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As the professors chatted and laughed, a thin, gaunt wizard approached. He carried an air of absolute disdain. His lank, greasy hair framed a sallow face, which was dominated by a large, hooked nose. A long, black robe billowed with his every deliberate step.
Even Dracula, with all his knowledge of bats, almost mistook the man for a giant bat when he first saw him.
'Ah, Severus, you have finally arrived.' Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully. He then introduced him to Dracula. 'Professor Dracula, this is Professor Snape, our Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House.'
'Severus', Dumbledore continued, 'this Professor Dracula is the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.'
When Dumbledore mentioned the title 'Defence Against the Dark Arts professor', Snape's eyes narrowed just a fraction. Immediately, he lifted his deep black eyes to look at Dracula.
'Professor Dracula, is it?' Snape enquired. A forced smile played on his lips, each word sounding as if it were squeezed from between his teeth. 'Before term starts, I feel I must offer a reminder. Defence Against the Dark Arts is an exceedingly… hazardous subject. One can only hope you are up to its demands.'
Dracula sensed the strong malice in Snape's words. He raised his eyelids slightly, meeting the Potions Master's gaze with a steady stare.
Their unfriendly eyes locked. A tense, almost crackling energy filled the air between them—like an invisible spark. Dracula's wine-red pupils flickered faintly. Snape's deep black eyes suddenly tightened. He took 2 involuntary steps back, his sallow face becoming noticeably paler.
At that very moment, Professor McGonagall stepped forward. She moved decisively between the 2 men, breaking their intense gazes.
'Severus, control your temper!' She glared sternly at Snape.
Snape used the chance to look away. Astonishment and uncertainty flashed in his eyes. Seeing his obvious discomfort, the other professors were clearly surprised.
For all his bad reputation, they genuinely recognised Snape's impressive strength. After all, not just anyone could become the Dark Lord's right-hand man through sheer skill. Yet now, this known expert in Defence Against the Dark Arts and master of Legilimency had instantly lost a silent mental battle with Dracula.
Ignoring the stunned onlookers, Professor McGonagall, always diligent, was the first to compose herself. She quickly led Dracula into the Great Hall.
'Professor Dracula, pay Severus no mind,' Professor McGonagall advised in a quiet tone. 'Severus has always wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, but he has never received Albus's permission to take it. Because of this, he tends to look rather unkindly upon any wizard who successfully gets the position.'
Dracula raised an eyebrow. He glanced back at the bat-like figure of Snape.
'I did not expect this position to be quite so popular,' he chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Professor McGonagall led Dracula to the staff table. It was on the raised platform at the head of the Great Hall. She cleverly assigned him a seat far from Snape. Perhaps this was to prevent more clashes—or possibly to spare Snape further embarrassment after his recent, rather public, defeat.
'Now that everyone is here, let us start the feast!' Dumbledore, who had been watching the fun for a long time, tapped his plate with a beaming smile.
As soon as he finished speaking, all sorts of rich dishes appeared on the gleaming golden plates.
Dracula glanced at his plate with little interest. Then his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He turned his head to look at the centre of the staff table.
'I heard that the duck blood soup and pork blood sausage in Poland are good. Sângerete, a rather robust Romanian blood sausage often generously seasoned with garlic, is also very special. So I ordered the house-elves to add them to the menu.' Dumbledore winked at him.
After finishing lunch, Dracula met Quirinus Quirrell again in his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's office.
'So, you are sure you want to be my teaching assistant?' Dracula said. He poured himself a large glass of cold water and then drank it down in 1 gulp.
Quirrell looked conflicted. But he finally nodded.
'Ye…yes, I am sure,' he stammered.
In fact, for Quirrell—or rather, for Voldemort—this decision was not very difficult. On one side was his obsession with becoming the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, his remaining dignity. On the other side was the long-awaited chance to get close to the Philosopher's Stone, his hope for resurrection.
So Voldemort decisively abandoned his dignity.
As the saying goes, what is dignity? Can you eat it?
And for Voldemort, what was dignity? Could it give him more power? Could it save him from death?
Obviously, it could not.
He had endured hardship in the forests of Albania for 11 years, like a patient turtle. Voldemort had not even hesitated to possess small animals to get life energy. It was only when Quirrell arrived that he gained some ability to cause trouble again.
Moreover, the first time Voldemort saw Dracula, he had sensed a strong dark power—a power that felt extremely dangerous. This was also why he had immediately ordered Quirrell not to act and to retreat at once.
After Quirrell failed to escape, Voldemort took over his body. He barely escaped Dracula's grasp using a dark magic spell he had created himself. During this, he got a better understanding of Dracula's power.
Therefore, Voldemort had already given up hope of getting the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He had even started to prepare other plans. The teaching assistant appointment letter from Dumbledore was like a perfectly timed rain shower. It allowed Voldemort to pick up his plan to steal the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts once more.
'Very well. But I have a few requirements.' Looking at the timid Quirrell, Dracula took another big gulp of cold water. He said coldly, 'First, from now on, grading homework, writing lesson plans, and organising test papers are all your tasks. I will not do these boring things.'
'Goo…od. Good. Nn…no problem,' Quirrell stammered in reply.
'Second, if I am too lazy to teach class one day, you will have to teach the students for me.'
Quirrell nodded again.
'As for the last one.' Saying this, Dracula put down the water glass. His face suddenly turned cold. 'Finally, get rid of that disgusting garlic smell on your body!'
Dracula felt very sick from the garlic smell that Quirrell constantly gave off. It was not just because vampires naturally hate garlic. It was also because the smell reminded him of the Sângerete he had just eaten.
Dracula could not quite understand Dumbledore's thinking. Offering Sângerete – a strong, garlicky blood sausage – to him, of all people, seemed like a strange, perhaps even deliberately funny, thing to do. Yet, driven by an unusual curiosity about this very human and definitely not vampiric food, Dracula had indeed taken a few mouthfuls.
Now, an amazing warmth spread through him. It felt like the impossible sensation of having soaked in a gentle sun. The experience was truly… indescribable.
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