On a bright, sunny day, a room in the Leaky Cauldron sat in complete darkness, its thick curtains blocking out all light.
A crumpled letter, stamped with the Hogwarts postmark, lay discarded on the table near the window.
Quirinus Quirrell, whom Harry had just mentioned, writhed on the floor in agony, his screams echoing through the room. His purple turban tumbled off, revealing his bare head.
But instead of the back of Quirrell's head, there was something far more sinister—a pale, chalky face with glowing red eyes and two snake-like nostrils.
The hideous face on the back of Quirrell's head snarled and cursed, its voice dripping with venom: "Damn Dumbledore! How dare he go back on his word to me? And if this new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor thinks he can take my position, I'll make his life a living nightmare!!"
The face, unmistakably Voldemort's, was a remnant of the once-feared dark wizard, now reduced to a weak, parasitic soul inhabiting Quirrell's body.
When Quirrell had received Dumbledore's letter informing him that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position had been given to a "more suitable" professor, Voldemort had been beside himself with rage.
He had long coveted the position, and after being rejected twice, he had cursed the job, ensuring no one could hold it for more than a year.
The position wasn't just about pride—it was crucial to his plans to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Losing it now would cause everything to fall apart.
"It's all because of you, you pathetic fool!" Voldemort hissed, the force of his voice causing Quirrell to writhe. "You couldn't even get the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts! Do you understand what that means?"
"Master, we can find him! We can kill him!" Quirrell cried, his desperation palpable. "I won't fail you again. Just give me the chance!"
Suddenly, the loud sound of knocking—dong dong dong—came from the door, cutting through the tension in the room.
A heavy silence followed.
Quirrell's heart raced as he fumbled for his wand, shaking as he lifted the soundproofing spell with a trembling hand.
He spoke nervously, "No... Didn't you say not to... bother me?"
There was a brief pause at the door.
Voldemort's face twisted in alarm. He hissed urgently, "Hurry! Put on the hood! He's already broken through the door's magic!"
Quirrell paled. Panicking, he grabbed the turban and wrapped it around his head, his movements frantic.
"Boom!"
The door to the Leaky Cauldron's room swung open, crashing against the wall with a forceful thud.
A tall man with silver hair and burgundy eyes stepped inside, his gaze dark and calculating as he sized up the wizard standing before him.
"I heard the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts lives in this room," Dracula said, his voice smooth and deliberate. "Thought I'd pay a visit..." He paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. "Why does it smell... garlic?"
As he spoke, Dracula waved his hand, sending a gust of wind through the room that blew open the curtains and windows. Quirrell instinctively tightened his turban, shielding it from the breeze.
"What... what are you doing here?" Quirrell stammered, his voice shaky. "This is... private p-p-property. You... you can't just barge in like this."
Dracula paid no attention to his protests, waiting for the overpowering scent of garlic to dissipate before turning his full attention to the trembling man before him.
"Are you Quirinus Quirrell, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts?" he asked, his voice flat, as if he were asking about the weather.
"Y-yes... yes, I am," Quirrell replied, his voice barely a whisper.
Dracula studied him with a bemused look, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. "What a coincidence. I'm also the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts!"
Quirrell's eyes widened in disbelief.
He had planned to track down the person who had stolen his position and eliminate them, but now, the person was standing right in front of him—willingly!
"So, you're the one who took my position!" Quirrell spat, suddenly finding a burst of courage. His voice was laced with venom, a desperate attempt to lash out at the man in front of him. It was all Voldemort's fault, and he needed to vent.
"I never thought you'd throw yourself into the trap," he added bitterly, raising his wand in a threatening motion.
But before he could act, Voldemort's voice rang in his head, panicked and desperate.
"Don't do it! Run! Now!"
The urgency in Voldemort's voice sent a cold chill down Quirrell's spine. In a split second, he reacted, twisting and preparing to Apparate away from the room.
But Dracula was unfazed. He had been watching Quirrell's movements carefully. As Quirrell prepared to disappear, Dracula's eyes gleamed, and with a flick of his wrist, he yanked Quirrell back into the room.
Quirrell collided with the table by the window with a sickening crash.
The table split in half with a sharp snap. Quirrell cried out in pain, clutching his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Dracula took a step forward, peering down at the crumpled wizard with a smug grin.
"What's all this about taking my place?" he asked, his tone mocking.
Quirrell didn't answer. His expression shifted from panic to emptiness, and then a sinister gleam filled his eyes.
"How pathetic," Quirrell sneered coldly, his voice dripping with contempt.
Before Dracula could react, a thick black mist surged from Quirrell's body, engulfing him completely.
Dracula's eyes narrowed as he raised his hand, but Quirrell had already dissolved into mist, his form no longer tangible. The black fog spread through every crack in the room, slowly dissipating into the air.
Dracula frowned, trying to pull the mist back, but it was already gone.
"Tch, troublesome," he muttered under his breath, watching the mist vanish into nothingness. He waved a hand dismissively. "Fine. Let him live for a few more days."
With a snap of his fingers, the Leaky Cauldron's room restored itself to its original state. The sun shone through the window once more, and Dracula gave a slight smile before walking out of the room through the front door, leaving the scene behind.
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