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50% Harry Potter: The Vampire Prince / Chapter 57: 57: Dumbledore's Request

Chapter 57: 57: Dumbledore's Request

That day, Duchess Felicia gave Nolan a vivid lesson, showing her beloved younger brother what explosive power truly meant.

Her sword moved as she willed—starting, stopping, and even carving perfect right angles mid-air. She could halt the blade just as it was about to pierce the space between Nolan's brows, displaying an extraordinary control that bordered on supernatural.

"Control the rhythm of battle. Accelerate when your opponent thinks they can defend themselves; shatter their defense. If you command the rhythm, you command the fight. From there, focus on increasing the power of your strikes," Felicia instructed, her tone as sharp as the edge of her sword.

Her fighting techniques were dazzling, almost artistic. Nolan couldn't guess how many vampires might ever manage to master her methods, but he was certain of one thing: anyone who could would become unimaginably powerful.

"When you release a strike, shift to an explosive transformation for speed. Once you've accelerated, switch to a strength-based transformation. You'll only have one-hundredth of a second to execute both transformations... Strike!"

Without warning, Felicia burst into motion. Nolan barely registered her movement before she seemed to materialize right in front of him, her longsword slicing down at blinding speed.

In that fraction of a second, Nolan forced his arm to transform into the structure of a cheetah's limb, focusing on accelerating his counterstrike.

Did their blades clash?

No—no, they didn't.

Just as the swords were about to collide, Felicia stopped her strike mid-swing. Her blade seemed utterly devoid of inertia. In the next moment, her sword whipped backward at an equally impossible speed, leaving Nolan—having overcommitted to his counter—stumbling forward.

Before he could recover, Felicia deftly swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Her weapon defied all natural laws.

Training concluded for the day, the siblings returned to the estate.

"Welcome back, Duchess Felicia, Master Nolan," greeted Miss Theresa, who had been waiting at the entrance. She bowed gracefully before taking the two longswords to store them away. At her feet, Miss Nancy, the black cat, meowed insistently. She scampered to Felicia and stood on her hind legs, batting at the duchess's skirt with her paws.

"Felicia, Felicia, pick me up!" demanded Miss Nancy in her peculiar, aristocratic tone.

Amused, Felicia scooped her up and began teasing her with a finger. "Hmm? What's the matter, Miss Nancy? Has the cat food been unsatisfactory lately? You seem to have gotten a bit rounder. Have you been sneaking into the manor's cellars for some plump, juicy rats?"

Miss Nancy let out a string of indignant meows. "Felicia! What do you take me for? A common stray? How dare you accuse me of eating such filthy creatures! Since I arrived at the Randall Gorge, I haven't caught a single rat—not one! Even if I encounter them while wandering the estate, I pretend I didn't see them!"

Nolan, taken aback, couldn't help but gape. "What kind of cat are you?"

Miss Nancy puffed out her chest with pride, pawing delicately at her face. "The exceptional kind, of course!"

Felicia pouted playfully and began tickling the cat under her chin. "Oh, you're exceptional, all right. I've never seen such a useless cat in my life. Even witches' black cats know how to chase off freeloading pests. Miss Nancy, what do I keep you around for?"

Nolan watched Felicia and Miss Nancy's playful bickering with mild amusement. But their lighthearted exchange was interrupted when Miss Theresa returned, holding a letter in her hands. However, her gait was peculiar—she walked with a noticeable limp.

"Miss Theresa, what happened to your left leg?" Nolan asked with concern.

"It seems to be rotting, Master Nolan," she replied with her usual cold composure. "There's no need to worry. It's not a serious issue. Even with preservation spells, my body experiences wear and tear. Regular replacements are necessary."

Felicia's grip on Miss Nancy loosened, and with a startled meow, the cat fell straight to the floor. Luckily, she was a cat and landed gracefully, though not without protesting loudly. Felicia, ignoring the indignant meows, clapped her hands together with excitement, her expression gleaming with mischief.

"Oh, that reminds me! A few days ago, I found a Muggle with the most exquisite legs—long, straight, and absolutely perfect! I brought her back. I'll have her legs amputated, preserved, and attached to you, Theresa!"

Nolan paused to consider. "It's been a few years since the last replacement, hasn't it? Might as well replace the upper body as well. This time, I could try adding Ancient Runes to ensure the new parts never decay."

For the first time, a faint trace of emotion crossed Theresa's typically stoic face. She bowed her head slightly in gratitude. "Thank you, Master Nolan."

