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St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Ward for Cursed Wounds…
"What in Merlin's name happened here?"
Sargeras broke the silence at last, his face set in a hard, unforgiving line.
Nightingale's brow also furrowed tight. "How could a curse this powerful take hold?"
"I… I only brewed a little calming draught…" Kestrel's voice trailed off until it was barely more than a breath.
"Calming Draught?" Everyone spoke at once, their surprise sharpening the air.
Thunderbird tilted his head in confusion and asked, "Why would you bother with that?"
Kestrel lowered her eyes and tried to explain, her words hesitant. "The students were wound so tight while they revised. Every one of them looked miserable. I t-thought… it might help."
"The recipe," Nightingale pressed, her voice quiet but cutting. "Give me every step exactly as you brewed it."
"The formula's on my worktable, though I remember it by heart." Kestrel obediently recited the entire potion, each ingredient and measure. Nightingale listened without a word, her eyes narrowing as she checked for flaws. When the litany ended, she gave a slight shake of her head. "No mistakes in the recipe itself."
"And the procedure?" Nightingale's tone grew sharper, as if she were stripping the brew down to its bones.
Kestrel described each motion in painstaking detail.
As the account unfolded, Nightingale's expression darkened, the change as gradual and certain as dusk settling over stone.
"You reversed the order when you added the armadillo bile," she said at last.
"What?" Kestrel's own shock burst out before she could contain it.
"But if it were only the order of ingredients, it should never have produced anything this dangerous…" Nightingale murmured, her gaze sharp and unyielding as it fixed on Kestrel. "Did you… add something else?"
"…"
Kestrel's eyes darted away, and her lips trembled with words she refused to speak.
Sargeras caught the flicker of guilt instantly. He leaned forward, his eyes piercing into hers. "You will tell us everything. If you want this curse lifted, you cannot hide a single thing."
The air inside the ward grew heavy, as if a storm cloud had settled above them. Every pair of eyes was locked on Kestrel. Under that weight, the young witch shrank, her shoulders curling in on themselves.
"It was just…" Her voice trembled so softly it was almost a mosquito's buzz. "Just at the very end… I added one drop of Felix Felicis."
Nightingale's brows twitched upward in a sudden motion.
"I… I thought maybe if the younger students drank it, they might… have a little luck during their exams…"
Her words dwindled to nothing, swallowed by the folds of the blanket she clutched like a shield.
A handful of sighs broke the stillness in the ward, weary and incredulous all at once.
Several of them lifted their hands to their foreheads and drew in a deep breath, as if they needed a moment to process the sheer recklessness of that choice.
Sargeras reached into the satchel he had carried from Kestrel's workspace and brought out a small vial filled with a dark, ominous brew. He had collected it before bringing her to the hospital.
"This one?" he asked.
Kestrel gave the potion a timid glance. The faint, unsettling shimmer inside made her throat tighten. She forced herself to nod.
Nightingale took the small vial with a grave expression. She raised it to the light and studied the contents. Beneath the glow, the liquid seemed bottomless, a darkness that swallowed the lamp's reflection.
"An unknown, extremely rare potion mutation," she murmured softly, her eyes never leaving the inky swirl. "A cursed potion of extraordinary force."
Thunderbird stepped closer. "What does it do?"
"I cannot say for certain, but I suspect it brings misfortune to anyone who comes near…" Nightingale tilted the vial, watching the shadowed liquid slide along the glass. "If Felix Felicis brings luck, then this may be its opposite, a draught of sheer ill fate."
Everyone went still. The thought struck them all at once, leaving the same bleak expression on every face.
They stared at the small black potion and felt a chill climb from the soles of their feet. Thunderbird muttered quietly, words escaping before he could stop them. "Hard to tell if your luck is good or just plain cursed…"
Nightingale set the vial carefully on the table, her expression growing even more solemn. "A cursed potion…" she said. "Its nature is unknown, its effects unknown, and the method to break it is even less certain. What matters now is to discover how the curse is triggered."
