HP: Dangerous Professor from Azkaban Chapter 114: 113: Flustered Sagres and Astoria's Curse

Miss Kestrel hopped a few steps closer, her tone as eager as if she had just found a long-lost relative.

"I found this place by divination! Pretty cool, huh?"

Suddenly, she lowered her voice mysteriously, as though sharing a great secret.

"But you have to keep it a secret for ; I'm only telling you this!"

The Headmaster nodded.

"It seems you are quite a talented Diviner," he said with a gentle smile, then asked again, "So, what is the purpose of your visit?"

"I'm here to find a job!" Miss Kestrel imdiately straightened her back, speaking loudly.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "Hogwarts' current Divination professor, Sybill Trelawney, does not appear to have any plans to retire at the mont."

"Oh, who said anything about teaching Divination!" Miss Kestrel waved her hand dismissively, as though shooing away a fly.

"Divination relies on talent and… well… feeling. I can't teach that, you dummy!"

She leaned in closer to Dumbledore, completely ignoring personal space, and whispered, "I heard your school is short a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? I can help! My defensive magic isn't bad at all!"

Dumbledore regarded her quietly, his gaze deep, as though he could see straight through her eager facade.

After a mont, he slowly shook his head.

"I'm sorry, child. Hogwarts cannot hire a… well… wizard with an unclear background for a teaching position."

"Who says I'm of unknown origin?!"

Miss Kestrel imdiately leapt up to retort, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"My grandfather was the forr Supre Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Scanode Sandtan! My na is Iresa Lumina! And I know your C—"

She abruptly cut herself off, seeming to realize she had almost let sothing slip. Then she quickly put on an expectant expression as she looked at the old man.

"You can write to confirm it!"

As she spoke, she held out a hand and patted her chest again and again in assurance. "And you absolutely don't need to worry about my skill level! When I graduated from Kordos Dorez, I earned an extraordinary Grom rating in all eleven subjects!"

She quietly added in her mind: Although I might be a bit timid… teaching students isn't like actually fighting on a battlefield!

But she wisely kept those words to herself.

The old man looked at the young witch before him, vibrant as a leaping fla, his silver-white beard trembling faintly with the weight of his silent thoughts.

At last, a subtle, sowhat helpless smile curved his lips.

"Well then, Miss Lumina, you may need to find a place to settle temporarily. After all, verifying information takes a bit of ti."

"No problem! The one thing I'm not short on is ti. Your castle should have plenty of empty rooms, right? If not, I can even stay in a tent!"

…

The next morning, as Sagres entered the bustling Great Hall for breakfast, an utterly unexpected figure caught his eye.

Miss Kestrel—or rather, Iresa Lumina—was seated grandly at the Head Table, her plate piled high with food. Her knife and fork flew as she stuffed mouthful after mouthful, her cheeks bulging as though she intended to swallow all of Hogwarts' breakfast in one sitting.

Her ravenous eating style stood out starkly among the still-sleepy, leisurely students, quickly drawing everyone's attention.

Sagres frowned slightly, his steps faltering, half-wondering if he had been awake for too long and was starting to hallucinate.

How could she be here?

"Iresa?" He stepped closer, his voice laced with confusion. "How are you here?"

"Oh! Mr. Rav—cough, cough!"

Iresa nearly choked on the bacon in her mouth, quickly gulped down pumpkin juice. After catching her breath, she flashed an overly bright smile and waved enthusiastically.

"Professor Greengrass, good morning! What a coincidence—I've been invited to take up a position."

"A position?"

Sagres's frown deepened.

He simply couldn't reconcile the girl before him—who looked nothing like a professor and was still busily devouring food—with the word "position."

"That's right!"

Iresa set down her knife and fork, wiped her mouth haphazardly with a napkin, and straightened her back, trying to appear serious. But the excitent in her eyes was impossible to hide.

"Headmaster Dumbledore personally wrote to , formally inviting to Hogwarts to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor! Of course," she cleared her throat importantly and added, "it's only temporary, just a transition.

