"I'm not the one who's sick—it's my little sister, Ginny!" Fred responded.
"She does look pretty bad."
As Nolan approached, Ginny's face flushed crimson.
She often whispered to Hermione about how much she disliked Nolan, picking apart his flaws in private discussions. Yet, when she had to face him directly, she found herself too flustered to say a single word.
"It looks serious," Nolan commented, reaching into his pocket. After rummaging for a moment, he pulled out a small vial filled with a bright green liquid. "Take this."
"What is it?" Percy asked, unscrewing the cap and sniffing at the contents with curiosity. "What's that smell?"
"Peppermint. A common flavoring among Muggles," Nolan replied coolly. "I've always thought wizarding potions taste disgusting, so I add flavoring to mine. This is a cold remedy—works pretty well. I was thinking of recommending it to Madam Pomfrey."
"Don't you dare!" Fred immediately objected. "That would mean no more students walking around with steam coming out of their ears!"
"And that would be a bad thing because…?" Nolan raised an eyebrow.
Fred opened his mouth but failed to come up with a proper answer.
Ginny, meanwhile, had already swallowed the potion. Her face flushed an even deeper red, but she could feel her body recovering almost instantly.
"Why do you even carry cold medicine around?" Percy asked, turning the tiny vial in his hand.
"The weather's been getting colder," Nolan said, gesturing behind him. "Some Slytherins have caught colds—like Draco over there. He looks like death warmed over."
Indeed, Draco Malfoy was in terrible shape that morning, sneezing non-stop. At the Slytherin table, his housemates kept inching away from him, making it painfully clear that no one wanted to risk getting sprayed.
At that moment, the Gryffindor trio walked into the Great Hall.
Seeing Malfoy being avoided like the plague, Ron lit up with glee. "Look at that! Guess he's not as popular as he thinks he is!"
Hermione, trying to avoid unnecessary conflict, quickly tugged on Ron's sleeve. "Let's not start anything."
But Ron ignored her completely. "Some people think they can buy their way into the Quidditch team with a few fancy brooms and then prance around like they're something special. But no matter how much money they spend, they'll always be the same—a pathetic, bootlicking git!"
"Oh, and you think you're any better?" Draco stood up abruptly, his already pale face twisting with anger. "Do you even know what people call the Weasley family? Blood traitors. Only blood traitors would lower themselves to befriend a Mudblood!"
"What did you just say?!" Ron's eyes went wide with fury. "How dare you—"
"What? What did he say?" Hermione asked in confusion, glancing between the two boys. "What's a Mudblood?"
Ron turned to her, his face a mix of rage and disbelief. "He just called you a Mudblood!"
Hermione barely had time to react before Ron furiously yanked out his wand. "You'll pay for that, Malfoy!"
The confrontation at the Slytherin table was loud enough to draw the attention of the professors.
Professor McGonagall was already standing, her expression tight with worry. "Oh, for heaven's sake, someone stop them!"
"Leave it to me!" Gilderoy Lockhart puffed out his chest and dramatically sprinted toward the scene. "I, the great Gilderoy Lockhart, shall resolve this little student dispute with my unparalleled magical expertise!"
Fred exchanged a look with George, then grinned wickedly. "Think Lockhart can actually handle this?"
Nolan, watching the scene with an air of detached amusement, gave a slight smirk. "I'd bet against it."
Then, he glanced sideways at the remaining Weasleys still at their table.
"I thought you lot would be more concerned about your little brother," he remarked dryly.
"Little Ron? Forget it."
"Not our problem."
"He deserves detention for this."
The three Weasley brothers spoke in unison.
Nolan muttered under his breath, "Such a well-loved individual..."
Meanwhile, Gilderoy Lockhart had officially entered peacekeeper mode.
"Now, now, boys!" Lockhart declared, dramatically sweeping his arms. "I, too, was once young and passionate, but I simply must insist that you stop this nonsense! Because I, Gilderoy Lockhart, will not allow you to terrify your fellow students!"
