Since a potion like Felix Felicis exists in the wizarding world to grant good luck, then curses that bring misfortune naturally exist as well.
Dumbledore hadn't even considered a curse at first.
Because most people have never even heard of such Dark Charms.
Even if someone knew how, and wanted to cast a spell on him without being noticed—if you counted back through every wizard from ancient times to the present—you couldn't pick out more than a handful capable of it.
But today's luck was truly too bizarre; Dumbledore had to perform a comprehensive check on himself.
The result was clear.
There wasn't a single curse on his body.
This left him lost in thought.
Then what exactly happened today?
Was it truly just a case of simple, terrible luck?
Matters involving such things were far too metaphysical. Even though Dumbledore was the greatest Light wizard of the twentieth century and his magical knowledge was at its peak, it wasn't something he could easily figure out.
Just as the talent for prophecy isn't something everyone possesses, most people cannot part that illusory mist to see the road ahead.
Dumbledore didn't dwell on things he couldn't understand.
In any case, judging by the situation so far, today's bad luck hadn't been powerful enough to be life-threatening.
At most, it just made his Christmas slightly unpleasant.
However, given Dumbledore's mindset, if he just relaxed, this minor issue wouldn't affect his mood today at all.
Looking at it from another perspective, wasn't it quite interesting to experience a time filled with misfortune and pit one's wits against it?
Setting his mind at ease, Dumbledore gave a casual wave of his wand, restoring the shattered glass to its original state, and sat back in his chair with a relaxed expression.
"Dilys, would you mind checking the Great Hall for me? I'd like to know how the decorations are coming along there."
Among the row of portraits of past headmasters on the wall, an elderly, kind-faced witch opened her drowsy eyes.
"I'll go right away, but you should be careful, Albus. Eat fewer Cockroach Clusters. I've told you before, you can't tell the difference between a real cockroach and the cockroach-shaped sweets."
With that, Dilys vanished from her own portrait.
Dumbledore nodded slightly as if acknowledging her words, yet his aged hand still reached into the box of Cockroach Clusters and pulled one out.
"I assume you aren't a real cockroach, are you?"
His fingers squeezed slightly. No golden honey burst out; instead, there was a hard texture, and the cockroach's six legs began to struggle even more violently.
Snap!
Dumbledore annoyedly threw it to the floor and crushed it with his foot, muttering under his breath.
"How terrible..."
A faint ripple of soft laughter came from the wall lined with the portraits of former headmasters.
...
As night fell, the snow-covered Hogwarts Castle lit up with dim, yellow lights.
In the Great Hall, which was decorated with a full Christmas atmosphere, all the teachers and students remaining at the school gathered.
There weren't many students staying at school, so the banquet was no longer divided into four houses with each house occupying its own long table.
Instead, professors and students sat together, lining a single long table while waiting for the feast to begin.
Before the meal, the ghosts of Hogwarts formed an ensemble and were singing Christmas carols on a high platform.
Peeves, the ghost who was more mischievous than any student, had also been caught tonight.
Under the direction of the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, the other ghosts had hung him directly above the stage and fitted him with a red nose and reindeer antlers.
It was a way to make use of him as a mascot for the ghost band.
The small-scale banquet actually provided a warmer, more cozy feeling.
As Headmaster, Dumbledore didn't give a long speech before the feast began.
After a simple and sincere blessing, they began to enjoy tonight's Christmas feast.
Sherlock sat directly opposite Harry and Ron.
He could feel the faces of Harry and Ron visibly stiffen the moment he took his seat.
They seemed to want to leave and find a new place to sit, but felt it would be impolite. Thus, they could only sit in their original spots with their bodies tense, trying their best to avoid eye contact with Sherlock.
Sherlock looked at them curiously.
He remembered clearly that he hadn't punished these two troublemakers, had he?
Why did they look like mice seeing a cat every time they saw him, wishing they could find a mouse hole to crawl into?
After the banquet began, Sherlock took a piece of Christmas pudding and stared at Harry and Ron while eating slowly.
Harry and the others were unnerved by his gaze. Even reaching out with a fork to snag a sausage onto their plates was a terrifying ordeal.
The more they didn't want to talk to him, the more Sherlock wanted to initiate a conversation.
"How come only you two stayed at school for the Christmas holidays? Where's Granger?"
Harry and Ron's eating motions suddenly froze.
Hearing Sherlock's words, the same thought rose in both their minds.
Shouldn't you be asking yourself that!
Of course, while they thought that, they said with forced smiles,
"Hermione had some things to take care of at home, so she went back."
"She really wanted to stay, but she really couldn't."
Sherlock didn't hear anything unusual in their words. He didn't actually remember if Hermione had gone home for Christmas in the original story, so he assumed this was just how the plot was supposed to go.
He then chatted with Ron about why none of his brothers had gone home for Christmas.
He also told Harry that the place he was currently living wasn't very far from his aunt's house, and if he had time during the summer break, he could come over to help him with his holiday homework.
Harry nodded and said, "Thank you so much, Professor Cavendish."
In his heart, he was actually thinking that he would rather eat scraps at Aunt Petunia's house than go to Sherlock's to suffer a "blessing."
Ron remained tense the entire time he was chatting with Sherlock. He had been eyeing a piece of cake in the middle of the table for a long time.
Halfway through the feast, he finally found a moment while Sherlock was chatting with Harry. He leaned forward, wanting to cut a piece of cake for his plate.
However, the cake was a bit too far from his position, and Ron's movements to cut it were a bit strained.
Just then, Sherlock suddenly asked casually,
"How are you two enjoying this Christmas break?"
Ron gave a startled jerk, and with a sudden surge of force in his hands, the piece of cake he had just cut suddenly went flying!
The cake traced a perfect parabola over the long table and finally landed right on top of Dumbledore's head, who was chatting with Professor McGonagall!
The scene suddenly fell silent.
Everyone stared quietly at Dumbledore, who had a piece of cream cake perched on his head.
Ron had a woe-begone look on his face, looking as if he were about to burst into tears at any moment.
However, Dumbledore took the cake off his head with a smile and popped it directly into his mouth.
"The taste is quite good, Weasley. Thank you for the gift. I suggest you try some as well."
Everyone at the long table immediately burst into laughter, and the atmosphere became lively once again.
Only Professor McGonagall, sitting beside Dumbledore, noticed his pathetic display as he spat out strands of hair afterward.