The chaos at St. Mungo's gradually subsided, and Nightingale departed for Beauxbatons with the unknown potion, leaving Sagres and the other five staring at one another in the ward.
The air still seemed to carry traces of each person's "most hated smell," along with a lingering heaviness—misfortune clinging to them like a parasite.
"I must return to Hogwarts," Sagres broke the silence, his voice calm yet resolute. "The final exams can't be delayed. The papers aren't finalized, and the invigilation schedules still need confirmation."
He looked at the dejected Kestrel lying on the bed. "Rest well. Nightingale will find a way to lift the curse. As for the rest of you…"
His gaze swept over Swift, Thunderbird, and Hummingbird. "Stay somewhere safe, keep your movements minimal, and wait for Nightingale's report."
Swift glanced down at the hand that had just held the potion, her expression bitter. "Mr. Raven, are you sure it's alright for you to go back now?"
Thunderbird and Hummingbird also exchanged worried looks.
Sagres took a deep breath, suppressing the irritation brought on by the misfortune potion. "It's my duty. Besides, Hogwarts is relatively safe. I'll remain in my office and avoid moving around unnecessarily."
He tried to maintain his composure, as if the invisible curse were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
Then, in his mind, he pictured a quiet, open landing spot outside Hogwarts—a patch of grass by the Black Lake, far from the Whomping Willow.
He murmured the spell for Apparition, the words swift and precise. The air around him began to twist and compress...
But just as his feet were about to touch the ground at Hogwarts, the long-dormant "bad luck" finally took effect.
Pfft—!
A faint but chilling tearing sound suddenly rang out.
Sagres appeared on the grass, staggering slightly, his usually composed face showing a flicker of shock.
A sharp pain throbbed through his left hand.
Looking down, he saw that his left pinky finger was missing from the second joint. The severed edge was unnaturally smooth—so smooth that not even a drop of blood had flowed out.
Splinched.
A mistake so elementary he hadn't made it once in over ten years of practicing magic.
Sagres frowned, crouched down immediately, and began searching through the dense grass for the missing piece.
Fortunately, the splinching was minor, and the severed finger was close by.
Within seconds, he spotted it—the pale pink finger lying quietly among a few clover leaves.
He carefully picked it up, aligned it precisely with the wound, and pointed his wand at the joint.
"Ossibus ad Carnem!"
A soft, milky-white light glowed from the tip of his wand, enveloping the wound and the severed finger.
Sagres could feel the tissues knitting back together under the spell's effect.
Moments later, his finger was whole again.
"Phew…" He let out a slow breath, feeling as though he had just endured a battle.
Apparition?
He probably wouldn't attempt it again until the curse was completely gone.
Taking out his Bronze Feather badge, he sent a brief message to the others: Avoid using Apparition. Use Portkeys, the Floo Network, or the Knight Bus instead.
...
Sagres had always believed that with his level of skill, such basic magic could never go wrong.
But he had been careless.
It seemed Dumbledore had been right—his ingrained arrogance was something he rarely noticed, let alone corrected.
Knowing that misfortune clung to him, he should never have risked using dangerous spells.
Dragging his weary body, Sagres made his way back to Hogwarts Castle.
He ignored all greetings along the way, heading straight for his office and firmly locking the wooden door behind him.
"Nowhere to go…"
He muttered to himself, his gaze settling on the thick stack of parchment atop his desk—the unfinished drafts of the final exam papers.
For now, that would be his only task.
…
Time crawled by, marked by a string of relentless misfortunes.
After enduring two magical quills that rebelled and a piece of parchment that burst into flames on its own, exam week finally arrived as scheduled.
Two days had passed since the initial exposure to the curse. Swift and Thunderbird had mostly recovered, but the misfortune clinging to Sagres remained stubbornly persistent.
Invigilating the exams himself would likely be a disaster, so he took the safest course of action: having Noctis invigilate in his place, with all exams limited strictly to written tests.
Surprisingly, the examinations proceeded smoothly in his absence. When the final bell rang, the students handed in their papers with visible relief and began to leave the classroom.
Watching through Noctis's eyes, Sagres observed the stack of completed exams piling up. The tension that had gripped him for days finally began to ease.
"Go find Dobby."
Sagres gave the command to Noctis.
The raven's dark eyes reflected his calm, unreadable expression before it silently spread its wings and disappeared into the shadowed depths of the Forbidden Forest.
For the sake of safety—or rather, to minimize the chance of triggering another round of bad luck—Sagres had decided not to move unless absolutely necessary.
After all, any unnecessary action might just invite disaster.
Before long, with a faint pop, the House-elf Dobby appeared at his feet. His large, tennis-ball-like eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
"The great master has summoned Dobby? Dobby is willing to do anything for you! Anything!"
"Quiet, Dobby." Sagres's tone was steady, his calm gaze sweeping over the elf. "Do you see that pile of exam papers?"
Dobby followed his line of sight to the desk, where a thick stack of parchment rolls sat beside an ink-dipped quill.
"Yes, yes, Master! Dobby sees them! Dobby can—"
"Good," Sagres interrupted, giving his instructions clearly. "I need you to grade them. Listen carefully—the grading criteria are as follows: three points for correctly describing key spell steps, two points for fully writing out the spell's developmental process…"
But just as he was dictating the details, the cursed bad luck struck once again.
His tongue, seemingly with a will of its own, slipped and hit his teeth.
"…"
A sharp sting followed.
He frowned slightly, though his composure remained flawless. Quickly pressing his tongue against the bitten spot, he tasted the faint trace of iron.
Without a change in expression, and without pausing for more than half a second, he continued as if nothing had happened: "…for two points. A clear theoretical explanation but lacking practical examples…"
Yet misfortune wasn't finished.
He had barely spoken two more sentences when his tongue, as if possessed, betrayed him again—sliding straight into his teeth.
"…Ow-Sss!"
This time, the pain was unmistakable.
Sagres's jaw tightened for a moment, a flicker of helplessness flashing in his eyes.
He took a deep breath, forcing down the discomfort, and gently pressed his tongue against the inside of his mouth to confirm it hadn't actually broken the skin. Then, maintaining his composure, he continued speaking without slowing his pace: "…support, deduct one point. Answers completely off-topic or causing dangerous results receive zero points."
Sagres pressed his lips together, his tongue curling briefly inside his mouth.
He paused—not from pain, but to make sure it wouldn't happen a third time.
The odds felt exceptionally high today. He closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them, his expression once again calm and collected.
Looking at Dobby, his tone remained even. "Have you memorized everything? Follow these standards exactly. No improvisation."
Dobby's large eyes widened even further. That subtle pause, the barely audible hiss, had made his long ears twitch nervously, but he dared not ask. He only nodded vigorously.
"Dobby understands! Dobby will follow every instruction! Not a single word wrong! Dobby promises!"
He solemnly approached the stack of exam papers, gingerly picked up the quill, and began his work with an almost tragic air—as though he weren't grading exam papers, but the Book of Life and Death itself.
~~~~~~~
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