"That book tried to kill me!"
Malfoy's voice trembled slightly, his usual haughtiness was completely shattered. His tone was pitched much higher than usual, nearly cracking with lingering fear. "I was nearly strangled to death! Those things were choking me—I couldn't breathe!"
Adrian calmly watched the panicking Malfoy, and handed the cursed book back to him.
"It's not nearly as bad as you think," He said with a unemotional tone. "It's just a prank spell, and quite harmless. Those arms couldn't even strangle a mouse if they tried."
Malfoy's breathing was still rapid, his chest rising and falling as adrenaline continued gushing through his system. He swallowed hard, his throat still aching from the pressure, and said with lingering doubt, "But... they really did grab me. I felt them squeezing—"
Adrian shrugged, interrupting before Malfoy could work himself into another panic. "That was just your imagination amplifying normal discomfort, Mr. Malfoy. The mind is quite powerful when it comes to perceiving threats. You should have been better prepared mentally before coming to the Restricted Section—these books are restricted for good reasons, and many contain defensive enchantments against unauthorized handling or careless treatment."
He gestured vaguely at the surrounding shelves loaded with dangerous books. "Besides, Madam Pince has already moved the truly harmful books elsewhere. What remains here is relatively safe, if approached with appropriate caution."
Adrian adjusted his robes and turned to leave. "Well, I should be going. I have research to conduct. Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy, and I hope you have a good remainder of your day. Try to avoid being attacked by any more books."
With that parting comment, Adrian turned and walked deeper into the Restricted Section, leaving Malfoy standing there alone with the cursed book still in his hands, looking utterly at a loss.
He stared down at the book like it might spring to life again at any moment.
Fortunately for Adrian, Madam Pince had organized all the books specifically about curses and their counterspells together on several connected shelves near the back wall.
After searching for just a few hours, Adrian finally found what he desperately needed: specific information about the "Eternal Doom" curse, also sometimes called the "Curse of Perpetual Misfortune."
It was contained in a very old, dusty gray diary that looked like it hadn't been touched in decades. The leather cover was cracked with age, and the pages had that particular musty smell of truly ancient parchment.
The diary's owner, according to the inside cover written in faded ink, was named Edmund Lestrange, presumably an ancestor of the current Lestrange family, though the exact genealogical connection was unclear. By his own self-deprecating account in the introduction, he was a very ordinary wizard of ordinary talent and unremarkable achievements.
The reason he had developed this particular curse was pitiable—his wife and his own brother had been having an affair right under his nose, and in his rage upon discovering their betrayal, he had cursed them both with everything he had.
The diary's relevant passage read in cramped, angry handwriting: "For three years, three entire years! I was blind to their flirtations happening right under my nose, in my own home.
Until that afternoon in June, when I returned home early from the Ministry and discovered my bedroom had been charmed with a Silencing Charm..."
The entry continued in detail, describing the confrontation and the curse's creation.
It was, undeniably, a tragic and despicable story of betrayal, jealousy, and destructive revenge.
Afterward, Adrian carefully searched through the entire diary, reading every entry with attention, hoping for detailed instructions. But he found that Edmund Lestrange had mentioned only one vague sentence about a solution.
Near the diary's end, written in a calmer hand showing the passage of years: "Breaking this curse requires extraordinarily powerful magic, the kind that comes only from great sacrifice or great love. My wife and my treacherous brother have absolutely no way to accomplish it on their own—they lack both the power and the will. They will suffer as I have suffered, until death claims them or perhaps someone far stronger than they takes pity."
Adrian closed the diary with a soft thump.
This was completely useless information.
But thinking about it more carefully, it made perfect sense. Edmund Lestrange wouldn't have written something so important as a curse-breaking method in his personal diary where his victims might find it. The whole point was that they couldn't escape his revenge.
So, Adrian still needed to find another way.
But who would know more about this particular ancient curse? Who had the knowledge and experience with such old, dark magic?
Adrian fell into deep thought...
