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Bright sunlight streamed outside, but in one room of the Leaky Cauldron, thick curtains blocked out every ray. On the table by the window, a letter bearing the Hogwarts seal had been torn in half and crumpled in frustration.
Quirinus Quirrell, the very man Harry had mentioned earlier, writhed on the floor in agony. His purple turban lay discarded to one side, exposing his bald head. Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was a face so hideous it seemed almost unreal. The skin was chalk-white, the eyes glowed red, and beneath them were two thin, snake-like nostrils.
At that moment, the monstrous face on the back of Quirrell's head was roaring and cursing with fury.
"Damn Dumbledore, how dare he deny me again! Twice I have been refused, and now, just as the post should have been mine, he hands it to another! And that new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, daring to take my place… I will make him suffer a fate worse than death!"
This was none other than Voldemort, the Dark Lord whose very name sent shivers through the wizarding world. Yet now, he was a shadow of his former self, weak and unable to exist except as a fragment of a soul clinging to Quirrell's body.
When Quirrell had received Dumbledore's letter, informing him that a more suitable candidate had been found for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, Voldemort's rage had been uncontrollable. He had coveted the position for decades. After being rejected twice, he had even cursed the post so that no one could hold it for more than a year. The role was not only an obsession for him but also a crucial part of his plan to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Without it, all his schemes would collapse.
"It's your incompetence that's to blame for this, Quirrell!" Voldemort's voice was like ice, each word laced with pain. "If you had managed to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts, we would not be in this predicament!"
Quirrell writhed on the floor, agony twisting his features. "Forgive me, Master! Please—I will not fail you again. Just give me another chance. We can find him and deal with him, I swear it!"
Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door. The room fell silent at once.
Quirrell took a shaky breath, fumbled for his wand, and lifted the silencing charm with a trembling hand. Then, slipping back into his usual timid manner, he called out, "I… I thought I said not to be disturbed?"
There was a brief pause. Voldemort's face contorted with alarm, and he hissed, "The wards have been breached. Put on the turban, now! Quickly, you fool!"
Quirrell's hands shook as he snatched up the turban and wrapped it around his head.
The door burst open with a bang, slamming against the wall. A tall man with silver hair and burgundy eyes strode in, his gaze fixed on the turbaned wizard before him.
'I heard the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is staying here, so I thought I'd pay a visit…' Dracula's nose wrinkled. 'Where is this overpowering smell of garlic coming from?'
With a wave of his hand, Dracula flung open the curtains and windows. A strong breeze swept through the room, scattering the scent.
Quirrell clutched his turban, terrified it might be blown away.
'What… what are you doing here?' He stammered. 'This is private property, you can't just—'
Dracula ignored him, waiting until the smell had faded before turning to face the nervous man.
'Are you Quirinus Quirrell, Hogwarts' new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?' he asked.
'Y-yes, who are you?' Quirrell replied, his voice trembling.
Dracula's eyes narrowed, and a sneer curled his lips.
'What a coincidence. I am also Hogwarts' new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.'
Quirrell's eyes widened in shock. He had been planning to hunt down the person who had taken his job, only for that very person to walk straight into his room.
'So you're the one who stole my position!' Quirrell's fear vanished, replaced by anger and bitterness. 'I never imagined you'd come straight to me.'
He slowly raised his wand.
But at that moment, Voldemort's voice rang out in Quirrell's mind, urgent and panicked.
"No, you fool! Get out of here, now!"
Quirrell had never heard such fear from the Dark Lord. His courage deserted him. He turned on his heel, preparing to Apparate away.
Dracula, arms folded, watched with interest. When he recognised the telltale signs of Apparition, he shook his head in amusement and raised his hand as if gripping an invisible thread.
Quirrell, halfway into the Apparition, was yanked back into the room and crashed onto the table by the window. The table snapped in two with a loud crack.
Quirrell screamed, clutching his back in agony.
Dracula stepped forward, looming over him.
'So you think I stole your position?' He asked, a mocking smile on his lips.
Quirrell did not answer. His panic faded, replaced by a cold, sinister expression.
'What a waste,' he spat.
A cloud of black mist erupted from Quirrell, shrouding him in darkness.
Dracula frowned and reached out again, but this time Quirrell's body seemed to dissolve into mist, slipping through his grasp.
While Dracula watched, the black mist seeped through every crack and crevice, vanishing from the room.
Dracula raised an eyebrow, considering whether to force the mist back. With a sigh, he lowered his hand.
'Troublesome. Perhaps it's not so bad to let him live a few more days.'
He snapped his fingers, and without a word, the room returned to its original state. The broken table was whole, the curtains hung straight, and not a trace of the chaos remained.
Dracula glanced at the sunlight outside, curled his lips in faint amusement, and walked out through the front door.
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