"Dumbledore, you have to see this!"
Professor Bathsheba Babbling, the Ancient Runes instructor, burst into the headmaster's office, loudly exclaiming the moment the door swung open with the password "pineapple fizz." In her left hand, she clutched a gothic-looking glove, and in her right, she dragged along a thoroughly reluctant Nolan Von Draugr.
"Bathsheba?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in surprise before he broke into a mischievous smile. "I thought I'd never see you this excited again. You look more like a young witch now than you did eighteen years ago when you were still in Ravenclaw."
"This isn't a time for jokes! You need to listen to me, Dumbledore!" Babbling's voice was electric with enthusiasm. The normally frail-looking woman's hand gripped Nolan's wrist so tightly that the veins on her knuckles bulged, as if she feared he might bolt at any moment. "You must reward Nolan—listen to me, you absolutely must! I've never seen a student like this! You have to see what he's invented!"
"Oh?" Dumbledore set aside the parchment he'd been reading—it appeared to be a letter. His eyes twinkled with curiosity as they landed on the glove in her hand. "Is this invention what you're referring to? It looks… quite fashionable."
"No! It's a groundbreaking piece of magic!" Babbling insisted fervently. "This is a magical artifact crafted by Nolan himself… well, perhaps I helped a little, but the majority of it is his own work! He's already an exceptional magical artificer. I can't even find the words to describe it! I've never seen anything like this!"
Dumbledore's smile deepened, and he reached out to slip the glove onto his hand with evident interest.
It was unmistakably Nolan's style—sleek black leather, with faint metallic tips on the fingers and gears and chains adorning the back purely for aesthetics.
"What does it do, Nolan?"
Nolan, clearly uncomfortable, spoke quietly. "You can snap your fingers, Professor Dumbledore. That should activate it."
Dumbledore snapped his fingers.
At once, every candelabra in the room exploded in a shower of sparks.
"Oh dear," Dumbledore remarked cheerfully, brushing ash from his beard. "A blasting curse, though it seems to lack precision. I must admit, Nolan, this exceeds my expectations."
There was a gleam of admiration in the headmaster's long, narrow eyes.
Becoming a magical artificer was no small feat—it required complete mastery of Ancient Runes, with occasional knowledge of potions and spellcraft as well. Talented artificers were highly sought after by wandmakers and broomstick manufacturers, often earning salaries far surpassing those of Ministry employees. In the wizarding world, it was considered one of the most prestigious professions.
"But that's not all!" Babbling was practically breathless with excitement. "The glove holds three spells! If you clench your fist, the magic shifts!"
Intrigued, Dumbledore tightened his hand into a fist, and the gears on the glove's back whirred with a satisfying clunk. He snapped his fingers again—this time, a shimmering protective barrier of the Shield Charm enveloped him.
Even Dumbledore couldn't hide his impressed expression.
A glove capable of casting both Shield Charms and Blasting Curses? Such a device in the hands of Aurors could double their combat effectiveness, especially for those incapable of conjuring defensive spells mid-battle.
"I've never encountered an artifact capable of holding multiple enchantments, Nolan. You continue to surprise me."
"He's only a second-year! A second-year!" Babbling almost shrieked, grabbing Dumbledore's sleeve as if he hadn't fully comprehended the gravity of her words. "Dumbledore, I want Nolan as my apprentice! He shouldn't be wasting his time in those foolish second-year classes. I can guide him through the vast oceans of Ancient Runes, mold him into the world's finest magical artificer!"
"I'm afraid I'll have to decline your suggestion, tempting as it may be, Professor Babbling," Dumbledore said with a warm smile, removing the glove and returning it to Nolan. "For our dear Nolan, the most important thing right now is clearly to make friends and enjoy his youth. Of course, I won't discourage him from delving deeper into magic—such pursuits benefit all of us. Nolan, can you tell me how you came up with this idea?"
"A Rubik's Cube, Professor Dumbledore."
"A Rubik's Cube?"
"This," Nolan said, pulling a small, colorful cube from his pocket. He handed it to Dumbledore, who examined it with the curiosity of a child discovering a new toy. As Dumbledore twisted and turned the cube, Nolan explained softly, "By rotating the cube, you can change the colors. I thought if I embedded runes into machinery and arranged them by turning gears, I could activate different spells."
