Chapter 216: 217: A Discovery Before the Christmas Holidays

Words : 1222 Updated : Oct 10th, 2025

"Why won't they just arrest Potter already?" Camille grumbled as she and the other Slytherins made their way down the corridor after their last elective class of the term. She suddenly spotted Harry Potter and Ron Weasley sneaking around suspiciously and made no effort to hide her displeasure. "It's not that simple," Laura Cook replied calmly. "Everyone knows Dumbledore is one of Potter's biggest supporters." "Privilege," Montague scoffed. "I don't care if he's innocent or not, but if it were anyone else—anyone—who got caught red-handed, speaking Parseltongue no less, they'd be locked away in a heartbeat. Dumbledore's trust might be noble, but it's reckless for the rest of us." The group continued discussing the matter for a while, but something felt off. It wasn't until a moment later that they noticed someone was unusually quiet—Miles Bletchley, their resident gossip and troublemaker. "What's up with you, mate?" Montague clapped him on the shoulder. "Fallen for some girl again?" Miles shot him an angry look and flipped him off. "No! Or are you suggesting that because I'm not lucky enough to have a girlfriend, I don't belong in this conversation? But speaking of which, Montague, why aren't you off somewhere with yours instead of butting into our discussion every time?" "What's wrong with him?" Montague asked, baffled. "Did I do something to piss him off?" The Slytherins exchanged puzzled glances before turning toward Nolan. Experience had taught them that, in situations like this, Nolan always had the answer. And, as expected, he barely looked up before stating a single word: "Stocks." "What's that? Some new magic?" "Oh, for Merlin's sake, you pure-bloods are exhausting," Eve groaned before launching into an explanation of this unfamiliar Muggle concept. But even after breaking it down, the complex financial terms went over their heads. The best they could manage was a vague understanding of historical events like World War II and something called the Roosevelt Administration, but stocks? That was a lost cause. "If you really want them to understand, you'll have to start from the concept of corporate shares," Nolan said with his usual indifference. "Save your breath, Eve. Just tell them it's like gambling." "Ohhh, now I get it," the pure-bloods nodded in unison. Montague leaned in curiously. "So Miles is losing his mind because he lost a bet?" "We haven't lost yet!" Miles suddenly exploded, his eyes bloodshot. "We all agreed that this stock was going to skyrocket! My father even bet our bloody estate on it! If it goes up, we'll strike it rich—so rich that I'll be untouchable, leagues above all of you!" The wild look in his eyes was genuinely unsettling. "And you, Alicia!" Miles suddenly rounded on a nearby girl. "When I become one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain, don't come crying to me for ignoring me now!" With that, he stormed off in a huff. Montague let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. "Classic gambling addict." "I won't regret it," Alicia sniffed in distaste. "No matter how much money he has, he'll still be just Miles Bletchley. Nothing more." ... As they passed the castle's front entrance, an unexpected figure appeared. "Oh, Hagrid," Nolan called out, waving casually. The half-giant looked uneasy. Ever since their last awkward encounter, he and Nolan hadn't spoken much. Truth be told, Hagrid didn't hold a grudge. Deep down, he understood what kind of person Nolan was—rational, sharp-minded, and utterly devoid of sentimentality. The strained relationship was his own fault. If only he had listened to Nolan's advice about the dragon and reported it properly, things wouldn't have turned so awkward. "A-Afternoon, Nolan," Hagrid muttered. "And... er, you lot..." Nolan didn't seem to mind. "Need an extra meal, Hagrid?" "What? Oh! You mean this chicken?" Hagrid lifted a limp, lifeless bird in his hands. "Extra meal? No, 'course not! This was one o' mine, but it got killed. Strange thing, though—killed but not eaten? Don't think a weasel could've done that... No' strong enough, y'see. But Nolan, d'you mind puttin' some charms on me henhouse? They keep disappearin' this term." "Sure, I don't mind. But can I take a look at the chicken first?" Hagrid handed it over, and Nolan's exposed right eye narrowed sharply. His expression darkened immediately. "Hagrid, are you blind? This wasn't done by a weasel. This wound was made by a knife. If the weasel you're picturing matches the one I'm thinking of, then it shouldn't be carrying around a blade." "A knife? Then... then what's goin' on? Some student's prank?" Hagrid scratched his head and wandered off, still mumbling to himself. Nolan watched him go, his fingers tightening around the dead chicken. "Blood of a chicken, petrification..." He chuckled under his breath. "No wonder Sheila said what she did." The Slytherins watched him warily. Eve nudged her boyfriend. "What is it? Did you figure something out?" "I found it," Nolan murmured, his lips curling into a sharp smirk. "The monster lurking in Hogwarts. I finally caught its tail... quite literally." ... In the days leading up to the Christmas holidays, students at Hogwarts began noticing something odd. The ever-dignified and composed Nolan Von Draugr was frequently spotted loitering in the strangest of places. The site where Mrs. Norris was attacked. The corridor where Justin Finch-Fletchley was found petrified. He moved like a detective in an old novel, crouching low, studying every detail with an almost obsessive intensity. His behavior unnerved many students, who whispered that the infamous Slytherin prince had finally lost his mind. The situation escalated to the point where the professors had to intervene, asking Nolan to "tone it down." Surprisingly, the first person to volunteer for this task was none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. No one could understand his reasoning—was he simply past the point of caring, or did he genuinely want to mend relations with Nolan? Either way, their conversation did not go well. By the end of it, Lockhart's signature golden curls had exploded into a frizzy mess, and he was left dangling upside down in a corridor, thick smoke billowing from his backside. To make matters worse, Luna Lovegood happened to pass by at that exact moment. The next week's cover of The Quibbler featured Lockhart hanging from the ceiling, his hair wild, and his smoking rear end prominently displayed. It became a best-seller. "So," Professor McGonagall sighed, rubbing her forehead as she confronted Nolan, "would you care to tell me exactly what it is you've discovered, Mr. Von Draugr?" Nolan's expression was unreadable as he regarded her. "That's what I'd like to discuss, Professor. Are you seriously telling me Dumbledore doesn't already know what's hiding in this school? I don't buy that. Not for a second. "To be honest, I'm getting fed up with our esteemed headmaster's way of handling things. After what happened at the end of last year, I decided I wouldn't rely on him anymore. And I won't this time, either. "I'll deal with this monster myself. "There's nothing to discuss."

Chapter 216: 217: A Discovery Before the Christmas Holidays

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