enlisted several healers from St Mungo’s, bustling like hummingbirds between the beds.

”The last time I saw something like this was during the chaos at the Quidditch World Cup night!”

A bald healer loudly complained while smearing ointment on a student’s arm: ”What’s the Ministry of Magic thinking? Letting students fight dragons? Even adults wouldn’t dare!”

”I’ve long said this competition should never be held again! Haven’t lessons from hundreds of years ago been enough?”

Another female healer with gold-rimmed glasses coldly said: ”Some fools just want big headlines without caring about others’ lives!”

”Come here, child.”

Another kindly-faced healer pulled Harry over, glanced at the wound on his leg, and gasped in shock, showing a look of sympathy on her round face.

”Good heavens, did you walk like this? Poor child, how much it must hurt?”

She waved her magic wand, sending Harry onto a bed, took out a potion bottle, and carefully dripped the liquid onto the wound.

Just finished with one wounded, Madam Pomfrey hurried over, eyeing Vid up and down, asking in surprise: ”Gray, you’re uninjured?”

Vid smiled: ”I was lucky.”

No sooner had he spoken than the groans in the tent ceased instantly, all still-conscious champions turned their gaze towards Vid, eyes like daggers.

Amina sat up abruptly, her face iron-cold; Olga’s expression was somber with an enigmatic glint in her eyes; Stella snorted, turning her back to Vid.

Even Krum, who hadn’t met Vid, was watching him with a serious expression, frowning, seemingly deep in thought.

Of course, some remained calm, even giving Vid a slight nod—such as Uagadou’s Babua—but such individuals were scarce.

During prior treatment, several St Mungo’s healers heard of Vid’s exploits from student complaints, their actions slowed, exchanging surprised looks, stealing glances at Vid at the door.

Madam Pomfrey kept a stern face, unmoved by others’ emotions, raising her wand to examine Vid once more.

”Indeed, no traces of magical injury...”

She muttered while taking a light blue potion from the shelf, thrusting it into Vid’s hand, leaving no room for refusal.

Vid looked at the potion, resisting, and said: ”Madam Pomfrey, I really don’t need—”

”No, you need it.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice carried an authoritative firmness: ”You think casting spells continuously has no mental toll? Drink it, this sedative will relax your taut nerves!”

Vid threw a pleading look at Professor Flitwick, only to see that the head of house, who had treated him like a treasure earlier, was now three meters away, staring at the tent’s pattern as if there was deep magic involved.

”Alright.” He sighed, uncorked the bottle, and drank it all at once, its notoriously awful taste making him grimace.

A coolness flowed down his throat into his stomach, spreading through his body, his heartbeat slowed, his mind cleared as if washed by a spring, the emotions from the competition quickly left him, making him feel like an observer.

Only then did Madam Pomfrey nod in satisfaction, gesturing to an empty bed for Vid to sit down, saying: ”Alright, rest quietly for a while. When the competition is completely over, someone will call you out.”

She briskly walked towards another unconscious student, just then, the tent’s flap was lifted once more, a student, charred and bloodied, was brought in.

Vid turned to glance, recognizing him as Ito Tai from the Magic Institute.

The healer who quickly ran to receive the patient emitted a sharp exclamation, and the Auror who brought the injured in explained in a low, contrite voice:

”It was the Hungarian Horntail... That big guy was already enraged by the previous champions, this kid was trying to imitate Potter’s flight, but got caught by the Fire Dragon while dodging...”

Harry had almost forgotten the intimidation brought by the Fire Dragon before, but seeing the almost lifeless student now, cold sweat quietly emerged on his back.