"What a novel explanation, Nolan. Truly remarkable." Dumbledore set the Rubik's Cube down with a twinkle in his eye. "We often have much to learn from Muggles, don't we? Clearly, Nolan has taught us that today. Bathsheba, if you wish, feel free to inform the Daily Prophet. I believe young Mr. Von Draugr deserves recognition for his achievements. The wizarding world ought to know you've raised such a talented pupil."
Nolan pursed his lips slightly.
Dumbledore was always like this—pushing to publicize Nolan's inventions, knowing it would pave the way for enhancing the Auror forces. But things weren't that simple. Nolan was confident that no one else in the entire country could replicate the glove. The mechanics behind it were beyond the grasp of most wizards, even if they understood the theory.
Professor Babbling interjected firmly. "Oh, no, Dumbledore. I'll make sure my student receives the recognition he deserves, but this beautiful artifact belongs to Nolan. We shouldn't pressure him to make it public."
"You're right, Bathsheba," Dumbledore conceded, nodding gently. Then his expression shifted as he glanced toward the door. "Ah, it seems we have another visitor. She may be quite eager to see Nolan here."
With a flick of his wand, the door swung open, and Cho Chang from Ravenclaw hurried inside, her dark hair bouncing behind her.
"Professor Dumbledore! You said my sister sent you a letter—Oh, Merlin's beard! Nolan, what are you doing here?"
Professor Babbling looked ready to press Nolan again about his invention, but Nolan subtly stopped her with a glance. He could tell Cho had more pressing matters.
"Yes, indeed. Your sister, Bai Chang—a very charming young lady." Dumbledore lifted the letter he had been reading earlier, smiling. "She admires you greatly, Miss Chang. She wrote to me asking to attend Hogwarts. Her words were quite endearing."
"I… I must apologize, Professor Dumbledore," Cho said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Bai has always wanted to learn magic like me. She was heartbroken this summer when no Hogwarts letter arrived…"
"Not every child from a magical family is born with the gift, I'm afraid. I'm truly sorry, but your sister does not possess magical talent."
Dumbledore's eyes softened beneath his half-moon spectacles, a nostalgic gleam in his gaze. Perhaps he was recalling another child, decades ago, who had once written to him with the same hopes and dreams, yearning to follow in a sibling's footsteps.
Neither Bai Chang nor that child from long ago knew the truth—
The wizarding world was not fair.
It mirrored the inequalities of the Muggle world, in more ways than they could ever imagine.
"You should have a proper talk with her," Nolan advised Cho as they left Dumbledore's office.
Cho nodded, but after glancing around briefly, she grabbed Nolan's wrist and dragged him downstairs. "Walk with me. You've been glued to Eve lately, and that's not fair to me."
"There's no such thing as fair or unfair. I haven't made any promises to either of you," Nolan replied softly. Still, he didn't resist as she pulled him along. They walked out of the castle and strolled along the lake's edge.
"Bai has always looked up to me, but I can't help her..." Cho's voice trembled with uncharacteristic vulnerability. Perhaps she blamed herself—believing that by inspiring Bai's fascination with magic, she had inadvertently led her sister to disappointment.
Nolan's response was indifferent. "No one can help her. Wanting something she can't have—that's her problem."
"You're heartless, Nolan." Cho's eyes narrowed with a flash of anger. Bai was her beloved sister, and no one was allowed to criticize her, not even Nolan.
"I can stay silent if you prefer me not to comment. You know I don't like wasting words on matters that don't concern me."
"Can't you stop being so logical for once?" Cho's frustration bubbled over. She felt like she had always been the one chasing after him, while Nolan remained detached, almost uncaring. "I want you to comfort me! Not sit here and make emotionless observations! Just say something like—'Bai will be fine, you two will make up, and she'll find something she loves in the Muggle world.' Can't you just lie to me a little?"
Nolan frowned. "But you know that's a lie."
"I don't care!" Cho shouted, gripping her hair in exasperation. "Okay, fine, maybe I do know it's a lie. But hearing it would make me feel better... Nolan, you need to learn to say things that make people happy, or you'll never get a girlfriend."
"I won't."
