Harry Potter: The Vampire Prince

"Dumbledore, you have to see this!"

Professor Bathsheba Babbling, the Ancient Runes instructor, burst into the headmaster's office, loudly exclaiming the moment the door swung open with the password "pineapple fizz." In her left hand, she clutched a gothic-looking glove, and in her right, she dragged along a thoroughly reluctant Nolan Von Draugr.

"Bathsheba?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in surprise before he broke into a mischievous smile. "I thought I'd never see you this excited again. You look more like a young witch now than you did eighteen years ago when you were still in Ravenclaw."

"This isn't a time for jokes! You need to listen to me, Dumbledore!" Babbling's voice was electric with enthusiasm. The normally frail-looking woman's hand gripped Nolan's wrist so tightly that the veins on her knuckles bulged, as if she feared he might bolt at any moment. "You must reward Nolan—listen to me, you absolutely must! I've never seen a student like this! You have to see what he's invented!"

"Oh?" Dumbledore set aside the parchment he'd been reading—it appeared to be a letter. His eyes twinkled with curiosity as they landed on the glove in her hand. "Is this invention what you're referring to? It looks… quite fashionable."

"No! It's a groundbreaking piece of magic!" Babbling insisted fervently. "This is a magical artifact crafted by Nolan himself… well, perhaps I helped a little, but the majority of it is his own work! He's already an exceptional magical artificer. I can't even find the words to describe it! I've never seen anything like this!"

Dumbledore's smile deepened, and he reached out to slip the glove onto his hand with evident interest.

It was unmistakably Nolan's style—sleek black leather, with faint metallic tips on the fingers and gears and chains adorning the back purely for aesthetics.

"What does it do, Nolan?"

Nolan, clearly uncomfortable, spoke quietly. "You can snap your fingers, Professor Dumbledore. That should activate it."

Dumbledore snapped his fingers.

At once, every candelabra in the room exploded in a shower of sparks.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore remarked cheerfully, brushing ash from his beard. "A blasting curse, though it seems to lack precision. I must admit, Nolan, this exceeds my expectations."

There was a gleam of admiration in the headmaster's long, narrow eyes.

Becoming a magical artificer was no small feat—it required complete mastery of Ancient Runes, with occasional knowledge of potions and spellcraft as well. Talented artificers were highly sought after by wandmakers and broomstick manufacturers, often earning salaries far surpassing those of Ministry employees. In the wizarding world, it was considered one of the most prestigious professions.

"But that's not all!" Babbling was practically breathless with excitement. "The glove holds three spells! If you clench your fist, the magic shifts!"

Intrigued, Dumbledore tightened his hand into a fist, and the gears on the glove's back whirred with a satisfying clunk. He snapped his fingers again—this time, a shimmering protective barrier of the Shield Charm enveloped him.

Even Dumbledore couldn't hide his impressed expression.

A glove capable of casting both Shield Charms and Blasting Curses? Such a device in the hands of Aurors could double their combat effectiveness, especially for those incapable of conjuring defensive spells mid-battle.

"I've never encountered an artifact capable of holding multiple enchantments, Nolan. You continue to surprise me."

"He's only a second-year! A second-year!" Babbling almost shrieked, grabbing Dumbledore's sleeve as if he hadn't fully comprehended the gravity of her words. "Dumbledore, I want Nolan as my apprentice! He shouldn't be wasting his time in those foolish second-year classes. I can guide him through the vast oceans of Ancient Runes, mold him into the world's finest magical artificer!"

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline your suggestion, tempting as it may be, Professor Babbling," Dumbledore said with a warm smile, removing the glove and returning it to Nolan. "For our dear Nolan, the most important thing right now is clearly to make friends and enjoy his youth. Of course, I won't discourage him from delving deeper into magic—such pursuits benefit all of us. Nolan, can you tell me how you came up with this idea?"

"A Rubik's Cube, Professor Dumbledore."

"A Rubik's Cube?"

"This," Nolan said, pulling a small, colorful cube from his pocket. He handed it to Dumbledore, who examined it with the curiosity of a child discovering a new toy. As Dumbledore twisted and turned the cube, Nolan explained softly, "By rotating the cube, you can change the colors. I thought if I embedded runes into machinery and arranged them by turning gears, I could activate different spells."

"What a novel explanation, Nolan. Truly remarkable." Dumbledore set the Rubik's Cube down with a twinkle in his eye. "We often have much to learn from Muggles, don't we? Clearly, Nolan has taught us that today. Bathsheba, if you wish, feel free to inform the Daily Prophet. I believe young Mr. Von Draugr deserves recognition for his achievements. The wizarding world ought to know you've raised such a talented pupil."

Nolan pursed his lips slightly.

Dumbledore was always like this—pushing to publicize Nolan's inventions, knowing it would pave the way for enhancing the Auror forces. But things weren't that simple. Nolan was confident that no one else in the entire country could replicate the glove. The mechanics behind it were beyond the grasp of most wizards, even if they understood the theory.

Professor Babbling interjected firmly. "Oh, no, Dumbledore. I'll make sure my student receives the recognition he deserves, but this beautiful artifact belongs to Nolan. We shouldn't pressure him to make it public."

"You're right, Bathsheba," Dumbledore conceded, nodding gently. Then his expression shifted as he glanced toward the door. "Ah, it seems we have another visitor. She may be quite eager to see Nolan here."

With a flick of his wand, the door swung open, and Cho Chang from Ravenclaw hurried inside, her dark hair bouncing behind her.

"Professor Dumbledore! You said my sister sent you a letter—Oh, Merlin's beard! Nolan, what are you doing here?"

Professor Babbling looked ready to press Nolan again about his invention, but Nolan subtly stopped her with a glance. He could tell Cho had more pressing matters.

"Yes, indeed. Your sister, Bai Chang—a very charming young lady." Dumbledore lifted the letter he had been reading earlier, smiling. "She admires you greatly, Miss Chang. She wrote to me asking to attend Hogwarts. Her words were quite endearing."

"I… I must apologize, Professor Dumbledore," Cho said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Bai has always wanted to learn magic like me. She was heartbroken this summer when no Hogwarts letter arrived…"

"Not every child from a magical family is born with the gift, I'm afraid. I'm truly sorry, but your sister does not possess magical talent."

Dumbledore's eyes softened beneath his half-moon spectacles, a nostalgic gleam in his gaze. Perhaps he was recalling another child, decades ago, who had once written to him with the same hopes and dreams, yearning to follow in a sibling's footsteps.

Neither Bai Chang nor that child from long ago knew the truth—

The wizarding world was not fair.

It mirrored the inequalities of the Muggle world, in more ways than they could ever imagine.