For a long ti after the incident, Professor Flitwick was obsessed with figuring out how the Slug-Vomiting Charm had been cast in the first place.
Or, as Ron Weasley put it:
"I never thought I'd live to see the day—Professor Flitwick actually asked for magical guidance! Maybe I really am a genius!"
Of course, Ron had little ti to bask in his newfound intellectual fa—he spent quite a while recovering in the hospital wing, only to be greeted with detention upon his release.
Draco Malfoy didn't get off the hook either. No one believed he was innocent.
Besides, the mont he spat out the word Mudblood, he had also insulted Eve Stock. And that was sothing Nolan simply couldn't ignore. Malfoy learned that the hard way.
…
That evening, after a long Transfiguration class, the Slytherins were making their way toward the Great Hall for dinner.
Nolan stretched lazily at the back of the group, feeling lighter than he had in months. Monts ago, he had finally handed in the finished manuscript for the school's official Quidditch guide to Professor McGonagall. The book was ready for publication!
From early August until now, he had been working tirelessly on it. After more than two months of effort, he could finally relax his shoulders.
At that mont, Malcolm Baddock deliberately slowed his pace, falling back to match Nolan's stride. He cleared his throat and muttered, "Nolan, I need a favor."
"A favor?" Nolan raised an eyebrow.
That was… unusual.
Everyone knew Malcolm Baddock was proud. Arrogant, even. He looked down on half-bloods, believing the Baddock lineage was superior.
And yet, here he was—asking for help?
Malcolm's head was lowered, and his usually pale face had turned an alarming shade of red. He hesitated for a long mont before mumbling, "Nolan… I heard you have a lot of Galleons. Is that true?"
"...Are you asking for money?"
"Uh, no! Not exactly! I-I prefer to think of it as an investnt," Malcolm stamred, growing more flustered. "You see, the Baddock family is one of the most prestigious in the British wizarding world. We know how to handle wealth. So if you were to entrust just a small amount of your gold to us, I promise you'd get even more in return!"
"...And I should be grateful for this opportunity?" Nolan asked dryly. "Are you asking for sponsorship?"
"What's that?"
Nolan shook his head. "A Muggle term. You don't need to worry about it."
Then, narrowing his eyes, he added, "But I don't understand—are you telling the Baddock family is… out of money?"
"I wouldn't say that outright…" Malcolm muttered, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm sure it's just a temporary setback. The gold just… vanished sohow. It must have been stolen! Or—or maybe so despicable Dark wizard tricked us out of it!"
His expression twisted in frustration before he declared, "Either way, the Baddock family has montarily hit a rough patch… but I know it won't last! My family is the best in Britain!"
Nolan let out a slow, unimpressed sigh. "How much do you need?"
"One hundred—" Malcolm began, but the second he saw Nolan's displeased expression, he quickly backpedaled. "I an… maybe fifty? Forty?"
"I said—"
"Thirty! Just thirty Galleons!" Malcolm hurriedly cut in, frantically waving his hands. "That's nothing to you, right? I know you've spent way more than that on Stock and Chang! Otherwise, how else would they agree to share you?"
Nolan's expression darkened instantly.
Malcolm, however, didn't seem to notice. Instead, he nodded knowingly and said, "We pure-blood wizards are all like this. While a wife can only be one, a true high-class wizarding noble must have a few lovers to carry on the bloodline—it's perfectly normal! Of course, they must be pure-bloods as well..."
Nolan reached into his coin pouch, intending to give him thirty Galleons.
After all, Malcolm was his dormmate. They weren't particularly close, but they weren't outright enemies either. Nolan didn't share the common dislike many others had for Malcolm—he was just a foolish, simple-minded noble.
But just as he was about to hand over the gold, Miles Bletchley walked over.
He glanced at Malcolm with obvious disdain before turning to Nolan. "You're not seriously about to lend him money, are you?"
The conversation imdiately caught the attention of the other Slytherins.
"What's going on?"
Malcolm froze, his face filled with panic. The last thing he wanted was for his peers—especially the half-bloods he often looked down on—to know about his family's financial ruin.
"Bletchley," he whispered hastily. "Perhaps we should discuss sothing else..."
"I don't think so," Miles said coldly. Then, raising his voice, he declared, "We all know your family's completely out of money, Malcolm Baddock. You're trying to borrow gold from Nolan, but you won't be able to pay him back, because your family couldn't even afford to buy you new textbooks this year!"
"That's only temporary!" Malcolm shouted in panic, his face turning deathly pale.
Miles scoffed before addressing the growing audience.
"Everyone knows the Baddock family loves hosting extravagant parties. They've always treated themselves like wizarding royalty, but the truth is, they've never actually earned a single Galleon. Instead, they've been selling off their ancestors' treasures to fund their ridiculous lifestyle. And now?"*
He smirked.
"Now, they've run out."
A murmur of realization rippled through the gathered students.
"That's why Malcolm Baddock showed up to school with second-hand books this year."
"No!" Malcolm's voice cracked as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. His wide, desperate eyes scanned the crowd. "You shouldn't believe him! Bletchley is lying!"
"No one believes you, Baddock," Miles said smugly. Then, gripping Nolan's arm, he added, "Co on. Don't lend him a single Knut—he'll never be able to pay you back."
Nolan frowned, feeling mildly irritated. He had been about to respond when Eve suddenly appeared, looping her arm through his.
She quickly led him away, whispering, "I know you don't hate Baddock, just like you don't particularly like Miles Bletchley. You're not close to him either. But every morning, he waits for you. Everyone assus you two are very good friends. Maybe Miles just sees his friendship with you as sothing to show off, but you shouldn't make an enemy out of him."
Nolan sighed and nodded. "You're probably right."
Behind them, Malcolm stood frozen in place, his face drained of all color.
Only Montague, ever the good-natured one, stepped forward to awkwardly pat his shoulder in a show of sympathy.
But Malcolm barely acknowledged it. His fingers clenched into tight fists as he wiped away the humiliating tears at the corner of his eyes.
…
On the way to the Great Hall, Nolan suddenly felt sothing tighten around his wrist.
"Sheila?" He rolled up his sleeve, glancing down at the white serpent coiled around his arm. "What's wrong?"
Sheila opened her mouth.
A series of sharp, low hisses filled the air.
Eve imdiately noticed and frowned. "What did she say?"
Nolan's expression turned serious. He looked up toward the ceiling.
"She says there's sothing above us," he murmured. "Sothing moving along the rafters, whispering in a terrifying voice...
"I will kill you... Tear you apart... Bite through your flesh..."
Eve shuddered. "Is that... so kind of secret code?"
"I don't know..." Nolan exhaled slowly, narrowing his right eye as he gazed at the shadows above.
"But one thing's for sure—Hogwarts isn't nearly as safe as it looks."
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