Chapter 172: 172: Why Is It Her Again?

Words : 1378 Updated : Oct 6th, 2025

As expected, the next day's Daily Prophet ran a front-page story about the deep and enduring friendship between two distinguished gentlemen. The headline featured a large, moving black-and-white photograph— Mr. Weasley was on top of Mr. Malfoy, the two of them locked in what could only be described as an intensely physical struggle. Many witches were thrilled by this development, eagerly chattering with their friends: "I know the one on the bottom is Mr. Malfoy, but someone, please, tell me who that bald wizard on top is!" Even Eve's mother, Angela, showed great interest in the story. "Are all wizards like this?" She asked, her eyes practically glowing with curiosity. "Do they all like men?" Eve wisely decided to ignore her. — A few days passed, yet Duchess Felicia had still not returned. However, word had it that she was finally on her way back. Instead, it was Professor McGonagall's owl that arrived, carrying a letter inviting Nolan to meet her in London on August 12th. — On the appointed day, Nolan disapparated from Randall Gorge, dressed in a shirt chosen by Eve and trousers picked by Libera. A sharp crack echoed through the air as he materialized— Startling a small stray cat that Professor McGonagall had been absentmindedly petting. The feline bolted in terror. "My goodness, Mr. Von Draugr," McGonagall gasped, placing a hand over her chest. "Why are you Apparating like that?" She gave him a scrutinizing look, eyes narrowing at his Muggle attire. "You didn't—lose any pieces of yourself, did you?" "As long as my internal organs are still intact, then no," Nolan answered indifferently. "Though, honestly, even if I did lose a few, it wouldn't matter. They'd just grow back—so long as it's not my brain." McGonagall blinked rapidly, clearly shaken by this information. After a brief pause, she composed herself and said, "Let's be on our way, Mr. Von Draugr." — "Who are we meeting?" Nolan asked as they walked. "Oh, you wouldn't know them. They're reclusive old wizards—brilliant minds, but they despise fame." McGonagall led the way, her strides remarkably brisk for an elderly witch. "Rather like Madame Perona—no one knows her, but you cannot underestimate her magic. I imagine she's taught you quite a bit." "Madame Perona has indeed taught me a lot," Nolan replied smoothly. He then added, with the slightest smirk, "She also told me quite a few stories about your time as a student, Professor McGonagall." "Oh, let's not bring that up," McGonagall hastily cut him off. Clearing her throat, she swiftly changed the subject: "Today, we'll be visiting one of these reclusive wizards at his home." "In London?" Nolan raised an eyebrow. "I thought wizards hated big cities." "Some old hermits believe that Muggle streets are the best hiding places," McGonagall explained. They stopped in front of a gray door labeled 702 Graven Street. "Ah, here we are." She knocked, and a moment later, the door swung open— Revealing a young witch with silver hair. "?!" "Huh?" "What the—why is it you?!" The silver-haired witch frowned, her eyes scanning Nolan suspiciously. "Are you following me?" "That's my line, Veela," Nolan replied, clearly unimpressed. He handed his walking stick to her and stepped inside, muttering, "Feels like no matter where I go this summer, I run into you." Then, narrowing his eyes, he added, "Did you permanently move to England? I thought you lived in Paris." McGonagall glanced between the two of them. "Mr. Von Draugr, Miss Delacour—you already know each other?" "By accident," Fleur cut in before Nolan could answer. She tossed her hair and huffed, "And for the record, we don't get along!" Nolan crossed his arms. "I just want to know why this Veela is here." "She's the granddaughter of Helene, the French Transfiguration Master... if I recall correctly?" McGonagall handed her hat to Fleur, nodding in appreciation. "Oh, thank you, Miss Delacour. That's very thoughtful of you." "It's nothing, Professor," Fleur replied politely, hanging up the hat. As she led them inside, she lowered her voice and muttered to Nolan, "So... you got dragged into this gathering too? Ugh. I hate the smell in here. Old wizards are no different from old Muggles—they all reek of old people stench." Nolan had noticed the musty scent lingering in the air, but he didn't particularly care. Instead, he asked, "Where's Ligeitoli? I heard she went back to France with you." Fleur hesitated for a moment. Then, awkwardly shifting her gaze aside, she muttered, "She... uh, let's not talk about that." Stepping into the living room, Nolan was met with the sight of numerous elderly wizards. And they were old. Some looked to be in their seventies or eighties, but one wizard—an elderly German man—had apparently reached the impressive age of one hundred and twenty. Professor McGonagall gestured toward him and introduced, "This is Mr. Austin. Among all known masters of Transfiguration, he is considered the foremost authority." Mr. Austin's eyesight seemed to have long since failed him. Or, as Fleur had oh-so-bluntly put it: "Not even magic can save his eyes anymore." Nolan watched as the near-blind old man mistook another boy for him and began warmly shaking his hand while offering words of welcome. His expression became rather peculiar. — "Please forgive my great-grandfather—his eyesight isn't what it used to be," a young girl apologized, stepping forward. She was tall, with a strong, angular face covered in freckles—her features unmistakably German. "My name is Rachel," she introduced herself, offering her hand. "I'm from Germany." "That much is obvious," Nolan remarked, shaking her hand. He added with a nod of approval, "Your English is excellent." Rachel bit her lip, her face tinged slightly red. Off to the side, Fleur watched this exchange with cold indifference. — Rachel, full of enthusiasm, eagerly dragged Nolan around, introducing him to all the elderly wizards. Meanwhile, Fleur—who seemed to find the whole thing utterly dull—let out a quiet, unimpressed tsk. The old wizards, however, were thrilled by Nolan's presence. The remainder of the afternoon was spent deep in discussion about Ancestris—a topic that had clearly captivated them. They painstakingly broke down spells into their original Runic script, dissecting each character one by one, trying to determine where the flaw lay—why Webweaver's body was unable to withstand the transformation. This intricate process stretched well into the evening. — Meanwhile, Fleur, Rachel, and another young male wizard sat idly on the sidelines, bored out of their minds. But what could they do? They couldn't understand a single word of what the old wizards were discussing. — Rachel leaned in and whispered, "Nolan is seriously impressive." Her tone was filled with admiration. "I've never seen someone so young who can actually keep up with my great-grandfather's thought process. I still don't even understand what they're arguing about." Fleur, pouting slightly, did not give an opinion. But her pursed lips and the slight tilt of her head made her look exceptionally adorable. — The young male wizard, on the other hand, had been desperately trying to strike up a conversation with Fleur. Unfortunately for him, the half-Veela had zero interest in talking to him—her responses were minimal at best. His initial enthusiasm quickly dwindled, and before long, he sat there, looking defeated. — That was—until he noticed something. He noticed that Fleur's attitude toward Nolan was... different. Her gaze would linger on him. She didn't outright praise him, but she certainly wasn't ignoring him either. Immediately, the boy's demeanor shifted. His tone turned snide, his words laced with bitterness: "I have no idea who that boy is, nor do I understand why he thinks he has the right to argue with Professor Helene and the other esteemed masters." "Frankly, it's disrespectful." "In the field of Transfiguration, he's nothing but a novice! Instead of questioning them, he should simply listen and learn!" — Fleur shot him a look of pure disdain, her icy blue eyes filled with nothing but contempt. She didn't even bother to respond. Because to her— His opinion wasn't even worth acknowledging.

Chapter 172: 172: Why Is It Her Again?

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