She turned to Sargeras. "I need to return to Beauxbatons. The alchemy labs and testing instruments there may tell us more."
Sargeras gave a single firm nod.
Swift approached the table, curiosity and unease mixed in his eyes. He leaned closer to the small black vial, frowning hard. "Just this one little bottle? It really holds something that dangerous?"
It was not doubt of Nightingale's skill that made him question. He had simply never heard of anything like it and could not help himself.
He lifted the vial lightly, weighing it in his palm. The glass felt cool and heavier than it looked. He shook his head with a trace of disbelief and glanced at Kestrel. "With a color like this, how did you even dare drink it?"
"I never drank it—" Kestrel's eyes fixed on the ceiling as she corrected him in a flat, dry voice. "I just sniffed it."
Swift froze, his body bending unconsciously toward the bottle, nose almost at the cork..
Sargeras reacted in a flash. His wand flicked through the air. "Colloportus."
A streak of light snapped across the vial. The stopper tightened immediately under an invisible force.
Everyone's hearts clenched, and they exchanged uneasy glances. The ward was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
"…Did you smell anything at all?" Sargeras asked after a heartbeat. His voice was quiet but carried a sharp edge.
"Uh…" Swallow frowned, searching his memory. "There was a hint of… rotten egg? And maybe… something like cheap perfume?"
Kestrel turned to him in surprise. "That can't be right. I don't remember it smelling like that when I brewed it…"
Swift started to answer but Sargeras raised a hand, stopping him.
Nightingale spoke again. Her words held a chill that slid into the room like winter air. "The scent of Felix Felicis changes for each person. No matter what, it always smells like the drinker's favorite fragrance. So its opposite, this draught of ill fate, would almost certainly…"
"The smell each person hates the most?" Swift ventured, his face paling as the thought struck him.
"Exactly," Nightingale said with quiet certainty.
Swift swallowed hard, the motion stiff and audible. "Then… does that mean I am already affected?" His voice wavered as though the answer might splinter him.
No one spoke. Their silence settled heavy in the room, a wordless confirmation.
Sargeras broke it at last, his tone decisive. "Nightingale… return to Beauxbatons at once. You must find out exactly what this potion does and how to break its curse as quickly as you can."
He paused and let out a thin, rueful breath. "…Because I may have been caught as well."
"What?" The word burst from everyone's throat in unison.
"When I was in Kestrel's office," Sargeras said, his voice calm but tinged with resignation, "I caught a strong whiff of exhaust fumes. The kind you notice when a muggle car idles too long."
"This…" Thunderbird also spoke hesitantly, recalling the moment Swift had opened the bottle. "When Swift opened it just now, I was standing close. I think… I might have breathed in a faint dusty scent."
Every gaze immediately swung first to Hummingbird and then to Nightingale.
Hummingbird's face shifted as if the truth had just dawned on her. She spoke in a small voice. "Uh… I think I smelled something foul too. Just a trace, though."
Nightingale, by contrast, let out a slow breath of relief. "I stood farther back, and the moment the bottle opened… I cast a Bubble-Head Charm on myself. I did not smell a thing."
"So…" Sargeras looked around at the others, his eyes lingering on each in turn. "Aside from Nightingale, the five of us — Kestrel, Swift, Thunderbird, Hummingbird, and myself — have all been marked."
"Would the dose matter? Could it fade faster if we breathed in less?" Swift asked, clinging to a thin thread of hope.
"Perhaps," Sargeras replied, his gaze lingering on Kestrel where she sat slumped on the bed, her expression one of quiet despair. "But I would not expect it to last less than forty-eight hours."
Nightingale studied her companions, who were about to be plagued by bad luck. Her tone was soft with sympathy yet carried a clear warning. "The next few days will demand caution. You will need to move through them quietly, as though… well, you are living 'low-key' lives."
A chorus of sighs filled the ward, heavy with resignation and a touch of dark humor.
They all understood what her word "low-key" truly meant. For a while, they would need to treat every step, every sip of water, even every breath as though the smallest carelessness might invite disaster.
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[Chapter End's]
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