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Dumbledore thoughtfully attached an accident statistics sheet for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor to the letter of appointment. He placed it on the desk and slid it across to Dracula.
Dracula picked up the lengthy list and read through it, his amusement growing with each entry.
'Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Accident Statistics. Died after being charged by a wild boar. Blown up by their own spell during class. Starved to death after getting lost in the castle. Tripped over their own feet, struck their head on the podium, and died.'
A low laugh escaped Dracula, his sharp fangs glinting in the light. 'It seems not many manage to leave this position alive.'
Dumbledore gave a polite cough, drawing Dracula's attention to a later entry on the parchment.
Dracula glanced at it, and his laughter faded.
'Listened to a student tell a joke, laughed for half an hour, and died of laughter.'
He set the statistics sheet aside, brought the letter of appointment closer, and signed his name with a flourish.
'Alright, besides their causes of death, is there anything else I need to know about being a professor?' Dracula asked.
'Now that you have agreed, we are colleagues.' Dumbledore stood and shook his hand warmly. 'Everything you need to prepare is in the letter of appointment. As for the teaching content, that is up to you.'
'I imagine the legendary Count Dracula is quite skilled in Dark Arts defence, yes?' Dumbledore placed a gentle emphasis on the word 'defence', making it clear the role was about protection, not the teaching of the Dark Arts themselves.
'Rest assured, Headmaster.' Dracula waved a hand and strolled towards the window.
After only a few steps, he turned back. He took the blood-flavoured lollipop from Dumbledore's hand, then returned to the window and leapt out.
Dumbledore looked at the open window and spread his hands with a smile. He glanced at the letter of appointment on the desk and chuckled.
'Nicolas, thanks to you, Hogwarts has managed to recruit a reasonably reliable Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this time.'
He took out a phoenix-engraved mirror, very much like Dracula's bronze one, and spoke to it with satisfaction.
As for the resume with Quirinus Quirrell's name on it, lying in the corner of the desk, Dumbledore paid it no mind.
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London, Diagon Alley.
Dracula wandered along, a blood-flavoured lollipop in his mouth and the list of items from the appointment letter in his hand. He looked at it with little enthusiasm.
'Being a professor even requires preparing a wand. What a bother.'
Despite his complaints, Dracula had no choice but to head to Ollivander's Wand Shop, deep in Diagon Alley, to experience this peculiar part of being a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
The magical world had changed little. Apart from a few new shops and more battered signs, Diagon Alley looked almost the same as it had a century ago. Ollivander's remained the finest wand shop.
Yet today, Diagon Alley was unusually lively, with crowds pressing towards the Leaky Cauldron.
Dracula's burgundy eyes flickered as he glanced into the throng. He saw a group of wizards gathered around a small boy in broken round-framed glasses. They watched him with curiosity and reverence, some even bowing.
The thin boy looked utterly lost, trying his best to respond to everyone, shaking hands as if he were a puppet on strings.
Dracula lost interest in the scene and turned away, continuing towards Ollivander's.
The bell tinkled as he entered the small, dusty shop. He frowned slightly at the layer of dust covering everything.
An old man with pale eyes and skin glided out quietly.
'Good afternoon,' he said softly.
Upon seeing Dracula, his expression turned puzzled.
'Strange, very strange.'
Dracula grew impatient with this slow, theatrical behaviour and stared at him in silence. A subtle dark power stirred, and his red and black cloak shifted though there was no breeze.
Ollivander was startled and quickly abandoned any pretence.
'Sir, I remember every wand I have ever sold. Every single one. But I have no recollection of ever selling a wand to you. Perhaps you purchased your wand from another maker?'
'No, I have never bought a wand.' Dracula crossed his arms and met Ollivander's pale gaze. 'I am here to buy my first wand.'
Ollivander appeared shocked. 'You have not used a wand since you were a child?'
'I have used them, but I am not accustomed to them.'
The craft of wand-making had only truly matured a few centuries ago. Dracula had long since mastered wandless magic and relied on his innate vampire abilities for both combat and daily life. If he had not once played with others' wands out of curiosity, he might never have learned how to use one at all. Were it not for teaching students, he would never have considered buying a wand.
'Then you have missed out on one of the greatest arts in the world,' Ollivander said, but seeing Dracula's cold expression, he quickly added, 'Of course, everyone is free to choose whether or not to use a wand.'
He took a wand from the shelf and placed it in Dracula's hand.
'Straight-grained pine, unicorn tail hair, fourteen inches... wait a moment!'
Before he could finish, Ollivander snatched the wand back and hurried to check it over.
'How can this be? I can feel the wand trembling,' he muttered, astonished.
Dracula shrugged. There was no helping it. Unicorns and dark creatures like vampires were naturally incompatible, and an ancient vampire like him would have a profound effect on unicorns.
After tending to the unicorn hair wand, Ollivander became much more cautious. He tried wands with dragon heartstring and phoenix feather cores, but none of them suited Dracula's magic. Using them felt even less comfortable than casting spells without a wand.
"Forget it, there's no need to try any more."
Dracula, clearly bored by the endless attempts, stopped Ollivander just as he was about to fetch yet more wands from upstairs.
With a loud thud, Dracula dropped a thick, black wooden board onto the shop floor.
'Use this wood and make me a new wand,' he said, resting his hand on the coffin lid.
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