Before long, the news of Nolan's groundbreaking transfiguration spell spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts. Students across all houses were eager to get a glimpse of this new form of magic. Some were curious, hoping to witness firsthand what made it so special. Others—perhaps more envious—simply wanted to pry open the Slytherin prince's head to see what exactly was ticking inside to make him so brilliant.
Yet, despite the mounting interest, Nolan seemed to vanish from public eye. His movements became increasingly elusive, and he would disappear the moment classes ended. Even Eve Stock, who was practically glued to his side, couldn't find him.
In reality, Nolan was pouring all his time into refining his enchanted gloves.
Professor Babbling had been thoroughly impressed with his craftsmanship. While she didn't fully grasp the intricacies of the gears and mechanisms he used, she marveled at his profound understanding of ancient runes.
But to Nolan, her praise wasn't enough. The gloves he envisioned weren't just tools for convenience—they were supposed to be powerful, powerful enough to challenge the dominance of wands. A mere three spell capacity felt limiting. Nolan wanted more—at least five or six spells at his fingertips. And so, the young vampire spent day and night holed up in Professor Babbling's office, poring over rune configurations in search of a more efficient layout.
After relentless trial and error, he finally succeeded. Nolan managed to embed a fourth spell into the glove alongside the Blasting Curse, Shield Charm, and Disarming Charm. Unfortunately, due to the limitations of rune inscriptions, the fourth spell was… odd. Not only was it unsuitable for combat, but it was also obscure—rarely mentioned in standard spellbooks.
"My dear boy, you've done more than enough," Professor Babbling reassured him as she dangled upside down from the ceiling, having been accidentally snared by the glove's latest enchantment. Despite the mishap, she showed no signs of irritation. On the contrary, she beamed at Nolan's breakthrough. "I dare say there isn't a more brilliant magical engineer in this entire century."
With a flick of his wand, Nolan dispelled the enchantment and gently lowered Babbling to the floor using a Levitation Charm. He sighed. "It just… suspends people in the air. I don't see the point. Why bother with that when I could just hit them with a Disarming Charm?"
But Nolan would soon learn exactly how useful this peculiar spell could be.
Later that afternoon, on his way to the Great Hall, he heard a familiar sound—soft, muffled crying echoing through the corridor.
Nolan followed the noise and found Draco Malfoy sprawled across the stone floor, his pale hair catching the dim light. The Slytherin boy had clearly been humiliated, his wand gone, and his body rigid with petrification. His faint whimpers escaped in trembling gasps. Standing over him were the unmistakable Weasley twins, their wands lazily twirling between their fingers. For some reason, Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere in sight—leaving Draco alone, outnumbered, and defenseless.
"Listen up, Malfoy," one twin sneered. "You'd better stay away from Harry."
"Jealousy doesn't suit you," the other added with a grin. "Everyone knows what kind of people you Malfoys are."
"Stop picking fights with Harry, and stay away from our little brother too. Ron's an idiot, but he's our idiot."
The twins jabbed Draco's petrified form with their wands, taking turns with their taunts. Nolan could see the long-standing feud between the Malfoys and Weasleys playing out before his eyes. The elder Malfoy and Arthur Weasley never got along, and now their children were carrying on the same grudge.
The difference, however, was stark. Draco was alone, while the Weasleys, as always, came in packs.
Nolan let out a long sigh and stepped forward. "Step aside, twins," he said coolly, cracking his knuckles. Then, without bothering to draw his wand, he snapped his fingers—his glove glinting faintly under his robes.
With a loud yelp, one of the twins—whether it was Fred or George, Nolan couldn't be sure—flipped upside down as though he'd slipped on ice. His limbs flailed wildly as he was hoisted into the air, dangling from the ceiling like a fish on a hook.
"Wha—HEY!"
Fred (or George) twisted awkwardly, trying to swat at the invisible force holding him aloft, but to no avail. His brother could only stare in stunned silence, his wand hand twitching uncertainly.
"I said walk away," Nolan repeated, calm but firm. He gestured lazily with his enchanted hand. "Unless you want to join him up there."
"Cool!" one of the twins immediately shouted. "Nolan, how did you do that? Can you teach me?"
The one dangling from the ceiling flailed and yelled, "George, you idiot! Get me down first! Nolan, I want to learn too!"
"That's just the Levicorpus spell. It's not hard to learn," Nolan replied as he lazily reversed the Petrificus Totalus on Malfoy. The poor boy, trembling like a frightened mouse, darted behind Nolan the moment he regained movement.
