Chapter 96: 96: The International Wizarding Duel Tournament

The appearance of the Church's Holy Son cast a shadow over Nolan's Christmas that year. Instead of spending the holiday in quiet luxury, he stationed himself in London, alongside key members of the Von Draugr family, determined to flush out the elusive rat during the winter season. But the enemy was careful—cunning, even. No cracks in his façade had appeared so far. On Christmas Eve, Nolan found himself at Libera's den. They shared a warm and intimate evening, tangled in each other's company. By dawn, the first light creeping in through the frosted window, a snow-white owl arrived bearing a letter from Grand Duchess Felicia. She was still in Sweden. The letter was brief, her words scrawled hastily across the parchment. Felicia simply updated him on the progress of her search for the Mystic Eye. Libera placed the letter gently on Nolan's pillow and leaned down, brushing her lips softly against his forehead. "Good morning, and Merry Christmas, Your Highness." Nolan groaned, cracking one eye open. "Morning, Libera..." His voice was hoarse with sleep. "Maybe I should break this awful habit of sleeping and waking early... If not for needing to return to Hogwarts after Christmas, I'd happily stay awake for a month." Libera laughed, bright and musical as she helped him sit up. "You know that's impossible, dear prince. Besides, your friends sent you Christmas blessings. I thought that might cheer you up." Nolan glanced at the foot of the bed, where a mound of brightly wrapped presents sat in a colorful pile—half as tall as he was. "I'll never understand why vampires celebrate Christmas," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "Maybe because so many vampires used to be Muggles?" Libera mused, unwrapping a gift of her own. The sound of paper tearing filled the room as she read the attached letters, occasionally giggling. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, Chris," she chuckled to herself at one point. "You know I'd never give Danso the time of day—he's a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake." Nolan raised an eyebrow. So, this fiery red-haired woman had quite the lively life before becoming a vampire. His pile of gifts, however, was less surprising. Same as every year. Except for one curious detail—Cho and Eve had, coincidentally, both gifted him chocolate. "Oh no," Nolan grumbled, poking at the offending boxes. "They know I hate this stuff." Libera snickered, lounging on the bed beside him. "What were you expecting them to give you instead? Tomato pudding?" One gift stood out—a tiny silver brooch no larger than a fingernail. It came from Eve's mother, a small token delicately shaped like a coiled snake. As if sensing kin, Sheila, the white serpent curled around Nolan's arm, slithered from his sleeve. Her tongue flicked curiously at the brooch, hissing softly in approval. But the most absurd gift of all? Miles. "Oh heavens, Your Highness," Libera laughed, practically in tears as she looked over Nolan's shoulder. "Your friend is adorable. Should I send him an autographed photo in return?" Nolan glared at the gift in question. A glossy, oversized poster of Libera Rousseau. In the photo, Libera posed in an outfit that left little to the imagination—head tilted, lips curved in a mischievous smile. The real Libera, however, was lounging beside him in the flesh... somehow wearing even less than the version in the poster. Nolan handed the poster to her with a deadpan expression. "You can hang it on the wall if you like. Maybe you'd enjoy seeing yourself from different angles." Libera cackled. "Your friend has impeccable taste, Prince. She's stunning!" Nolan sighed. What a vain, insufferable woman. Two days after Christmas, life across England stirred back into motion. In the wizarding world, the long-awaited International Wizard Dueling Tournament—held every four years—was finally here. This year, the tournament was set in London. Wizards from across Europe used Portkeys or Muggle transportation to flood the city, eager to witness the spectacle. On the morning of the competition, Nolan pulled on the wool socks Dumbledore had gifted him for Christmas and set off for the arena alone. He was attending at Eve's invitation. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Von Draugr. I'm delighted to see you didn't spend the day lazing in bed." At the entrance, Nolan spotted Dumbledore, his bright blue eyes twinkling beneath the weight of his long white beard. Today, the old wizard looked unusually lively—perhaps, Nolan thought, because of the jar of cockroach clusters he had sent as a gift. "Good morning, Professor Dumbledore." The headmaster leaned casually against the wall, observing the stream of Muggles passing by. His robes were a soft shade of grey, and his beard trailed nearly a meter down his chest. Dressed as such, Dumbledore was an odd sight in the Muggle world—yet not a single Muggle spared him a second glance. Nolan knew Dumbledore had enchanted himself to remain unnoticed by their eyes. The old wizard gestured for Nolan to join him. His voice, light and cheerful, carried easily over the din of the crowd. "Look at them, Nolan. Busy as ever—like tireless worker ants." Nolan's response was cool. "Muggle life is dull. Most of them have to run in circles just to survive. Unlike wizards—we wave a wand, and everything falls into place." He glanced at Dumbledore, sensing something beneath the headmaster's words. "Get to the point, Professor. What do you want?" Dumbledore chuckled softly, brushing off Nolan's bluntness. "Oh, don't mind me. I merely heard that the Von Draugr family and Borgnat ran into... complications. Perhaps I could offer my assistance." "Complications? You mean that mangy dog with no magical abilities?" Nolan smirked dismissively. "You should be more concerned about your 'Chosen One.' He was nearly killed at Hogwarts." Dumbledore's eyes darkened, though the corners of his mouth remained faintly upturned. "And who do you think was behind the attack?" "Who else? The Dark Lord." Nolan exhaled sharply, weary of the charade. "Listen, Dumbledore. Enough with the riddles. We know the Dark Lord is at Hogwarts. And you—" Nolan narrowed his eyes at the older wizard. "You're perfectly fine with that, aren't you? You know he can't be killed, and now you're trying to lock him away. Is that it? You'd rather not provoke him yet?" For a brief moment, the twinkle behind Dumbledore's half-moon glasses faded. He regarded Nolan with a level stare. "Nothing escapes you, does it?" "Let's not get into that now. Look, here comes the one we've been waiting for." Nolan tilted his head toward the snow-dusted path, where Eve trudged beside Professor McGonagall, the two leaving deep footprints in the frost. "Nolan, perhaps you'd like to participate?" Dumbledore suggested playfully. "A little excitement never hurt anyone." "I'm not interested," Nolan replied coolly. "Besides, I've already provided Hogwarts with an outstanding duelist." "You mean Miss Stock?" "She'll surprise you—just like she did on the Quidditch pitch." Nolan's lips curled faintly as he left Dumbledore's side and strode toward Eve. Her eyes crinkled with delight as she bounded forward. "Nolan! You're here—I'm so glad!" She tugged the green scarf tighter around her neck. "I love the scarf you gave me. I'm planning to wear it all winter!" "...I ate the chocolate you gave me," Nolan added, not entirely convincingly. "Liar!" Eve giggled, clearly pleased with herself. "I knew you wouldn't eat it. But you should try! I made it especially for you—the chocolate's only on the outside." "Oh! Merry Christmas, Mr. Von Draugr." Professor McGonagall approached, nodding briskly. "I'm glad you could make it. Miss Stock hasn't stopped talking about you." Nolan arched a brow at McGonagall. Something about her seemed... different. It took him a few seconds to realize—there it was, perched atop her head—a bright red Santa hat. The fluffy white pom-pom swayed gently as she walked, an amusing contrast to her usual stern demeanor. Nolan couldn't help but suppress a smile.