The young witches and wizards in the Great Hall exchanged puzzled looks. They had no idea who, apart from Lockhart himself, was actually frightened.
"Malfoy has to pay for this!" Ron snarled, his expression contorted with rage. "How dare he say that word!"
Draco, peeking out from behind Lockhart's billowing robes, flashed a pale, smug grin. He silently mouthed the word again, stretching it out mockingly:
"Mud—bloooooooood—"
Ron saw red. He brandished his wand and fired off a hex, just as Lockhart, ever eager to show off, flicked his own wand to heroically deflect the spell.
Then—BOOM!
The spell backfired, blasting both Ron and Lockhart off their feet.
Lockhart went sailing across the Great Hall, crashing into the Slytherin table. His unfortunate landing sent Eve Stock's perfectly fine milk pudding flying through the air, splattering against the wall.
The silver-haired witch, who had been peacefully enjoying her breakfast moments ago, now looked absolutely livid.
Ron, on the other hand, had been launched straight into the Gryffindor table, landing directly on top of Lavender Brown.
"...Well. That looked painful," Nolan murmured, his usual calm voice carrying an uncharacteristic tremor. "Truly terrifying magic."
The Weasley brothers hurried to help Ron up, while Alicia Spinnet, standing nearby, looked at Nolan curiously. "Was that really such a dangerous spell?"
"You've seen the results," Nolan replied dryly, giving the scene an unimpressed glance.
But soon, everyone understood.
Ron let out a deep, retching gag.
Then—SPLAT.
He vomited an enormous pile of slugs.
Long, thick, and disgustingly slimy, the translucent green slugs tumbled from his mouth in great, wriggling heaps, each one coated in sticky, glistening mucus.
Lavender, who had already been struggling under Ron's weight, shrieked in horror as she was splattered with slug slime.
"AHHHHHH!" she wailed, bursting into tears.
"Blergh—I think I'm gonna be sick—"
"You already are, little Ron!" Fred shouted in dismay, barely dodging a stray slug. He and George quickly grabbed Ron and dragged him toward the exit.
But Ron didn't stop puking. He couldn't stop.
With every few steps, another grotesque plop echoed through the Great Hall as more and more slugs poured from his mouth.
Panic erupted among the students. The once-pristine hall was now littered with trails of writhing, slimy slugs, glistening in the candlelight. Younger students shrieked and scrambled onto their benches, desperate to get their feet off the floor.
Alicia shuddered, her face pale. "Okay… that was a terrifying spell."
"I've never heard of it before," she added, looking to Nolan. "Do you know what it was?"
Nolan tilted his head thoughtfully. "Nope. And, frankly, I doubt even Professor Flitwick would recognize it. Congratulations to Ron Weasley—he seems to have invented a brand-new curse. Too bad I can't see much practical use for it… Unless, of course, you wanted to stop your enemy from casting spells by filling their mouth with slugs."
A collective shudder ran through the group. The mental image alone was horrifying.
But the nightmare wasn't over yet.
Just as everyone was coming to terms with Ron's predicament—Lockhart began vomiting slugs too.
And it was so much worse.
Unlike Ron, whose slugs came from his mouth alone, Lockhart's hex had gone completely haywire—his slugs were shooting out of his mouth and nostrils.
The sight was beyond revolting.
GLOP. A slug dangled from his nostril.
PLOP. Another launched out like a torpedo.
Students screamed as they dodged the airborne mucus projectiles.
And in the midst of it all, Colin Creevey was having the time of his life.
Snapping photo after photo, the little Gryffindor beamed with excitement. "Professor Lockhart! How does it feel right now? Do you think you could smile for the camera?"
"Bluhhhgggg!" Lockhart gagged violently, his eyes rolling back as another thick slug slithered its way out of his nose.
"I, uh… I don't think Professor Lockhart will be smiling anytime soon," said Professor Flitwick, grimacing as he levitated Lockhart off the floor, keeping a very safe distance. "Move aside, children. I believe your dear Professor Lockhart… needs immediate medical attention."