While several professors chatted and laughed, a thin wizard approached with a peculiar stride.
He had greasy hair, sallow skin, a large hooked nose, and wore a long black robe that billowed with each step.
Though Dracula knew all about bats, he nearly mistook this man for one when he saw his shape.
"Ah, Severus, you're finally here." Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully and introduced Dracula, "Professor Dracula, this is Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House."
"Severus, this is Professor Dracula, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
At the mention of both "professor" and "Defense Against the Dark Arts", Snape's eyes narrowed.
His deep, black eyes flickered up to meet Dracula's gaze.
"Professor Dracula, right?" Snape spoke slowly, each word seeming to scrape from his teeth. "Before school begins, I think it's only fair to remind you... Defense Against the Dark Arts is an incredibly dangerous subject, and I hope you are equipped to handle it."
Dracula could feel the malice in Snape's tone, so he raised his chin slightly, meeting his gaze head-on.
The two locked eyes, their stares charged with unspoken tension, sparks practically flying between them.
Dracula's wine-red eyes flickered with amusement, but Snape's black eyes widened in sudden unease.
The color drained from Snape's face, and he took two steps back, looking slightly rattled.
Before Dracula could react, Professor McGonagall swiftly stepped between them, cutting off their intense stare-down.
"Severus, calm yourself!" she said sharply, her voice a firm command.
Snape, looking startled, quickly diverted his gaze, and the atmosphere shifted. The professors around them exchanged looks of surprise.
Despite Snape's fearsome reputation as both a Dark Arts expert and a master of Legilimency, he had clearly lost in this silent battle of wills.
Ignoring the stunned reactions of the others, Professor McGonagall took charge, leading Dracula toward the professor's table.
"Professor Dracula, don't mind Severus," she said quietly. "Severus has always wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Albus never gave him permission. So he tends to take an interest in any candidate for the position—and not in a friendly way."
Dracula raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the bat-like figure of Snape.
"I didn't realize this position was so coveted," he remarked with a chuckle.
McGonagall guided Dracula to a seat on the high platform, positioning him far from Snape, perhaps to avoid further awkwardness... or more likely, to spare Snape from further embarrassment.
"Now that everyone is here, let's begin dinner!" Dumbledore said, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as he tapped his plate with his spoon.
At his signal, a variety of rich, mouth-watering dishes appeared on the glittering plates before them.
Dracula glanced at his plate with little interest but raised an eyebrow in surprise as he turned his attention to the center of the professors' table.
"I've heard that Polish duck blood soup and pig blood sausage are quite exquisite, and Eastern Maoxuewang is particularly unique," Dumbledore winked at him playfully. "So, I had the house-elves add them to the menu!"
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After lunch, Dracula found himself face-to-face with Quirinus Quirrell once more in the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.
"So, are you sure you want to be my teaching assistant?" Dracula asked as he poured himself a large glass of cold water and drank it in one swift gulp.
Quirrell hesitated, his face wracked with indecision, but after a moment, he finally nodded.
"Yes... yes, I'm sure." His voice trembled, betraying his nervousness.
It wasn't a difficult decision for Quirrell—or Voldemort, as he should be called—to make.
On one side was his long-held obsession with becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, which remained his only claim to dignity. On the other was the lure of getting closer to the Philosopher's Stone—the key to his resurrection.
In the end, Voldemort abandoned his pride, because what was dignity to him? Could it be consumed? Could it grant him more power or escape from death?
Of course, the answer was no.
For Voldemort, dignity held no weight. His goal was simple: power, life, and freedom from death. And, as a "god-king" who had once roamed the Albanian forest, he had long shed any semblance of pride. He had even resorted to using small animals to siphon life energy, desperate for survival.
It wasn't until Quirrell had arrived that Voldemort had regained any true ability to cause chaos.
When Voldemort first encountered Dracula, he had felt a deep, dark power radiating from him—an unsettling, dangerous aura. It was then that he ordered Quirrell to withdraw and refrain from any confrontation, fearing Dracula's strength.
But when Quirrell failed to escape, Voldemort had used his dark magic to barely evade Dracula's interference, gaining further insight into his formidable power.
It was then that Voldemort abandoned any hopes of seizing the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Instead, he began to concoct new plans.
Dumbledore's offer to make Quirrell Dracula's teaching assistant was a gift at just the right moment, and Voldemort seized it, seeing it as a chance to pursue his ultimate goal: the Philosopher's Stone.
"Alright, but I have a few requests." Looking down at the compliant Quirrell in front of him, Dracula took another sip of cold water, his expression hardening. "First of all, the tasks of grading homework, writing lesson plans, and organizing papers will now be yours. I have no interest in those tedious tasks."
"Okay... ok, no... no problem." Quirrell stammered, taken aback for a moment, before quickly agreeing.
"Second," Dracula continued, "if I ever get too lazy to attend class, you'll teach the students in my place."
Quirrell nodded again, though with less enthusiasm.
"And lastly..." Dracula paused, his face suddenly turning cold. "Let's deal with that disgusting garlic smell of yours!"
The stench of garlic that lingered on Quirrell made Dracula feel physically ill.
It wasn't just because vampires despised garlic—it reminded him of the spicy Maoxuewang he'd been tricked into trying earlier, thanks to Dumbledore's "suggestion."
Dracula had been curious, despite his initial reluctance, and had taken a few bites. The experience was so bizarre that now, just thinking about it made him feel as if he'd taken a sunbath—warm, uncomfortable, and utterly disorienting.
The feeling is really... It's really hard to describe!!!
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