Felicia grinned and flung her arms around Nolan, hugging him tightly and resting her chin on top of his head. "Hehe, my Nolan is the best! No one else's Nolan even comes close!" she declared, entirely nonsensical but thoroughly pleased.

Then, as if remembering something, she shifted her attention. "By the way, Theresa, what's that letter you're holding? I think I caught Dumbledore's signature on it."

"Isn't Dumbledore younger than you, Felicia?" Nolan commented dryly.

Felicia ignored him completely, snatching the envelope from Theresa with a gleeful laugh. The letter bore the elegant, emerald-green handwriting that Nolan recognized well. Albus Dumbledore's name and the Hogwarts crest were prominently displayed.

"Oh! It's the booklist for next term! Here, Nolan—" She handed over one envelope but paused when she noticed another addressed to her.

It read:

Dear Duchess Felicia Von Draugr,

I hope this letter finds you well and that the serene beauty of Randall Gorge remains as eternal as it was a millennium ago.

Regarding my decision to invite you as last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, it was initially met with skepticism by many. However, I believe your performance has silenced any doubters. You've not only earned the respect of all but also provided the next generation of witches and wizards with a truly enriching year.

I trust you've already heard rumors that Voldemort, the Dark Lord, is still alive—though barely clinging to existence. He is a shadow of his former self, teetering on the brink of the afterlife. Yet, even in his weakened state, his menace cannot be underestimated.

Recently, I received troubling news. Voldemort has set his sights on the Philosopher's Stone. After much persuasion, I convinced my old friend Nicolas to entrust the Stone to my care. For now, it is secured within Gringotts, but we both know that is far from impenetrable.

In the coming days, I plan to move the Philosopher's Stone to Hogwarts, the safest place in the magical world. However, there are whispers that Voldemort has already allied himself with factions from the Night World, plotting to infiltrate Gringotts and seize the Stone.

Due to the Ministry's interference, neither the Order of the Phoenix nor I can act directly in this matter. Thus, I must humbly request your assistance. Trust me when I say that if the Philosopher's Stone were to fall into Voldemort's hands, it would spell catastrophe for both the wizarding and vampiric worlds alike.

I await your reply.

