Chapter 218: 219: Penelope’s Self-Inflicted Consequences

Words : 1188 Updated : Oct 10th, 2025

If there were a caste system among wizards, then Penelope Clearwater would belong to the highest tier. It wasn't because the sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect came from an exceptionally noble lineage, but rather because she excelled in every aspect—appearance, intelligence, and social aptitude. As a true embodiment of Ravenclaw's wisdom, she had an undeniably stunning beauty that had allowed her to retain the title of Hogwarts' most beautiful student. And as for her social skills? There was no doubt about them either. Any woman who could maintain a continuous two-and-a-half-year correspondence with Professor Felicia solely to get closer to Nolan was undeniably formidable in the art of networking. Cunning, capable, and beautiful—once she stepped out of the confines of Hogwarts, she was bound to become a force to be reckoned with, even within the wizarding world. So then, why would someone as exceptional as Miss Penelope Clearwater go to such lengths—roundabout or not—to pursue Nolan? "To be honest, I don't know what you're really thinking." Seated inside the Bentley, driven as usual by the ever-reliable Miss Theresa, Nolan furrowed his brows and said to Penelope, "Once we reach Randall Gorge, what you see will be completely different from whatever you're imagining. As a courtesy to a fellow Hogwarts student, I'll give you this piece of advice—there's still time to turn back and spend Christmas at home." "Why?" Penelope batted her thick lashes flirtatiously. "There's only the maid and us here. Could it be that Hogwarts' little Slytherin prince is afraid of me?" No. This woman absolutely had no idea what she was getting into. For a long time, when Penelope had been trying every possible way to get close to Felicia, Nolan had assumed she had figured out the truth about the Von Draugr family's vampiric heritage and, like certain privileged Muggles, was trying to gain access to their blood in exchange for longevity. But recently, he had started to suspect that wasn't the case at all. Could it be, as Eve had once speculated, that this woman was genuinely interested in him? "Hah... well, this is your choice. You have no one to blame but yourself." When they reached the entrance of the Gorge, Theresa glanced at Nolan through the rearview mirror and asked, "What should we do, Your Highness?" "Drive in. This was her own decision... Who knows? Maybe she's outstanding enough to catch Felicia's eye and be chosen as a dhampir." "A dhampir?" Penelope arched a brow. She truly knew nothing. The moment the Bentley crossed into Randal Gorge, the sky darkened instantly. Thick black clouds loomed overhead. An occasional crow cawed as it flapped its wings across the bleak sky, while clusters of bats—like swarms of locusts—swept through the air. The skeletal branches of withered trees bore actual skulls, and beneath them, crooked, half-sunken gravestones were scattered haphazardly. Strange, carnivorous plants curled around the stones like sentries, while the distant howls of wolves echoed endlessly through the valley. To her credit, Penelope had noticed something was amiss quite early on. But seeing Nolan sitting there, calm and composed as ever, she had forced herself to suppress her unease. That unease only grew stronger when their car was suddenly stopped by two figures. One was dressed in deep blue robes with a matching hood pulled over her dark-skinned face, a recurve bow slung across her back—clearly a ranger. The other, in contrast, was garbed in an intricately woven robe of elven design, her silhouette provocatively accentuated. She held a long staff crafted from braided flowering vines, looking every bit like a guardian of the forest. "Your Highness," the two striking women bowed in unison at Nolan. "Shafa, you've changed." Stepping out of the car, Nolan's voice held a rare note of intrigue as he gently lifted Shafa's chin, studying her now-ebony skin up close. Standing beside her was Lúthfa, whose features were eerily similar, save for her pale complexion. The stark contrast between the two fascinated Nolan immensely—his efforts in cultivating dark elves were evidently yielding results. "Yes, Your Highness..." Shafa, typically reserved, parted her lips slightly as though uncertain how to respond. Seeing her discomfort, Theresa stepped in with an explanation. "Shafa has been diligent in her duties. She trained the valley's dire wolves, turning them into a formidable security force. Twice this year, they intercepted werewolf attacks before the intruders even reached the manor, giving us ample time to prepare. Of course," she added, turning to Lúthfa, who looked somewhat dejected, "Lúthfa has been just as committed. But given her past as a priestess, her magic is far too pure, making it harder for her to fully transition into a dark elf." "I see." Nolan nodded before turning back to the sisters. "Even though I acquired you both through labor contracts, I've never considered you mere property. I told you before—you are my future dhampirs and will enjoy the same status as true Von Draugr kin. There's no need to hold back around me. Speak freely, Lúthfa, Shafa." "Yes, Your Highness." Shafa nodded firmly before vanishing into the trees with inhuman agility. Lúthfa hesitated briefly, then touched her ear before softly murmuring, "I live in the wooden cottage on the western side... If Your Highness is interested, you're welcome to visit anytime..." Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Is this an invitation for courtship, Lúthfa?" "Y-yes..." A flush spread across Lúthfa's usually composed face before she bowed quickly. "I'll take my leave now." With that, she hurriedly disappeared into the withered underbrush, her movements surprisingly lighthearted. "They've both adjusted well to life in Randall Gorge," Nolan mused as he got back into the car. "I didn't expect Lúthfa to be so eager to court me." "She's already four hundred and thirty years old," Theresa pointed out while shifting gears. "In the past, her priestess duties suppressed her natural instincts, but since coming here, all of that has been unshackled. And even though elves are long-lived, four hundred and thirty is approaching their prime reproductive years. Most elves will choose their mate before reaching that point... In Lúthfa's case—" she glanced into the rearview mirror at Nolan, "—she doesn't exactly have many options." "That's true. As my dhampir, she wouldn't be allowed to take another mate." At this point, Penelope's face had gone completely pale. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, but when she spoke, her voice trembled, "I know you all seem to be having a lovely conversation, and I deeply regret ignoring your earlier warnings, but Nolan—I want to get out of this car. Right now." Nolan turned to look at her. His expression was chillingly indifferent. "...It's too late," he said coolly. "This is the consequence of your own choices, Penelope. But don't worry—you'll have plenty of time to regret them in the days to come." "...I truly, deeply regret this." And for the first time in her life, the ever-composed Penelope Clearwater felt real, bone-deep fear.

Chapter 218: 219: Penelope’s Self-Inflicted Consequences

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