"No, I mean—how did you do it without saying the spell or using a wand? You just snapped your fingers and—bam! That was incredible! Nolan, I always knew you were a genius!" George was practically buzzing with excitement.
"Shut your mouth, George! Get me down first!"
From that day on, the twins wouldn't leave Nolan alone, pestering him endlessly for a pair of magic gloves just like his.
Eventually, after days of relentless badgering, Nolan caved. He made two gloves—each enchanted with nothing but Levicorpus—and handed them over. The twins were ecstatic. They used their entire year's allowance—a grand total of five Galleons—to purchase the downgraded versions.
And just like that, the era of enchanted gloves began at Hogwarts.
Soon, word spread, and students from every house came begging Nolan for gloves of their own. Everyone dreamed of snapping their fingers and dangling their enemies from the ceiling, just like the Weasley twins. Driven to the brink of madness by the constant harassment, Nolan once again disappeared.
Two days later, he resurfaced in Transfiguration class, dumping a box of twenty enchanted gloves into Miles Bletchley's hands.
"Sell them for me," he said flatly before vanishing once more.
The first batch sold out in less than an hour.
Chaos erupted as students scrambled to get their hands on the gloves. A full-blown black market emerged in the corridors of Hogwarts. The gloves' price skyrocketed from four Galleons to an astonishing ten by the end of the week.
Those lucky enough to acquire a glove walked the halls with unparalleled pride. No one dared mess with them. They flaunted Nolan's craftsmanship at every opportunity—and naturally, "demonstrations" often followed.
The result? Hogwarts echoed constantly with the sharp snap of fingers, followed by delighted shrieks and the sound of robes swishing as unlucky victims were hoisted into the air.
"So cool!" everyone cried in unison. Even those dangling upside down laughed at the absurdity of it all.
This bizarre trend swept the school like wildfire. Whether during class, after hours, or even in the Great Hall during meals, students couldn't resist testing out their gloves.
One evening, Dumbledore sat at the staff table, chuckling softly. His goblet of pumpkin juice remained untouched as he watched nearly thirty students suspended from the ceiling like dangling sausages.
Meanwhile, Snape's voice thundered across the hall.
"Enough! You fools! I forbid the use of Nolan's ridiculous contraptions within the castle! Anyone caught using them again will serve detention!"
No sooner had the words left Snape's mouth than he, too, was yanked into the air. His black robes fluttered as he dangled upside down, legs crossed in a vain attempt to preserve his dignity.
From above, Snape's outraged shouting echoed across the Great Hall.
Nolan spent the day once again in Professor Babbling's office, happily discussing the various applications of Ancient Runes. By the time he arrived at the Great Hall, most students had finished eating, and half of them had already left.
Eve was sitting in front of a plate of creamy potato gratin, her nose buried in "The Comprehensive Guide to 100,000 Transfigurations and Their Uses." When she spotted Nolan, she waved him over. "Nolan, over here. I saved your tomatoes."
"Thanks, Eve." Nolan quickly polished off the tomatoes and his usual special tomato juice, glancing at Monta beside him. "Do we have any assignments due tomorrow? I can't remember."
"Oh, yeah. Snape's notes on the measles remedy, and Quirrell's… well, honestly, I have no idea. I haven't understood a single word of Defense Against the Dark Arts this year," Monta replied with a shrug.
"Quirrell isn't a good professor. His classes are consistently disappointing," Nolan said quietly, his gaze drifting to the staff table. Professor Quirrell, wrapped in his oversized turban, was cautiously poking at his steak with a fork. When the meat juices spurted out, he yelped and the entire steak slipped off his plate and disappeared under the table. Nolan sighed. "I hope we get a decent professor next year. I've always believed Defense Against the Dark Arts is second only to Ancient Runes in importance."
"Quirrell isn't just some simple idiot—he's just unlucky," Monta said as they left the Great Hall. He began recounting the stories of Quirrell's supposed brilliance during his time in Ravenclaw. "But who would've thought he'd run into a hag and a vampire during his travels? Honestly, I think he's gone mad. He should be at St. Mungo's getting his head checked, not teaching at Hogwarts."
"Nolan," a familiar voice interrupted as Professor McGonagall strode over briskly. She gave Monta and Eve a brief nod. "Oh, good evening, Mr. Lockman, Miss Stock."
