The air of final exams hung over Hogwarts like an invisible weight.
The Library overflowed with students, and the common rooms glowed late into the night. Young witches and wizards clutched thick textbooks and parchment scrolls, dark circles under their eyes as they muttered frantically to themselves, trying to cram knowledge into their weary minds.
The complex spells of Charms, the demanding Transfiguration practicals, the intricate formulas of Potions, and the dry timelines of the Goblin Rebellions in History of Magic—each was enough to drive them to the brink.
Just as this chaotic period of revision reached its peak, a piece of news exploded through the school like a burst dungbomb: Professor Lumina, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, had been admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!
The reason behind her hospitalization became the newest chapter in the long "Unlucky Legend" of the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
Reportedly, in an effort to ease her students' revision stress and pre-exam anxiety, Professor Lumina decided to brew a Calming Potion in her office.
...
She entered the room with practiced ease, humming an off-key tune, and began her work in high spirits.
It wasn't a complicated potion, and all the basic ingredients had been perfectly prepared. Before long, the liquid turned a soothing pale blue, giving off a gentle, refreshing scent of mint and chamomile.
Everything went according to plan. Professor Lumina even felt she was in excellent form—perhaps even inspired.
"Hm… maybe I could add a touch of luck?"
She noticed a bottle of golden Felix Felicis on the shelf—a small, precious gift she had once received from Nightingale.
Acting on impulse, or perhaps under the illusion that she was "in excellent form," she carefully drew a single drop of the potion with her finest glass dropper.
"Just a tiny bit—to add a touch of luck to the Calming Potion, so the students might have a spark of inspiration during their exams!"
Delighted by her clever idea, she tilted her wrist and let the shimmering golden drop fall neatly into the pale blue liquid.
But the expected blending of gold and blue into a radiant glow did not occur.
It wasn't that there was no reaction—it was just not the one she'd hoped for.
Bubble vubble gubble...
The potion began to churn violently. Its color darkened at once, turning murky black, and its texture thickened into something sticky and tar-like.
A moment later, an unbearable stench filled the room.
"It reeks!"
Kestrel cried out. Her nose had been close to the rim of the cauldron, and the noxious fumes rushed straight up her nostrils.
It was a vile smell—a sickening mix of sulfur, rotting fruit, and dead rats—everything she despised rolled into one.
"Urg.."
And then, at that instant, she felt it—an unseen hand of misfortune seemed to seize her throat.
Everything went dark.
The potion bottle suddenly exploded without warning. The black liquid splashed directly onto her head and face. She reached for her wand to clean herself, but the tip of the wand began spewing out bubbles, burying her in a mountain of froth.
When she finally struggled free and tried to cast a Cleaning Charm, the spell backfired inexplicably, sending every document in her office flying in chaotic swirls.
She stepped forward to leave, but her foot slipped, and she crashed into the bookshelf with a loud bang.
"Aw ow ow—Haah.. haah.. this day couldn't get any worse—"
The only heavy magic tome on the shelf promptly fell and struck her squarely on the head.
"Argh—!"
After a brief cry of pain, poor Kestrel, sporting a large bump on her forehead, fainted.
This strange chain of misfortunes had unfolded within mere seconds of her smelling the potion.
When Sagres heard the scream and rushed over, he found Kestrel in that pitiful state—half-buried in bubbles, covered in parchment, and lying unconscious with a large lump on her head amidst the chaos of her wrecked office.
At first, he suspected an attack, but after a brief investigation, he discovered that Kestrel had been struck by an unusually troublesome curse—one he had never encountered before.
Sagres acted swiftly, immediately taking the unconscious Kestrel to St. Mungo's.
Before leaving, he also collected the suspicious potions and sent Noctis to deliver messages to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.
...
When the Bronze Feather group arrived at St. Mungo's Hospital, Kestrel had already regained consciousness. After a thorough examination, Hummingbird finally confirmed her condition.
"Her external injuries aren't serious. A few days of rest will do," Hummingbird said, before her tone shifted slightly. "But the curse affecting her... will likely take quite some time to remove."
The others exchanged looks, while Kestrel, lying on the hospital bed, looked on the verge of tears.
"So... once my external injuries heal, I can be discharged?" she asked hopefully.
"I'm afraid not," Hummingbird replied firmly. "You must stay here until the effects of the curse completely subside."
Kestrel's face went pale. "How... how long will that take?"
"Perhaps a few months," Hummingbird said as she handed her a glass of water.
"A few months?!" Kestrel's voice shot up an octave. "You mean I have to stay in this bed the whole time?"
"Exactly," Hummingbird said without hesitation. "And you'll need to be under constant supervision by a Healer."
She met Kestrel's eyes, her tone calm but her words chilling. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to twist your ankle every time you get out of bed, choke every time you drink water, or gag every time you eat…"
"Alright, alright!" Kestrel hurriedly interrupted, pushing the offered glass of water back with trembling hands. "Thank you... I'm not thirsty right now..."
"Oh, and one more thing," Hummingbird continued seriously. "Absolutely no magic during this time. Also, speak slowly—so you don't bite your tongue."
Kestrel collapsed back against the bed, staring blankly up at the spotless white ceiling, as though her soul were about to drift out of her eyes.
The news spread to the school soon after.
The young witches and wizards' first reactions were shock and concern.
They truly liked their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—humorous, occasionally clumsy, but always full of passion.
However, when Professor McGonagall solemnly announced that, due to Professor Lumina's need for long-term recovery, the Defense Against the Dark Arts final exam for the semester was officially canceled…!!!
A complex, indescribable feeling swept through the castle—a mix of genuine sympathy and uncontrollable delight.
Everyone quietly prayed for Professor Lumina's quick recovery.
But deep down, in the hidden corners of their hearts, a small voice whispered with glee: One less exam! Merlin, what a blessing in disguise!
~~~~~~~
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