Suddenly, his eyes lit up with realization.
Of course. He'd been overlooking the obvious resource.
It was already half-dark, when Adrian returned to his office and stepped through the entrance into his plantation space.
"Oh! Welcome back, Master! Dobby hasn't been slacking off at all! Dobby has been working very hard!"
Dobby, who had apparently been sleeping under the entrance lamppost, curled up like a cat with his long ears draped over his face caught Adrian's familiar scent and jumped up immediately with startled energy.
The lamppost was something Dobby had personally installed several months ago with great ceremony. To this day, Adrian still didn't quite understand what purpose it served, beyond Dobby's firm insistence that "all proper gardens must have lampposts, sir—for the atmosphere."
"It's already well after work hours, Dobby," Adrian said. "You should be resting or enjoying your free time."
"But Dobby is working overtime!" Dobby announced proudly, his tennis-ball-sized eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Dobby has wages now! Dobby can work as much as Dobby wants! It's wonderful!"
"But we don't have overtime pay," Adrian reminded him with a slight shrug. "Whatever, do as you like, Dobby. I'm not going to stop you from working if it makes you happy."
"Dobby understands! Dobby just likes working!" Dobby responded cheerfully and immediately disappeared with a soft pop, presumably to return to whatever gardening project he'd been engaged in before his nap.
Adrian walked along the newly laid brick path that Dobby had installed. The path led to the Tree of Wisdom, which stood in its place of honor at the plantation's heart.
The Tree of Wisdom hadn't undergone any major visible changes recently—at least not in external appearance.
But Adrian knew there was one particular ability of the Tree of Wisdom that he had rarely used.
That ability was "Ravenclaw's Wisdom".
He approached the massive trunk and gently placed his hand against the rough bark.
The next second, his consciousness was pulled away from his physical body.
He found himself standing in a pure white space that seemed to extend infinitely in all directions.
A silvery-white figure appeared before him.
A few minutes later, though time felt strange in this white space, Adrian's consciousness returned to his body.
In his hand was a book that definitely hadn't existed moments before. Inside were the hints and guidance provided by Ravenclaw's echo.
Adrian eagerly opened the book, his heart racing with hope for a clear solution, only to find a single sentence written inside on all other blank pages.
"For all curses of misfortune, luck can be used to suppress them."
He stared at the line, reading it three times to make sure he hadn't missed additional hidden text. His brow furrowed with thought.
Using luck to counter misfortune that made perfect intuitive sense as a theoretical basis. Like countering fire with water, or darkness with light.
But whether misfortune or luck, both were basically intangible, brief things.
How exactly did one weaponize luck?
'Wait!' A thought struck Adrian.
He remembered something crucial, something he'd been carrying but hadn't considered in this context. He quickly took out his suitcase full of potions and took our a vial from the specially protected section.
Felix Felicis. Liquid Luck.
Wasn't this tangible, visible, measurable luck right here in physical form? The legendary potion that literally gave the drinker good fortune for a set period?
He had almost forgotten he had any remaining Felix Felicis in his personal stock. Brewing this extraordinarily difficult potion had cost him considerable money for rare ingredients and enormous effort in the months-long brewing process back when he'd made his supply.
Each successful batch represented weeks of careful work.
Without allowing himself time to second-guess the decision to use such a precious potion, Adrian pulled the cork, tilted his head back, and drank the entire vial of Felix Felicis in one long swallow.
The potion slid down his throat, bringing an immediate warm sensation that spread through his chest like drinking liquified sunshine. It tasted faintly of honey and something indescribable.
He had drunk Felix Felicis before on a few rare occasions, so he knew what to expect. It was always a very special, almost intoxicating feeling, as if everything in the world was spontaneously arranging itself to make way for him.
Adrian stood quietly in his plantation, waiting for the potion to take its effect.
Ten seconds passed.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Adrian frowned slightly.
Aside from the lingering sweetness on his tongue and the warmth pooling in his stomach, he felt nothing unusual.
