Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon
The weight of final exams settled over Hogwarts like an invisible fog. It pressed against every stone wall and high-arched window until the castle itself seemed to hold its breath.
The library overflowed with anxious students, every table crammed with books stacked like miniature towers. Lamps in the common rooms burned through the night, their soft glow revealing pale faces and dark circled eyes. Young witches and wizards hunched over thick tomes and rolls of parchment, lips moving in a constant murmur as if sheer repetition could force facts into minds already close to smoking.
Charms with its endless incantations, Transfiguration with its unforgiving precision, Potions with recipes as intricate as a spider's web, and the dry, relentless lists of goblin rebellions in History of Magic… each subject felt like a mountain of its own, enough to leave even the most determined student exhausted and close to despair.
In the midst of this chaotic time of exam preparation, a piece of news burst through the castle like a dung bomb dropped in the middle of a silent hall. Professor Lumina, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, had been admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!
The reason for her sudden hospitalization quickly earned a place in the long, almost legendary chain of misfortunes that seemed to cling to every Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Rumour spread fast: in a fit of concern for her students' frayed nerves from endless revision and the growing weight of pre-exam anxiety, Professor Lumina had decided to brew a Calming Draught right there in her office. She stepped inside humming an off-key tune, light on her feet and in unusually cheerful spirits, and set to work as though she had done it a hundred times before.
The potion was a simple one. The ingredients were prepared to perfection, and the liquid soon turned a gentle blue, releasing a soft fragrance of mint and chamomile that promised ease and quiet thoughts. Everything followed the recipe as neatly as a well-drawn spell circle, and for a fleeting moment Professor Lumina felt inspired, as if fortune itself were leaning over her shoulder.
"Hmm… perhaps," she mused aloud, "a touch of good 'fortune' would make it even better."
Her eyes caught the gleam of a small vial on the shelf; a tiny bottle of Felix Felicis, liquid luck, gifted to her by Nightingale and more precious than gold.
Whether guided by impulse or that false sense of perfect control, she reached for the most delicate glass dropper and drew a single shining bead of the golden potion.
"Just a tiny drop," she whispered with a smile, "enough to bless this draught so the little ones can find a spark of brilliance when they face their exams."
Pleased with her own cleverness, she tilted the dropper with the faintest flick of her wrist. The droplet fell with perfect precision into the calm blue mixture, a flash of molten gold that vanished beneath the soothing color.
The vision she expected, a swirl of gold and blue unfurling into radiant light, never came. Yet the mixture did not stay peaceful either.
At once the surface began to roil, as though a storm had broken loose beneath. The blue darkened into a thick, muddy black, and the texture turned viscous, heavy as tar.
A moment later a stench rushed out so fiercely it seemed to claw at her nose.
"Auuuuh… it stinks," she gasped. Kestrel had leaned close to watch, nearly pressing her nose to the rim of the cauldron, and the reek speared straight into her sinuses before she could recoil.
It was a foulness like sulfur laced with rotting fruit, undercut by the dry, bitter tang of a dead rat left too long in the sun, a hideous blend of every odor she despised most, thick enough to make her eyes water.
Then it struck…
It felt as though an invisible hand of misfortune closed tight around her throat and the world went dark at the edges of her sight.
The bottle of potion burst without warning. Black liquid splattered over her face and hair, drenching her from head to toe into a foul mess. She snatched for her wand to clean the mess but the tip erupted in a spray of bubbles, frothy and relentless, swallowing her in a mountain of foam.
She fought her way free with a gasp and tried a fresh cleaning charm. The spell snapped back at her instead, ricocheting around the room and sending every sheet of parchment into a frantic whirlwind.
She staggered toward the door, desperate to escape the chaos, but her foot slipped on the slick floor. With a hard crack she slammed shoulder first into the bookcase. From the top shelf the heaviest volume tumbled down and struck her square on the crown of her head.
"Ah—"
Her cry was short and sharp. Poor Kestrel collapsed with a swelling lump already rising.
All this string of disasters, each one stranger than the last and falling into place like the steps of a curse, had unfolded in scarcely ten heartbeats after she first inhaled the potion's fumes.
When Sargeras heard the scream and rushed inside, this was the sight that met him: Kestrel submerged in bubbles, buried under parchment, lying unconscious in the middle of the wreckage with a painful bump swelling high on her head.
At first he thought an attack had taken place, but a swift examination told another story. She had been struck by a curse of rare and stubborn nature, one he had never encountered before.
Sargeras made his decision without hesitation. He gathered the unconscious Kestrel into his arms and hurried toward St. Mungo's. Yet before leaving he carefully collected a few suspicious vials from the wreckage and sent Noctis with a message to Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.
————————————————————
By the time the members of Bronze Feather reached St. Mungo's, Kestrel had already regained consciousness. After a long and careful series of diagnostic, Hummingbird finally delivered her verdict on the girl's condition.
"The external injuries are not serious. A few days of rest will heal them," Hummingbird said, her voice gentle for a moment before turning grave. "But the curse that clings to her… it will likely take a considerable amount of time to dispel."
The group exchanged uneasy glances. Only Kestrel, lying pale against the white pillows, looked as if she might cry.
"So… once the bruises heal, I can leave the hospital?" she asked, hope flickering in her eyes.
"I'm afraid not," Hummingbird answered with quiet firmness. "You must stay until the curse's effect subsides."
Kestrel's face instantly drained of color. Her lips trembled as she whispered, "How… how long will that take?"
"Perhaps several months." Hummingbird offered her a cup of clear water as she spoke.
"Several months?!" Kestrel's voice leapt in pitch. "I have to stay in this bed the whole time?"
"Yes," Hummingbird said, calm and absolute. "And you must remain under a healer's constant watch for as long as it takes."
She looked straight into Kestrel's eyes, her voice calm yet carrying the weight of each word like a pebble falling into still water. "Unless you are ready to rise from bed only to twist your ankle with every step. Unless you are willing to drink and feel the liquid catch in your throat each time. Unless you wish to eat and discover that every bite lodges fast, refusing to go down…"
"All right, all right!" Kestrel flung up a hand to stop her, heart skipping at the vivid images. She pushed the water back across the table as if it were suddenly dangerous. "Thank you… I am not thirsty right now."
"Oh… and one more thing." Hummingbird's tone grew even more solemn. "During this time you must not use magic. You should even slow your speech so you do not risk biting your tongue."
Kestrel let herself fall back onto the pillows, limp with resignation. She stared up at the ceiling so white it almost hurt her eyes, her gaze empty as if her spirit were ready to drift out and escape the room entirely.
News of her condition soon reached the school.
The first response among the young witches and wizards was shock and genuine concern. They truly liked their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, the one who could make even the darkest subject feel bright with humor and who sometimes grew adorably scatterbrained yet never lost her fiery enthusiasm.
Yet when Professor McGonagall, solemn as stone, announced that because Professor Lumina required long-term rest the Defence Against the Dark Arts final exam for the term was officially cancelled, a different feeling crept through the castle.
It was a complicated mood, a tangle of heartfelt sympathy and a ripple of barely hidden delight.
Every student whispered a silent prayer for Professor Lumina's swift recovery. But somewhere deep inside, a small secret voice cheered with irrepressible glee. One less exam! By Merlin's beard, what a stroke of luck wrapped in misfortune.
**
**
[IMAGE]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Chapter End's]
🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍
Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:
https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst
Extra Content Already Available