After very careful and thorough deliberation, I reluctantly agreed!"

She deliberately stressed the words deliberation and reluctantly.

Sagres said nothing, only watching her closely with his deep, probing eyes.

Her so-called "reluctance," paired with her barely contained joy and the mountain of empty plates stacked in front of her, was hardly convincing.

But in the end, he only nodded slowly, doubt heavy in his mind.

He didn't care about the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position—but what exactly was Dumbledore planning? How did he know Kestrel? And why would he go so far as to invite her to teach at Hogwarts?

A flood of questions surged through his thoughts.

Just as Sagres was about to press for clarification, he realized Kestrel had vanished.

…

The Christmas holiday ca to an end, and the castle corridors gradually filled once more with the noise and bustle of returning students.

Sagres had temporarily set aside his own matters, preparing to leave for Malfoy Manor—he needed to determine Lucius Malfoy's true intentions.

Out of respect for the Headmaster, he chose not to Apparate within the castle this ti, but instead walked slowly toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

However, as soon as he stepped into the shadowy border, he caught sight of a group of familiar small figures gathered together.

It was Harry, Ron, Hermione, and a few first-years: Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and his cousin Astoria Greengrass.

They were huddled around, clearly feeding the Thestrals—creatures visible only to those who had witnessed death.

"I think," Sagres's calm voice cut through the silence at the forest's edge, tinged with a trace of helplessness, "I have already warned you quite clearly."

The children startled, nearly jumping, and quickly turned to face him.

Hermione rushed to explain, "Professor Greengrass! We were originally on our way to see Hagrid, but we ran into Ginny and the others on the way…"

Sagres's gaze swept past the trio and fixed on the three first-year girls, finally resting on Luna.

"Perhaps my explanation wasn't clear enough?" His voice was steady, yet carried unmistakable seriousness.

"I recall this isn't the first ti I've reminded you to stay away from the Forbidden Forest, correct?"

Luna's misty eyes looked up at him, her voice as soft as a passing breeze.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I was the one who brought them here… Astoria wasn't feeling well after coming back from ho, so I thought… taking her out for so fresh air and letting her see the Thestrals might make her feel better."

Sagres's gaze shifted to Astoria.

The young witch kept her head lowered, her slender shoulders slightly hunched, her hair falling across her pale cheek.

He could easily imagine what she had endured at Greengrass Manor—the argunts over House choices, the suffocating pressure of deeply ingrained pure-blood traditions.

Sagres's stern tone softened almost instinctively.

He stepped closer to Astoria, placing his warm hand gently on her head, patting her in reassurance.

"Astoria," his voice was low and steady, "if you ever encounter difficulties, or need help… You can co to at any ti."

As he looked at her fragile, slender figure, a familiar heaviness settled in his chest.

Those stubborn old relics of the Greengrass family—their pride in their ancient bloodline was nothing but a set of shackles binding their descendants.

What Astoria endured was the curse buried deep in the Greengrass bloodline, passed down from their infamous ancestor, the "Dark Healer" Hippolyta.

He had stolen unicorn blood in pursuit of power, did so dark experints, and in the end, brought upon them the backlash of natural magic.

Ironically, generations of pure-blood intermarriage had not weakened the curse, but instead tightened it like a noose, making it manifest more powerfully in the bloodline—prematurely stealing the future of many innocent children like Astoria.

How many more years could she live?

Five years? Ten?

Sagres sighed silently, drew his wand, and lightly touched the tip to Astoria's forehead.

A nearly imperceptible, soft white light flashed. Astoria felt as though the heavy knot in her chest had been gently untangled by a warm hand, and her breathing eased.

"I will find a way to lift the Greengrass family's curse," Sagres said quietly. "Be happy, so that you will have beautiful mories to look back on throughout your long life."

At his words, the young witch lifted her head, and at last a pure, grateful smile blood on her pale face—like the first glimr of light breaking through after a snowfall.

_______

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