"Yeah," Cho muttered, her face darkening as she nodded. "You really won't."
After that day, Cho started giving Nolan the cold shoulder. Although calling it a 'cold war' was a stretch—it was entirely one-sided. Anyone could tell Cho was upset. She had stopped talking to him, and even when they crossed paths, her demeanor was icy. She used to sit at the Slytherin table often; now she avoided it completely.
The rumor mill wasted no time.
Poor Miss Chang, they said. She was finally cast aside by the Slytherin prince. In the end, Nolan chose his true love—Eve Stock!
This only fueled the jealousy of the other girls.
It had been tolerable before. Sure, Eve was Nolan's rumored girlfriend, but so was Cho. As long as there were two contenders, things remained balanced. But now? With Cho out of the picture, Eve was the only one left. The girls couldn't stand the thought of Eve monopolizing Nolan's attention, and their dislike toward her grew more pronounced.
Not that it mattered. Eve had long grown used to being disliked.
During Potions class in the dungeon, Eve raised an eyebrow and asked curiously, "What happened between you and Cho? She's been complaining about you a lot lately."
"You're still in touch with her?" Nolan's eyes flickered with curiosity.
It was surprising. Over the summer, the two girls could barely stand each other—practically at each other's throats. Friendly was the last word anyone would use to describe their relationship.
"I get along with Cho just fine," Eve replied, her tone casual. "Girls need someone to vent to when they can't stand the boys around them. Turns out, for Cho, that someone happens to be me. Nolan, you should try being a little gentler with her."
As Eve spoke, the rest of the students began filing into the dungeon for Potions class. They set up their cauldrons and took their seats. Nolan sat next to Eve, with Alicia to Eve's right, and Miles furthest on the end.
Nolan lazily grabbed Eve's notebook and flipped through it without asking. "I understand why she's upset with me. I can appreciate her... emotional perspective. But I'm not sure if indulging in that will actually help me. What do you think, Eve?"
"I don't know… maybe you're right," Eve replied softly.
Her voice trailed off. Snape had just swept into the room. Though there were still a few minutes before class officially began, he was already prowling for Gryffindors to scold.
He immediately zeroed in on Lee Jordan, scolding him for not being seated, then sneered at the Weasley twins' latest assignment, deeming it "an insult to the art of potion-making—practically troll dung." George and Fred exchanged mischievous glances, silently vowing to pay Snape back with a surprise swamp bath.
"Thanks to your sluggish behavior, Gryffindor loses five points."
"But, Professor Snape, class hasn't even started yet!" Lee protested.
"Contradicting a professor? Another two points, Jordan." Snape's voice was like ice as he strode back to the front of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Class begins the moment I step inside. I wonder how long it will take Gryffindors to grasp this concept. Perhaps your collective intelligence mirrors Potter's talent—impressive on the surface, but thoroughly lacking underneath."
For anyone who wasn't a Slytherin—especially Gryffindors—Potions class was a nightmare. Snape's provocations were relentless, and no one dared challenge him.
Well, almost no one.
"Perhaps I should let you all meet Potter personally. He's an arrogant fool who knows nothing, and no amount of fame can save his empty head. One wonders what kind of parents produce such a child. I only hope my students—Field, what are you doing now?"
Field was Alicia's last name. The young Slytherin was staring blankly at the bubbling purple liquid in her cauldron, entirely lost in thought.
"This is a potion for curing leprosy, Professor," she mumbled.
"No, it's not. Your concoction would cause leprosy in a perfectly healthy person. I distinctly remember instructing that wolfsbane should be added last… Clearly, you haven't been reviewing your notes."
Snape was mid-rant when Eve's soft voice cut in.
"Actually, Professor… you never taught us that."
Snape's sharp eyes snapped toward her, one brow arched in disbelief. No student ever dared to contradict him. Well—aside from Nolan.
"What did you say?" Snape's voice dropped to a dangerous level.
"The potion for treating leprosy is part of the third-year curriculum. We're second-years, Professor."
Eve kept her head down, speaking quietly but firmly.
Snape froze. His fingers twitched slightly, and he thumbed through the textbook in his hand. His already sallow complexion paled further.
She was right.
He'd mixed up the lesson plans.
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