"Professor McGonagall," Nolan greeted politely. "I believe the enhancements to Ancestry will take more time. I can make more Noble Bloodline Elixir if needed—that should buy us some time."
"Of course, Nolan. Improving a spell isn't easy, don't worry. I'm not here to rush you." Surprisingly, McGonagall's expression softened, taking on the warmth of a kindly grandmother. She hesitated for a moment. "I wanted to ask… Nolan, do you have any interest in wizard dueling?"
"Wizard dueling?" Nolan echoed, unfamiliar with the term.
Monta chimed in helpfully, "Wizard dueling. You can only use magic—no fists. Just spells to knock out your opponent."
"So… just standing at a distance and firing sparks at each other?" Nolan frowned. "No, Professor. I'm not interested at all. Sounds boring."
"I suspected you'd say that. Your sister said something similar," McGonagall replied with a sigh. "There's a Junior Wizard Dueling Tournament over the holidays this year. Believe me, Nolan—there aren't many students at Hogwarts eligible to compete. You are, without a doubt, the best candidate… even if you are only a second-year." Her expression tightened slightly at the mention of his age.
Nolan shook his head lightly. "I'm not interested."
Professor McGonagall's disappointment was clear, but she didn't press him. "Very well. If you change your mind, let me know at any time."
"Hold on, Professor McGonagall," Eve suddenly interjected, setting her book aside. "Could I ask… is there a prize for winning this tournament?"
"Of course, Miss Stock. There are cash prizes for the top three. The first-place winner receives five hundred Galleons, and the third-place prize is one hundred Galleons."
"Five hundred…" Eve bit her lip, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'd like to sign up…"
"Are you serious, Miss Stock? The dueling competition doesn't just involve young British wizards—most of Europe's finest young wizards participate. You won't only be facing peers your age, but also sixth and seventh-year students who've already passed their O.W.L.s. They've had five or six more years of magical training than you. I don't think your chances are very high." Professor McGonagall gazed steadily at Eve. She didn't mind giving Eve a slot if there were openings, but she was concerned that a loss could damage the young witch's confidence.
Eve hesitated for a moment, then firmly replied, "I still want to participate, Professor McGonagall."
"Very well. I'll save you a spot. The competition takes place after Christmas. Of course, you're free to spend Christmas at home, but either I or Professor Dumbledore will pick you up when it's time for the event. Good evening, all of you."
As soon as McGonagall walked away, Eve grabbed the sleeve of Nolan's robe. "Nolan, you have to help me. I need to win this!"
Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Winning means that much to you?"
"I want the prize money." Eve's response was blunt. She wasn't wealthy, and the reward was enticing. "With that money, I could afford a decent broom. I wouldn't have to ask my mom for anything for the next two or three years."
Monta admired Eve's courage. He hadn't expected such boldness from a young witch willing to take on that kind of competition—and aiming to win. Still, Monta doubted Nolan would agree to help. Nolan was practical. He rarely did anything without a clear benefit for himself.
But to Monta's surprise, Nolan nodded immediately. "Alright." His voice softened. "I'll train you in the evenings. I have to head to Professor Babbling's now, but after lights out, meet me by the tapestry of the troll on the eighth floor. I'll be waiting."
Eve's face lit up with joy, leaving Monta both amused and baffled.
A year ago, the old Nolan would never have agreed to this.
Today, Harry Potter felt like the unluckiest person alive.
He had never done something so foolish in his life!
That morning, Gryffindors had flying lessons with the Slytherins—their first lesson of the year. And during that class, Harry finally discovered his talent in the wizarding world—flying.
Harry was a natural. Even Professor McGonagall had praised him. Gryffindor's Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood, claimed Harry's flying skills were better than Charlie Weasley's, and Charlie had been the best Seeker Gryffindor had seen in years.
In short, Harry was joining the Quidditch team—as a first-year!
It was something no one had done in centuries—not even Nolan Von Draugr (though, to be fair, there were rumors that brooms simply disliked Nolan). Most students thought that was a ridiculous excuse. Watching Ron's jealous but admiring expression made Harry feel immensely proud.
But, as the saying goes, pride comes before the fall...
How had he let Draco Malfoy provoke him?
Malfoy had challenged Harry to a wizard's duel that night. Somehow, Harry had agreed. And now, standing in the designated dueling spot with Ron—plus Hermione and Neville, who had inexplicably tagged along—Harry realized, to his horror, that Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be found.
Instead, they were face-to-face with Filch!
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GOT IT