A blinding white light erupted from the tip of Lockhart's wand. He had poured every ounce of his skill and desperation into the spell, and it surged toward Dracula with raw power.
Dracula did not move. He stood with an air of cold indifference, his wine-red eyes glinting as he allowed the full force of the Memory Charm to wash over him. The moment the spell connected, it was not Dracula's mind that was breached, but Lockhart's. A psychic channel tore open between them, and through it flooded an ocean of existence. A millennium of memories—of ancient power, forgotten empires, and primal darkness—surged from Dracula and crashed into the fragile vessel of Lockhart's consciousness. His mind shattered like glass. The stolen memories he had so carefully curated were scoured away, lost in the unforgiving tide.
From the wreckage, Dracula calmly plucked what he sought: the last, fading trace of Robert's location.
"I knew it," Dracula murmured, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "He isn't here." He glanced at the now-vacant man, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips. "If I hadn't been swayed by Tesla's principles, this could have been much simpler."
It had been a calculated risk. Revealing his vampiric wings over the Danube was designed to plunge Lockhart into a state of mortal terror. A cornered, desperate man would inevitably fall back on his most trusted weapon. And Dracula, having anticipated every move, was waiting. A direct mental assault would have been faster, but this... this felt like a more fitting tribute to the honorable vampire whose story had started it all.
"Hello," a placid voice said, breaking the silence.
Dracula looked down. Lockhart was sitting on the ground, his expression one of guileless confusion. "This place is rather remote, isn't it?" he asked pleasantly. "Do you live here all alone?"
"No," Dracula replied, an eyebrow arching in amusement. A Lockhart stripped of his ego was, he had to admit, a vast improvement. "What do you remember, Mr. Lockhart?"
"Mr. Lockhart? Is that my name?" The man's face lit up with a kindly, simple smile. "Oh, let me see... I have a vague feeling I was a professional liar... but that can't be right. Lying is wrong, isn't it?"
"Don't trouble yourself with it," Dracula said smoothly. "If you trust me, come along."
"Of course! You have the look of a very upright and good person," Lockhart said with the unwavering sincerity of a child.
With a sigh, Dracula grabbed Lockhart by the collar, spread his demonic wings, and launched them back into the sky. He navigated by the mental map he'd extracted, heading for the secluded mountain forest where Robert now lived.
All the while, Lockhart dangled beneath him. "Astounding! Truly astounding!" he yelled over the rushing air. "It's just like magic!"
A few moments later, Dracula landed silently before a simple but meticulously maintained wooden house. Nearby, a field of lush green lettuce stretched out under the sun. An old man with a sickle was methodically harvesting the plants, placing them one by one into a woven basket. His face was a roadmap of a long life, etched with deep wrinkles. His hands were calloused and rough, fingernails lined with the rich soil he worked. He looked every bit the humble farmer, with no trace of the formidable Auror Captain he had once been.
He spotted the two figures, straightened his back, and trudged out of the field. "Wizards?" he asked, his eyes holding a hint of surprise. "That's a rare sight in these parts."
"Hello, Mr. Robert," Dracula said, gesturing to the man beside him. "Do you recognize this fellow?"
Robert set his basket down and studied Lockhart, who offered one of his newfound, beatific smiles. "Can't say I have," Robert said, noting the dried mud on Lockhart's face. "Is he a vegetable farmer, too?"
"Ah! So I'm a vegetable farmer!" Lockhart exclaimed, looking utterly delighted by the revelation.
"You can be quiet now," Dracula said, his mouth twitching. With a flick of his wrist, he magically sealed Lockhart's lips. "Never mind this fool. I want to ask you, do you recall having any friends?"
The old man brushed the dirt from his hands. "Friends? What friends would an old man like me have?" he said with an air of indifference. "The ones I knew either died fighting Dark Wizards or simply passed on from old age. I'm all alone now, and quite content with it."
"I see," Dracula said after a long, quiet moment. The memory was gone, wiped so cleanly that to force its return would only cause the peaceful old man harm.
He bid Robert a swift farewell and, dragging the silenced Lockhart with him, left the mountain forest behind.
"Two very strange wizards," Robert muttered to himself, shaking his head as he watched them go before turning back to his lettuce.
Dracula walked silently along the banks of the Danube, the simple-minded Lockhart gesturing frantically at his sealed mouth. With an irritated glance, Dracula released the spell.
"Ah—I can speak again!" Lockhart bellowed. "Was that magic? Have I met a real wizard? And another thing! I wasn't a liar, was I? I knew it! I must be a vegetable farmer!"
Dracula rubbed his temples and, with another flick of his wrist, silenced the man once more. Memory or no, Lockhart possessed a singular talent for being insufferable.
Just then, a sharp, urgent sensation pulsed through him. He immediately drew the moon-scrying crystal from his pocket. The sphere, which normally held a dim, silvery glow, was now stained a deep, visceral crimson. A blood moon. An aura of profound danger radiated from it, chilling the air.
In the next instant, Dracula vanished.
Left alone on the riverbank, Lockhart scratched his head, looking around in utter confusion, wondering where his new, interesting friend had gone.
Dracula reappeared in Romania, inside a hidden chamber within Bran Castle. To Muggles, it was a museum. To the wizarding world, it was a gateway. But the room was empty. The vampire who should have been on duty was gone.
A deep sense of foreboding washed over him. He Apparated again, this time to his true seat of power—Castle Dracula.
As he materialized, the history of the place rushed through him. Born a 10th-century noble, he was fascinated only by the strange power within him—power a visiting wizard named Salazar Slytherin first called "magic." When a great plague claimed his family, it remade him, turning him into the first of a new kind. Using his magic, he shielded his ancestral home from the world and journeyed with Slytherin to Scotland, where he was granted the title of Count and leased the land that would one day become Hogwarts.
The castle he left behind became a sanctuary. Others like him, changed by the plague's aftermath, began to appear. Unlike common vampires, they could control their hunger and often developed magical abilities. They called themselves the Blood Race. As the most powerful among them, Dracula gathered these fledgling vampires into his castle, protecting them. Over centuries, Castle Dracula became the hallowed ground of his people.
Now, that hallowed ground was under siege.
An ocean of Inferi swarmed the mountainside, a silent, densely packed legion of the dead stretching from the castle walls to the plains below. The only sound was the grating scrape of rotting feet dragging across stone.
Suddenly, a piercing wolf howl tore through the silence from the front lines. It was answered by another, and then another, until a chorus of howls echoed across the dark formation, adding a new layer of bizarre horror to the scene.
Dracula appeared silently on the outer wall. "What is happening?" he asked a nearby guard.
The vampire's face was taut with tension, his eyes fixed on the horde below. "Lord Alucard discovered Inferi among the werewolf tribes two months ago," he answered without turning. "But we never thought there were so many. Or that the werewolves could control them." He paused, then realized he didn't recognize the voice. "Who are you? Why aren't you at your post?"
He turned, and his eyes widened, first in shock, then in a blaze of fanatical reverence. He dropped heavily to one knee.
"Lord Dracula!"
"Rise," Dracula said, his tone calm. "Continue your watch."
He began to pace slowly along the wall, his gaze sweeping over the unholy army. Just then, a soft, feminine voice drifted down from the sky above the main tower.
"Have you finally decided to come back, Count?"
(End of Chapter)
***
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