Harry Potter: The Vampire Prince

Nolan spent the day once again in Professor Babbling's office, happily discussing the various applications of Ancient Runes. By the time he arrived at the Great Hall, most students had finished eating, and half of them had already left.

Eve was sitting in front of a plate of creamy potato gratin, her nose buried in "The Comprehensive Guide to 100,000 Transfigurations and Their Uses." When she spotted Nolan, she waved him over. "Nolan, over here. I saved your tomatoes."

"Thanks, Eve." Nolan quickly polished off the tomatoes and his usual special tomato juice, glancing at Monta beside him. "Do we have any assignments due tomorrow? I can't remember."

"Oh, yeah. Snape's notes on the measles remedy, and Quirrell's… well, honestly, I have no idea. I haven't understood a single word of Defense Against the Dark Arts this year," Monta replied with a shrug.

"Quirrell isn't a good professor. His classes are consistently disappointing," Nolan said quietly, his gaze drifting to the staff table. Professor Quirrell, wrapped in his oversized turban, was cautiously poking at his steak with a fork. When the meat juices spurted out, he yelped and the entire steak slipped off his plate and disappeared under the table. Nolan sighed. "I hope we get a decent professor next year. I've always believed Defense Against the Dark Arts is second only to Ancient Runes in importance."

"Quirrell isn't just some simple idiot—he's just unlucky," Monta said as they left the Great Hall. He began recounting the stories of Quirrell's supposed brilliance during his time in Ravenclaw. "But who would've thought he'd run into a hag and a vampire during his travels? Honestly, I think he's gone mad. He should be at St. Mungo's getting his head checked, not teaching at Hogwarts."

"Nolan," a familiar voice interrupted as Professor McGonagall strode over briskly. She gave Monta and Eve a brief nod. "Oh, good evening, Mr. Lockman, Miss Stock."

"Professor McGonagall," Nolan greeted politely. "I believe the enhancements to Ancestry will take more time. I can make more Noble Bloodline Elixir if needed—that should buy us some time."

"Of course, Nolan. Improving a spell isn't easy, don't worry. I'm not here to rush you." Surprisingly, McGonagall's expression softened, taking on the warmth of a kindly grandmother. She hesitated for a moment. "I wanted to ask… Nolan, do you have any interest in wizard dueling?"

"Wizard dueling?" Nolan echoed, unfamiliar with the term.

Monta chimed in helpfully, "Wizard dueling. You can only use magic—no fists. Just spells to knock out your opponent."

"So… just standing at a distance and firing sparks at each other?" Nolan frowned. "No, Professor. I'm not interested at all. Sounds boring."

"I suspected you'd say that. Your sister said something similar," McGonagall replied with a sigh. "There's a Junior Wizard Dueling Tournament over the holidays this year. Believe me, Nolan—there aren't many students at Hogwarts eligible to compete. You are, without a doubt, the best candidate… even if you are only a second-year." Her expression tightened slightly at the mention of his age.

Nolan shook his head lightly. "I'm not interested."

Professor McGonagall's disappointment was clear, but she didn't press him. "Very well. If you change your mind, let me know at any time."

"Hold on, Professor McGonagall," Eve suddenly interjected, setting her book aside. "Could I ask… is there a prize for winning this tournament?"

"Of course, Miss Stock. There are cash prizes for the top three. The first-place winner receives five hundred Galleons, and the third-place prize is one hundred Galleons."

"Five hundred…" Eve bit her lip, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'd like to sign up…"

"Are you serious, Miss Stock? The dueling competition doesn't just involve young British wizards—most of Europe's finest young wizards participate. You won't only be facing peers your age, but also sixth and seventh-year students who've already passed their O.W.L.s. They've had five or six more years of magical training than you. I don't think your chances are very high." Professor McGonagall gazed steadily at Eve. She didn't mind giving Eve a slot if there were openings, but she was concerned that a loss could damage the young witch's confidence.

Eve hesitated for a moment, then firmly replied, "I still want to participate, Professor McGonagall."

"Very well. I'll save you a spot. The competition takes place after Christmas. Of course, you're free to spend Christmas at home, but either I or Professor Dumbledore will pick you up when it's time for the event. Good evening, all of you."

As soon as McGonagall walked away, Eve grabbed the sleeve of Nolan's robe. "Nolan, you have to help me. I need to win this!"

Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Winning means that much to you?"

"I want the prize money." Eve's response was blunt. She wasn't wealthy, and the reward was enticing. "With that money, I could afford a decent broom. I wouldn't have to ask my mom for anything for the next two or three years."

Monta admired Eve's courage. He hadn't expected such boldness from a young witch willing to take on that kind of competition—and aiming to win. Still, Monta doubted Nolan would agree to help. Nolan was practical. He rarely did anything without a clear benefit for himself.

But to Monta's surprise, Nolan nodded immediately. "Alright." His voice softened. "I'll train you in the evenings. I have to head to Professor Babbling's now, but after lights out, meet me by the tapestry of the troll on the eighth floor. I'll be waiting."

Eve's face lit up with joy, leaving Monta both amused and baffled.

A year ago, the old Nolan would never have agreed to this.

Today, Harry Potter felt like the unluckiest person alive.

He had never done something so foolish in his life!

That morning, Gryffindors had flying lessons with the Slytherins—their first lesson of the year. And during that class, Harry finally discovered his talent in the wizarding world—flying.

Harry was a natural. Even Professor McGonagall had praised him. Gryffindor's Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood, claimed Harry's flying skills were better than Charlie Weasley's, and Charlie had been the best Seeker Gryffindor had seen in years.

In short, Harry was joining the Quidditch team—as a first-year!

It was something no one had done in centuries—not even Nolan Von Draugr (though, to be fair, there were rumors that brooms simply disliked Nolan). Most students thought that was a ridiculous excuse. Watching Ron's jealous but admiring expression made Harry feel immensely proud.

But, as the saying goes, pride comes before the fall...

How had he let Draco Malfoy provoke him?

Malfoy had challenged Harry to a wizard's duel that night. Somehow, Harry had agreed. And now, standing in the designated dueling spot with Ron—plus Hermione and Neville, who had inexplicably tagged along—Harry realized, to his horror, that Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be found.

Instead, they were face-to-face with Filch!