No. 21, Rue Montmorency. The dimly lit room had an air of timelessness about it. Shadows danced across the stone walls, the faint glow of candlelight revealing the faint glint of silver goblets and dusty tomes. By the tall, arched window, Count Dracula stood, holding a goblet filled with a deep red liquid.
He gazed out at the night sky, his expression thoughtful but laced with something darker. "So," he began, his voice smooth, carrying a weight that seemed to stretch across centuries, "while I slept, the world ran wild with chaos?"
He took a slow sip from his goblet, swirling the liquid idly as he spoke. "A wizarding war, rival geniuses battling in secrecy, a man obsessed with magical creatures working alongside Muggles... And then, of course, the rise and fall of a dark wizard whose name was whispered in fear." His lips curved slightly, though there was no humor in his smile. "All of it happened in just a hundred years. How many stories did I miss?"
His crimson eyes shifted to the old man sitting across the room. "Tell me, old guy. Why didn't you wake me?"
The man, aged and weathered, sat in a high-backed chair with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of many lifetimes. His white hair gleamed faintly in the candlelight. "Because," Nicolas said calmly, his tone measured, "you never told me where to find your coffin. Did you expect me to tear apart Europe looking for it?"
Dracula's eyes flicked to the crystal ball resting on the workbench. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Don't play coy with me, Nicolas," Dracula said, his tone sharper now. "You were afraid. Afraid I'd side with Grindelwald, weren't you?" He stepped closer, his movements graceful, predatory. "Your gift for divination—did it not show you enough?"
Before Nicolas could respond, the tension in the room softened slightly as another figure entered. An elderly woman with kind eyes and silver hair approached, her steps light but sure. She held out a freshly poured goblet to Dracula, her voice calm but warm.
"A hundred years apart," she said, her tone tinged with mild reproach, "and this is how you greet each other? With accusations?"
Dracula took the goblet with a slight bow of his head. "Perenelle," he said smoothly, his tone softening, "you are, as ever, a voice of reason." He raised the glass slightly in her honor, though his attention was still fixed on Nicolas. "Tell me, Perenelle—don't you think your husband deliberately let me miss all the excitement?"
Perenelle smiled but didn't answer. Her silence seemed to say more than words could.
Nicolas cleared his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. "You're awake now, Count. That's what matters. And as it happens, I've already found something that might... pique your interest."
Dracula tilted his head, his curiosity sharpening. "Oh?"
Nicolas leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "Hogwarts. For the last fifty years, no Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has lasted more than a year. They say the position is cursed."
He paused, letting the words linger in the air. "What do you think, Count? Would you dare take on a curse?"
For a moment, Dracula said nothing. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. He set the goblet down with a deliberate motion, the liquid within shimmering faintly in the candlelight.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Without another word, he turned toward the window. Throwing it open, he stepped onto the ledge, his black and red cloak billowing around him like wings.
"Nicolas, Perenelle," he said, his voice low but carrying a thread of amusement, "Until next time!".
And with that, he was gone—a swirl of bats dissolving into the moonlit night. The room seemed suddenly colder without his presence. Only the goblet, filled with the vivid red liquid, remained on the window sill.
Nicolas and Perenelle stood in stunned silence, their expressions mirroring their disbelief. Finally, Perenelle broke the silence, her voice tinging with amusement.
"He didn't even stay for dinner?" she asked, still staring at the empty window frame.
Nicolas shook his head with a faint sigh. "Don't you know Dracula by now?" he replied. "He's always been like this. The moment something catches his interest, he's off—no explanations, no hesitation."
"After all, a thousand years is a long time... and it gets boring."
---
Far away, the towering silhouette of Hogwarts loomed against the night sky, its spires piercing the heavens. The castle glowed faintly in the dark, its windows spilling warm light onto the grounds below. Inside the highest tower, a figure sat behind a desk, with a phoenix perched nearby, and stacks of parchment scattered haphazardly.
Albus Dumbledore looked up from his desk just as a faint gust of wind stirred the air.
From the shadows, Dracula stepped forward, his dark figure blending with the flickering light. He moved with ease, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.
Phoenix, who had been lazily resting, suddenly stirred as it sensed Dracula's presence. With a flap of its wings, it landed cautiously on the shoulder of the old man with white hair sitting behind the desk.
Unfazed by the unexpected visitor, Dumbledore gently stroked Phoenix's feathers to calm the bird.
He smiled faintly, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Good morning, Sir Dracula. Nicolas has often spoken of you," he said warmly, as though hosting a long-time friend. "Tea, juice, or coffee?""
Dracula raised an eyebrow, eyeing the drinks in front of him, and shook his head slightly.
"No need," he replied, pulling out the chair in front of the desk. He sat down, his expression serious. "Are you the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore smiled and nodded, his hands continuing their search through a drawer in his desk. He pulled out a blood-red lollipop.
"I almost forgot," he said cheerfully. "Vampires probably don't prefer ordinary drinks." He offered the lollipop to Dracula with a grin. "Try this! It's from Honeydukes—bloody-flavored lollipop. Perhaps you'll like it"
Dracula's lips twitched at the sight of the treat, but he remained composed.
"Principal Dumbledore," he said, his tone shifting to one of seriousness, "I am here to discuss something of great importance. Please, be serious."
With that, Dracula withdrew a piece of parchment from his coat, its surface covered in intricate runes. He placed it on the desk, his gaze unwavering.
"This," he said, "is the title deed to Hogwarts. Slytherin set a lease term for this castle of one thousand years, starting in 991 AD. And this year—1991—marks the exact end of that term."
Dracula leaned forward slightly, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "Mr. Principal, the lease is up. You don't want the students of Hogwarts to be displaced, do you?"
For a moment, Dumbledore's calm demeanor faltered, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted his glasses. He took the parchment from Dracula's hand and examined it closely.
From his perspective, the magic within the document matched the very essence of the castle itself. The marks on the parchment, unmistakably left by the four founders, confirmed its authenticity.
Considering Dracula's age and his legendary connections with Slytherin, Dumbledore couldn't dismiss the truth of the land deed.
"Sir Dracula," he said, his tone now thoughtful, "I've heard you were close friends with the four founders. This castle is their legacy. Surely, you wouldn't take it back?"
Dracula leaned back in his chair, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "It depends on how you perform," he said, his voice light but with a dangerous undertone. "If you find something interesting for me, perhaps I'll extend this lease... just a little longer."
Dumbledore exhaled in relief, then pulled a letter from the table, as though he'd been expecting this conversation. "It's quite simple," he said, his voice steady. "We have a vacancy for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The position has been appointed annually, but due to various unforeseen events, I believe you might be intrigued by this opportunity."
Dracula's eyes gleamed with interest as he leaned forward. "Now, that does sound... intriguing."