111: Misfortune Befalls the Irish Elf

"Albus Dumbledore." The little elf spoke in her soft, childish voice. "I know you. The greatest wizard in all of England."

Nolan crossed his arms and let out a dismissive snort. "A lot of people say that. I used to believe it too. But today I've learned that the so-called greatest wizard has quite the fondness for thieves and burglars. I'm not sure what to make of it. Maybe thieves are more noble than wizards?"

"Oh, don't be like that, Nolan." Dumbledore's tone was light as he tried to pacify the young vampire.

Nolan shook his head. "Professor Dumbledore, don't let her looks fool you. Did you know elves can live up to five hundred years? How old do you think this girl is? Three hundred? Four hundred?"

"You're lying!" the elf shrieked in protest, stamping her foot. "I'm not nearly that old! I'm still a young, newly born elf!"

"How young, exactly?" Nolan asked with mock curiosity, raising an eyebrow.

"I—I'm only..." The elf fumbled for words, nervously wringing her hands. "A little over a hundred..."

"How much over a hundred?"

"One hundred and thirty-three!" she finally yelled, exasperated. Then, straightening up, she puffed out her chest proudly. "See? I'm not that old!"

Nolan nodded, his expression unreadable. "No, not that old. Although still older than Professor Dumbledore." He smirked. "Well then, Professor, you may continue questioning this elf who happens to be your senior."

"Oh, what an honor." Dumbledore chuckled heartily, seemingly entertained by the notion. "Many wizards already think I'm ancient, but I often speak with those much older than myself. Nicolas and your sister, for example. They always have such wise things to say. Now then, Miss Elf, may we know your name and where you hail from?"

Perhaps it was Dumbledore's warmth and gentle demeanor, but the elf seemed less guarded than before—though she still cast wary glances at Nolan every few seconds.

"My name is Ligeitoli..." The elf spared Nolan a fleeting look, as if to check for disapproval before she dared to continue. "I'm a forest elf from Ireland."

"A forest elf? Or perhaps a half-breed between an elf and a veela?" Nolan raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

"Does it matter...?" Ligeitoli's face darkened instantly. She shifted uneasily, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. "I... I am a forest elf from Ireland."

She repeated the statement with practiced ease, as if she had recited it many times before.

Nolan opened his mouth to press further, but Dumbledore lifted a hand, halting him mid-sentence. The old wizard smiled knowingly, his twinkling eyes peeking over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Nolan, many magical creatures take pride in their pure bloodlines—just like you. As far as I know, forest elves are no exception."

"Because forest elves don't typically mix with other species," Nolan said quietly, his gaze flicking briefly to Ligeitoli, who now looked as if she wanted to disappear into the ground. "Unlike wizards, who are more than happy to mate with just about anything."

Ligeitoli, pale-faced, lowered her head and mumbled, "Fine... I'll admit it. My mother was a veela. But that doesn't change the fact that I am an elf, does it? I was born and raised in the forests of Ireland. I've never even met another veela—except for my sister."

Dumbledore spread his hands in a gesture of calm understanding. Nolan merely shrugged in response, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Ligeitoli's large, glassy eyes shimmered with tears, and her voice grew soft and low. "My home was destroyed. Elves are peaceful, kind-hearted beings. We don't seek to capture criminals... we only want our land restored to the way it was." Her fingers twisted nervously at the hem of her cloak as she continued, "A wizard told us this was caused by an ancient magic—something from long ago. No one alive today can undo it. Only a great wizard from the distant past could break the spell. That's why he needs the Philosopher's Stone... only with the Stone can he awaken this great wizard."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, his face calm but intrigued. "I see."

Nolan let out a short, sharp laugh, his expression cold and skeptical. "Nice story, half-blood elf."

"Don't call me that! I'm a forest elf!" Ligeitoli shrieked again, her voice cracking with frustration. Her cheeks flushed bright red, and after a brief moment of trembling silence, she burst out, "I'm not lying!"

"You're not very good at it, that's for sure. Believe me, half-blood elf, there isn't a soul in this world who can bring back the dead..." Nolan's gaze darkened, and his tone dipped into something colder. "Except for a necromancer. I happen to know an excellent one. If you're interested, I could introduce you."

"Don't speak to me about necromancers!" Ligeitoli's disgust was palpable, her lips curling in open disdain. "They're filthy creatures who toy with corpses!" She clenched her fists tightly, as if just the thought of necromancers left her feeling defiled. "The great wizard I speak of isn't dead. He's only sleeping. The elves blessed him long ago."

"Let's take a moment to piece this together, shall we?" Dumbledore cut in smoothly before Nolan's next biting remark could leave his lips. His eyes twinkled as he smiled at both of them. "So... a very knowledgeable gentleman kindly offered his assistance to the elves and told you where to find the Philosopher's Stone. Nolan, could you enlighten me how many elves are there in Ireland these days?"

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore." Nolan shrugged, leaning casually against a tree. "Unless the elves have been particularly busy having children these past few years, I'd say Ireland is home to about three thousand forest elves. Though I can't imagine why, out of all of them, only one elf would step forward to deal with such a catastrophic event." He glanced at Ligeitoli out of the corner of his eye, smirking. "Perhaps it's because she's half-blood?"

"..." Ligeitoli opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her eyes dropped to the ground, shame settling over her like a heavy cloak. After several long moments, she whispered, "You're right... It's because I'm half-blood."

Nolan waved his hand dismissively, clearly unimpressed. "Alright, elf. I don't have time for your sob stories. Just get to the point. Tell us the name of this ancient wizard. You do know who he is, don't you?"

Ligeitoli swallowed hard. Her gaze flickered nervously between Nolan and Dumbledore as if afraid to say it out loud. Finally, she exhaled softly and spoke in a trembling voice.

"That great wizard..." Her lips quivered. "Is Merlin."

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