Chapter 59: Chapter 59: This Must Be a Curse!
Stumbling upon Harry and Ron during his leisurely walk did not, in the slightest, dampen Professor Sherlock Forester's mood, despite their suspicious behavior.
Every year when the Christmas season was in full swing, the temperature plummeted drastically, allowing a sheet of ice to form on the surface of the Black Lake. From the lofty heights of the castle windows, it proposed an illusion of a mirror snugly placed amidst the snowy landscape.
Sherlock was drawn to the spectacle when he reached the lake; a longing grew within him to skate across this winter wonderland. However, he checked himself out of respect for the lingering students and for maintaining the facade of his character.
Circling the lake led him to the mangled Whomping Willow, the damage inflicted by Harry and Ron at the beginning of the term still apparent. Suddenly, the tranquillity was disrupted by the beginnings of an argument amongst students.
"Why are you here, Weasley?" An arrogantly playful voice reverberated through the air. It belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy, flanked as usual by his unwavering cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. At the receiving end of Draco's sneer was Percy Weasley, the third offspring of the Weasley lineage. Percy wore an expression of utmost irritation at Draco's comments.
"Draco, you should accord at least some respect to your prefect!" he retorted, "Your behavior is unbefitting!" Draco countered with a contemptuous snicker.
"Why, you are merely a prefect of Gryffindor. So, you have no authority over me." Draco's tone transitioned towards a more mellow note while still holding onto the jest.
"You should be well aware by now. Thanks to your reckless younger brother, your father was fined 50 Galleons. That must be your family's entire fortune, right? How pitiful! I'm guessing your Christmas gift from your mother this year was a stale sandwich?" Draco let out a hearty laugh, joined by Goyle and Crabbe.
After observing Percy's face twisted with outrage, Draco's gloom lightened up. Having been meted out cleaning duties by Sherlock, Draco's days had been dreary. When he sought Snape's assistance to override the punishment, Snape coldly retorted that 'it was well deserved,' making matters worse for Draco.
A few days earlier, the Ministry of Magic, under the influence of Draco's father, had fined Mr. Weasley on account of Harry and Ron's flying car incident. The sum, 50 Galleons, was roughly three months' salary for Mr. Weasley. This, however, was not as satisfying as Draco and his father had anticipated—Mr. Weasley being fired.
Fortuitously encountering Percy today presented Draco with the perfect opportunity to let off some steam. "It's a real shame that the Ministry didn't show your dad the door. Else, your whole family would be depending on the northwest winds to fill your stomachs!" Draco lobbed venomous comments, mirroring his pent-up vexation.
"Slytherin's heir needs radical changes in his mindset. Hogwarts should be purged not just from mudblood children, but from pure-blooded scum like you and your four witless siblings, you all deserve be slain!"
Percy, ego bruised, felt his face turn crimson with fury, a stark contrast to his ordinarily even temper. In his rage, he brandished his wand at Draco.
"Stupefy!"
An array of light unfurled from his wand, hurtling towards Draco at a speed too swift to be counted by the human eye. Percy's sudden retaliation caught Draco off guard, and he was left in a frenzy, attempting to evade the oncoming curse.
Crabbe, quick on his feet, grasped hold of Draco's shoulder and veered him off to the right, narrowly avoiding Percy's curse. The curse buzzed past Draco's ear and struck a window of the Hogwarts Castle, producing a sharp, splintering noise.
Incredulously Draco retorted, "You dared cast a curse on me!" Everyone knew Percy as the strictest rule-abiding, methodical Weasley sibling, which was why Draco had the audacity to poke fun at him, because he was sure he wouldn't face retaliation. Whether Draco had hit a raw nerve or Percy was simply having a bad day, Percy disregarded school rules and initiated an attack on Draco.
Following their initial shock, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle ominously wielded their wands. Even though Percy was three academic years their senior, Draco and his sidekicks were unfazed, as they had the advantage in numbers.
However, as the odds seemed to stack against Percy, a detached voice echoed through the scene. "What do you think you are doing?" Recognizing the voice, Draco and his lackeys abruptly halted their intimidation gesture. They shot Sherlock, nonchalantly approaching them, venomous glares.
"Professor, Weasley attacked us first! He should have at least 50 house points deducted! And be given cleaning duties in the toilet!" Draco whined.
"Do you deem you can dictate over me how to discharge my duties?" Sherlock's icy tone, mimicking the chilling frost over the Black Lake, could send shivers down anyone's spine.
Sherlock's imposing aura coerced Draco into silence and he quickly clamped his mouth shut. Sherlock had been observing the events from the beginning. He hadn't interrupted when Percy cast the curse on Draco, hoping Percy could give Draco a taste of his own medicine. However, with Percy's failed attempt, Sherlock eventually had to intervene before things got worse for Percy.
As per the school rules, Percy was the instigator. If Sherlock were to penalize Draco, Percy would inevitably face consequences too. As a result, Sherlock merely said, "Why are you still here? Don't tell me you want more points taken from Gryffindor and Slytherin?"
Shooting Sherlock a hostile stare, Draco stormed towards the castle, followed by Crabbe and Goyle . Percy, dejected, trod in the same direction, expressing his gratitude to Sherlock as he passed him.
"Thank you, Professor Forester." Sherlock simply nodded in acknowledgement without uttering a word.
As the students withdrew from the scene, Sherlock heaved a sigh of disappointment. A residential school like Hogwarts frequently witnessed disputes amongst students, often resulting in instances of bullying and violence. Sherlock had been in the castle for less than half a year; there was not much he could do apart from intervening and supporting the victim in situations like these.
Shielding his eyes against the bright sunlight, Sherlock turned his gaze to the spot where Percy's spell had ultimately struck—a window on the eighth floor of the castle. From his estimation, it appeared to be...
Dumbledore's office!
…
Setting down his quill, Dumbledore slowly arose from his chair, stretching to counteract the stiffness from a prolonged period of desk work. A heap of official documents lay on his desk, awaiting his attention, which despite considerable contemplation, he had not yet decided how to address. Reaching for a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean from a box filled with similar ones, he popped one into his mouth.
"Ugh!"
Only after a couple of chews did he realize his mistake and expel it from his mouth.
The elderly man had in succession drawn seven unfortunate beans that struck a dismaying resemblance to pepper and earwax in flavor, hardly ever enjoying a normal-tasting one. Starting from the morning when he had unwrapped his Christmas gifts, Dumbledore's fortune seemed to go wayward.
He had first tripped over a staircase; then, upon returning to his office, he was bombarded with numerous official documents from the International Confederation of Wizards. On Christmas day, ironically, he was dealing with an array of burdens.
The unsavory beans were the least of his worries. An actual cockroach had found its way into the box of cockroach cluster candies given by Sherlock as a gift, and he had nearly ingested it.
Just as he thought the day's misfortunes had come to an end, he rose from his chair and planned to stretch inside his office when suddenly, a loud "Bang!" startled him. A bright red spell tore through his office window.
Standing there as still as a statue with the fragments of his window scattered around him, the cold wind from outside tickling his weathered face, the day's events felt like a mockery of his ill-luck. Pulling out his seasoned wand, he cautiously examined himself, entertaining a lingering sense of foreboding. He almost felt like this must be a curse.
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