Yours faithfully,

Albus Dumbledore

Felicia folded the letter with an unreadable smile, the gleam in her eyes shifting from playful to something much sharper, much more dangerous.

~~~----------------------

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Chapter 58: 58: The Key Keeper's New Job

Time: Late July, 1991

Location: A small cabin on a deserted beach outside London.

Scene: A stormy night, with heavy rain, roaring winds, and flashes of lightning.

This desolate stretch of beach rarely saw visitors. But tonight, it hosted an unlikely pair. One was a towering man, standing well over two and a half meters tall, with limbs like tree trunks and a face obscured by a wild thicket of beard. The other was a much smaller figure—a young boy cradling a black cat in one arm and holding a crooked black umbrella in the other. His long black hair hung damply around his face, and his exposed right eye gleamed with irritation as he surveyed the muddy surroundings.

With a disdainful glance at the mud clinging to his silver-toed boots, the boy's voice was cold and sharp as he spoke.

"Rubeus Hagrid, my patience has its limits. I agreed to help Dumbledore protect that foolish Philosopher's Stone, but I never consented to playing babysitter to some Muggle boy. That, as you well know, is your job."

The giant, none other than Hogwarts' Keeper of Keys and Grounds, Rubeus Hagrid, glanced awkwardly at his smaller companion, Nolan Von Draugr. Hagrid was well aware of Nolan's reputation—at Hogwarts, very few didn't know the name. Why the great Dumbledore had entrusted a first-year graduate with guarding the Philosopher's Stone was a mystery to him, but when it came to the headmaster's decisions, Hagrid didn't question.

In truth, most wizards didn't question Dumbledore. Such was his authority that even his most eccentric choices were accepted without complaint. This unquestioning trust, however, had become a growing source of pressure for Cornelius Fudge, the newly appointed Minister for Magic. But Fudge's troubles were a matter for another time.

For now, Hagrid had his own discomfort to deal with. His trip away from Hogwarts came with two tasks: the primary mission, of course, was transporting the Philosopher's Stone—the most valuable magical artifact in existence—safely to the castle. The secondary, far less glamorous task was collecting a young wizard who had been living outside the magical world for the past eleven years.

This second task, in Nolan's words, amounted to "playing nanny."

Hagrid stood in the downpour without opening the patched umbrella in his hand. Rain splashed off his bushy beard and soaked his tattered fur coat, though it seemed neither the beard nor the coat absorbed the water. It was as though his beard served as a natural rainshield.

Shifting uneasily, Hagrid finally said, "Harry's not a Muggle boy, yeh know that, Draugr. His parents were two of the finest Gryffindors of their time, and Harry's the savior of the wizarding world…"

"Stop." Nolan cut him off mercilessly. "I refuse to believe the entirety of wizarding Britain owes its salvation to an infant. As far as I'm concerned, he's nothing more than a lucky child who had the good fortune of a capable mother. Beyond that, he's just a boy with no real value. Maybe he inherited James Potter's talent for flying—who knows? Of course, Dumbledore seems to think otherwise."

"Oh… Harry'll be special, I'm sure of it. Maybe Dumbledore's hopin' you can teach him a thing or two? Everyone says you're the most gifted young wizard in decades. By the way, Draugr, have you heard from Eve over the summer?"

"Eve?" Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Eve Stock? No. I haven't seen her, nor has she sent me any owls."

"She's a hardworking, kind lass," Hagrid said thoughtfully. "Helps me keep my place tidy sometimes. Yeh know, most of the young wizards avoid my hut—they say it smells worse than a stable."

"She's hardworking, yes, but not kind," Nolan retorted coolly. "Eve only shows kindness to those who are good to her. She lacks friends, Hagrid. If you're willing to be her friend, I'll be grateful. But don't, under any circumstances, develop an appetite for her."

Having delivered this biting remark, Nolan stepped forward, clearly done with the dismal surroundings.

Hagrid stood frozen in place for a moment, before bellowing indignantly, "What? Take that back! I don't eat people!"

"Who knows?" Nolan replied, his tone indifferent as he reached a closed wooden door and pushed against it. The door refused to budge.

The storm raged on, lightning streaking across the sky as thunder boomed, drowning out Hagrid's frustrated growls.

The door was locked—naturally. Unlike the tales of idyllic utopias, no one in Britain left their doors open overnight. The country's sense of security and social trust wasn't quite so robust.

Nolan exchanged a glance with the puffing and panting Hagrid, who had finally caught up. The half-giant grinned sheepishly and reached for his crooked black umbrella. "Leave it to me! Alohomora!"

The battered umbrella wobbled as though it had a mind of its own, but the lock remained stubbornly unmoved.

Nolan watched the attempt with an almost pitying expression, his voice dripping with quiet sarcasm. "I thought they snapped the longest idiot wand of the century in two when they expelled you from Hogwarts."

Hagrid froze for a moment before breaking into an awkward laugh. "Well, they forgot to take the pieces back, didn't they?"

"So, this counts as recycling waste?" Nolan quipped, shaking his head and gesturing dismissively. "Step aside, big guy."

Before Hagrid could respond, Nolan raised his right leg and drove it forcefully into the wooden door. Crash! The door burst apart in a spectacular explosion of splinters, the metal lock twisted beyond recognition by the sheer force of his kick.

The room's occupants erupted into a chorus of screams, but Nolan and Hagrid paid no attention. They entered as casually as though they were visiting neighbors—Hagrid hunched over to squeeze through the doorway, his massive frame scraping against the ceiling. Inside, the shabby cabin housed four people: a fat man and his equally pig-like son, a horse-faced woman, and a boy wearing tattered clothes.

Nolan's sharp senses picked up an unusual trace of magic from the small boy, but he kept quiet. Instead, he nodded toward Hagrid. "Finish your job quickly. We don't have much time to waste."

Hagrid shook the raindrops from his beard and stooped further into the room to avoid banging his head against the low ceiling. "Terrible weather, ain't it? Mind gettin' us a cuppa tea? Maybe a bit o' chocolate? Kids as young as Draugr here usually like chocolate."

"I never eat that sort of thing," Nolan murmured, his voice low and cold. "But I do collect the cards from Chocolate Frogs. Miles told me that if you're lucky, you can get cards featuring famous vampires from history—like Vlad the Impaler or Bluebeard. I haven't found a single one yet, though."

"Oh, Draugr," Hagrid chuckled, "Chocolate Frog vampire cards are rare as legends. You'd need luck—or a mountain o' Galleons—to get yer hands on one."

For a long moment, the four inhabitants of the house stared in stunned silence, their faces pale and bewildered. Then the fat man's complexion turned an angry shade of crimson. Grabbing a rifle, he pointed it shakily at the intruders, his voice trembling with outrage.

"You're trespassing! I demand you leave immediately! Right now!"

~~~----------------------

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