Just... normal. Uncomfortably normal.
"Eldra," he called out mentally to the Tree of Wisdom, requesting an immediate update.
Information from the Tree of Wisdom immediately came:
[Status: Eternal Doom (Curse) (Breaking Progress: 5%)]
[Felix Felicis Effect: Currently Consumed by Curse Suppression]
As he'd suspected, the Felix Felicis did have some effect on the curse.
However....
The effect was rather disappointing.
One small vial of Felix Felicis could only resolve one-twentieth of the curse's total power. Basic mathematics told him that would mean he would need at least twenty full vials to completely break the curse!
Was Felix Felicis plain water that one could simply brew up in bulk?
Adrian immediately checked his current inventory, counting his remaining stock of the potion.
Well, he was about half short of what he'd need.
If he had to brew more from scratch to make up the difference, following the standard six-month brewing process, it would take at least half a year of continuous, careful work and that was assuming no batches failed during the delicate process.
Of course, Adrian admitted, he personally might need even longer than the theoretical minimum. His skill level at brewing Felix Felicis wasn't particularly high—it was one of the most difficult potions in existence, after all, requiring real top notch talent, experience and considerable luck just to succeed.
The reason he had such a relatively large stock currently was because he had brewed over a dozen batches simultaneously back then, working multiple cauldrons at once and hoping sheer quantity would overcome the probability of failure.
In the end, only two batches out of fifteen had survived to completion without spoiling or exploding. He had successfully won through quantity over quality.
The materials consumed in those failed batches had dealt a devastating financial blow to his savings at the time...
Money wasn't the primary concern now; he could acquire more funds if necessary, through various means. But time was a major problem, perhaps an insurmountable one.
Adrian looked down at the locked curse mark on his forearm. The skull and serpent squirmed slowly beneath the silver chains he'd bound them with. His expression turned grave.
He might not be able to hold out that long.
From his analysis and his own understanding, misfortune on this scale was definitely a terrible thing to leave active.
While it might not directly threaten his life, the probability of losing an arm or a leg or suffering some other catastrophic "accident" was high.
Having a limb crushed by falling debris, being in the wrong place when a spell misfired, tripping at exactly the wrong moment on a staircase... That would greatly impact his daily life.
And this curse seemed eerily similar to the one that apparently affected the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position, considering how every professor in that role suffered misfortune and never lasted more than a year. That couldn't be coincidental.
Moreover, this was possibly the worst time to be operating under a luck curse. Voldemort's resurrection was imminent according to everything they knew.
He had to find a way to get enough Felix Felicis quickly!
When Adrian finally left the Restricted Section several hours later, he was genuinely surprised to find that Malfoy was still there among the shelves.
"Mr. Malfoy," Adrian asked with some curiosity, approaching him, "why haven't you left yet? It's quite late, past curfew for most students, and you must be hungry."
Malfoy heard the sound of footsteps and the professor's voice. He carefully closed his book, marking his place with a slip of parchment, and turned his pale face toward Adrian. His gray eyes were tired but focused.
"That's none of your—" He began with his typical defensive arrogance, then caught himself mid-sentence.
He seemed to remember who he was speaking to and adjusted his tone, though it remained cold and expressionless: "As you can see, Professor, I'm studying magic. Advanced magic that requires concentration. I lost track of time."
Adrian glanced with interest at the book now closed on the desk in front of Malfoy.
The title was stamped on the leather cover: Merick Richard Teaches You Common Dark Magic—Minors Please Study Under Parental Supervision.
Well, a perfectly normal choice for the Restricted Section, comparatively speaking.
Not the most dangerous text available, but certainly not approved curriculum material either.
The author had even included an explicit warning about parental guidance, covering himself against legal responsibility. But Malfoy had clearly ignored that instruction, as teenagers always did when told to consult adult supervision.
However, Adrian wasn't in any position to criticize that particular choice or that particular rebellious impulse.
He had done exactly the same thing when he was a student.
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