"Will you come inside with me? Although I doubt you'll get to meet Professor Dumbledore. Afterward, we can head to the Transfiguration classroom to run a few experiments," Professor McGonagall suggested.
Nolan nodded in agreement. With that, McGonagall uttered the password, "Pear Drop Soda!"
The door to the Headmaster's office swung open, and to Nolan's surprise, they found unexpected company inside.
"Potter? Weasley? Granger?" McGonagall's previously pleasant mood soured instantly. "What are you three doing here?"
"We need to speak with Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said bravely, though her voice wavered slightly.
Nolan could tell she wasn't as composed as she tried to appear; her pupils trembled ever so slightly.
Only Slytherins seemed unafraid of Snape, and as for Gryffindors, it was well-known that McGonagall was the person they feared most.
"You want to speak with Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall repeated suspiciously. "Why?"
The answer that followed was, in Nolan's opinion, one of the most absurd and foolish things he'd ever heard in his thirteen years of life.
The so-called Savior of the Wizarding World looked McGonagall in the eye and said, "It's a secret."
Both Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger looked utterly stunned. Neither of them had anticipated Harry Potter would dare to speak to McGonagall like that.
Harry had, without a doubt, just offended his Head of House in the worst possible way. McGonagall's face turned red with anger—never before had one of her own students shown her such blatant disregard.
"Professor Dumbledore is in London," she said icily.
Harry, undeterred, insisted, "But this is really important!" Finally noticing Nolan, he asked in surprise, "Draugr? What are you doing here?"
"Mr. Draugr is here with me," McGonagall answered sharply. "I didn't think it appropriate for him to wait outside. And for your information, Mr. Draugr has been free to enter Professor Dumbledore's office at will for some time now. The matters they discuss are far more critical than you can imagine."
"Like…" Harry swallowed nervously, steeling himself. "Like the Philosopher's Stone?"
McGonagall's eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn't fathom how Harry had come to know about such a closely guarded secret. Her mind raced, considering the possible sources—Hagrid came to mind almost immediately. Furious, she exclaimed, "I should never have supported Hagrid taking on this job!"
"It wasn't Hagrid's fault!" Harry protested, delivering a lie no one believed. "I figured it out myself." Then, his frustration boiling over, he added, "Why is it that Draugr gets to be involved in this, but I don't? I know Voldemort is after the Philosopher's Stone!"
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" McGonagall gasped, horrified. "How dare you say that name out loud?"
"It's just a name—"
"No!" McGonagall cut him off, her tone colder than ever. "You mustn't say that name! And let me tell you why Mr. Draugr is involved while you are not. It's because he is cautious. He doesn't act like an idiot, spreading secrets around, nor does he side with a dragon when it attacks his fellow students."
"Professor McGonagall, we believe Norbert was released on purpose! Someone with a grudge against Hagrid must've done it—probably Malfoy!" Harry argued.
"Wonderful!" McGonagall said with a bitter laugh. "Then, please, bring me this so-called culprit, Detective Potter. After all, it's not Hagrid's fault for secretly raising a dragon, nor is it the dragon's fault for attacking your classmates. The only one at fault is some mysterious figure nobody has seen. That's your logic, isn't it?"
Harry's breathing grew heavy. He knew continuing down this path would be fruitless. The Philosopher's Stone was what truly mattered now.
Turning to Nolan, he demanded, "Don't you have anything to say about this?"
"Say what?" Nolan replied evenly.
"You know Hagrid got the dragon egg because he let something slip at the pub! Hagrid told me you know about it! So why haven't you done anything? You know the Philosopher's Stone is in danger! Or—" Harry's voice trembled with anger as he narrowed his eyes. "Or are you working with Voldemort?"
"How dare you!" McGonagall shrieked, her voice reverberating through the office.
Nolan sighed, his expression cold as he said, "In the wizarding world, this is the gravest accusation one can make, Potter."
"I know—but," Harry's tone was dead serious, "you're suspicious, Draugr. I don't understand why the professors overlook your strange behavior—"
"Allow me to explain why," McGonagall cut him off, stepping protectively in front of Nolan. "Because after the start of the second term, Mr. Draugr spent half a month stationed near the Philosopher's Stone. He was tasked with designing traps for the maze guarding it. The Stone is still safe. If he had any intention of stealing it, he would have done so long ago. Miss Granger, how does this answer hold up?"
"It's flawless, Professor McGonagall," Hermione muttered softly, glancing at Nolan. She explained, "I've been trying to talk Harry out of this for a while, but he loses all sense of reason whenever it involves You-Know-Who..."
"I have not lost my reason!" Harry roared. "My scar is hurting! I know it's trying to tell me something! There's a spy for Voldemort close to me—closer than any of you realize!"
Nolan's voice was calm but firm. "When did it start?"
"The night we came back from the Forbidden Forest…" Harry admitted reluctantly, though his glare remained fixed on Nolan. "I suppose it's not you, then?"
"That much should be obvious," Nolan replied quietly. "If I were a Death Eater, your scar would've started hurting on the night of July 31st last year." He turned to McGonagall and added, "Professor, it seems your so-called Savior isn't too fond of my presence. Let's postpone the experiment for another time, perhaps during the holidays, when we meet with those Transfiguration masters."
McGonagall sighed. "Very well. In the meantime, I'll send word to Randall Gorge. I just hope my owl can manage the journey—it's getting on in years."
Nolan left the Headmaster's office, leaving Harry behind, deep in thought. "He lives in a place called Randall Gorge?" Harry muttered, suspicion lacing his voice. "Sounds fishy. I've never heard of such a place in Britain."
"There are plenty of things you've never heard of, Potter. For example, a Head of House deducting fifty points from their own house," McGonagall retorted icily. Her tone sharpened further as she issued a warning, "Don't let me catch you playing detective in this matter again. If I do, I'll personally deduct points from Gryffindor, even if it means making myself a laughingstock in front of Professor Snape. And you, Miss Granger—I expect you to use that brilliant mind of yours to remind Potter of a few truths. For instance, he's not nearly as all-knowing or special as he thinks."
"I'll... keep that in mind, Professor McGonagall," Hermione replied, watching the professor's icy figure retreat. With a heavy sigh, she turned to Harry.
"She's not wrong, you know," she said softly, though Harry didn't seem to hear her. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the evening and the lingering suspicion that something still wasn't right.