Dark Deals: The Vampire Who Owns Hogwarts

Outside the bustling Quidditch pitch, a mysterious boy with jet-black hair walked slowly towards the looming silhouette of Hogwarts Castle.

His eyes flickered for a moment, as if sensing something, and in the blink of an eye, his form became transparent, fading completely from view.

The blank diary he held slipped from his hand, falling to the ground like any ordinary notebook a young wizard might leave behind.

Not far away, Dracula, holding his umbrella, materialized near the spot where the black-haired boy had vanished. His sharp red eyes scanned the area, and when his gaze landed on the diary, he hesitated for a moment. It appeared to be just an unremarkable notebook, and he dismissed it with a casual flick of his wrist.

"It's strange... I definitely felt some unusual magical fluctuations here a moment ago," Dracula murmured to himself, a hint of confusion in his voice.

At that moment, a group of excited Gryffindor students, all clad in gold and red, rushed toward him, brooms in hand. They surrounded Harry, celebrating his success, with Ron and Hermione among them.

"Professor, thank you so much!" Wood, the Quidditch team captain, was the first to step forward, his awe of Dracula momentarily held in check as he offered his thanks.

Harry, flushed with pride but also uncertain, shyly stepped forward, unsure of how to express his gratitude.

"Professor, you saved Harry's life!" Hermione, her voice laced with guilt, spoke first. "Because of my mistake, I almost interrupted Professor Snape's counter-curse. If it weren't for your bat, Harry—" She trailed off, her face pale with the weight of her words. "I'd never forgive myself if something had happened."

"Yeah, Professor!" Ron chimed in enthusiastically. "That big bat of yours was amazing! When can we learn that in Defense Against the Dark Arts class?"

"I'm serious, Ron!" Hermione shot him a disapproving glance.

Dracula's lips curled into a smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he regarded the eager Gryffindors.

"Would you like to learn?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

The little lions nodded eagerly.

"Of course, but..." Dracula's voice became teasing as he leaned in, "You'll need to excel in your Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures classes. Only after passing with an 'O(Excellent)' in the wizarding exams will you have the skill required to learn this magic."

The Gryffindors' faces fell, the reality of the task ahead settling in.

As freshmen, Harry and Ron were left in the dark, looking to the older students for an explanation of what this "O" meant.

Fred leaned closer to Harry, his voice filled with mischief. "Harry, you know Percy, right? Watch him study non-stop just to get a few more 'O's."

"And trust me," George added with a grin, "you might not even get it!"

Harry shuddered at the thought of Percy's relentless studying, his mind flooded with images of Percy rushing to the library every evening without rest.

"Hey! I'm your brother!" Ron protested loudly, glancing at Fred and George.

The twins turned, exchanged a playful wink, and made no attempt to clarify anything.

Dracula, still holding his umbrella, silently observed the playful bickering. The enjoyment of teasing the young wizards gave him a sense of satisfaction—being a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had its perks.

"Alright, congratulations on your victory," Dracula said casually, his voice almost indifferent. He then turned and walked off toward his office, eager to escape the sun.

He had had enough of this warm weather for one day.

---

As Dracula and the students gradually disappeared from the scene, the ordinary blank diary that had been left behind on the ground began to stir.

Streams of ink poured from the pages, slowly condensing into a shadowy, human-like form. The figure twisted and flickered, its outline shifting between the dark hues of the human body before solidifying into a tall, black-haired boy.

The boy, no older than sixteen, bent down and picked up the diary. His features were vague, almost translucent, like someone glimpsed through a fogged window—strange and unsettling, with a faint, shimmering haze surrounding him.

"How unpleasant," he muttered, his voice laced with disdain as he straightened up, clutching the diary. "To have to use your own Horcrux to reveal yourself."

A sinister smile curled on his lips as he stared at the pages in his hand.

Suddenly, the diary flapped open of its own accord, as if guided by an unseen force, revealing a blank page. Ink began to drip across the paper, forming elegant, twisted words:

"You can't just take my things!"

The handwriting was beautiful, but the words seemed to writhe with irritation, a clear sign of displeasure at the intrusion.

"Of course, I can." the boy replied with a dark grin, his voice thick with authority. "I am your past, your present, and your future. Your things are mine."

He paused, letting the words linger in the air before finishing with chilling certainty, "And I am your everything."

With a flick of his wrist, he slammed the diary shut, the sound echoing in the stillness. Without a second glance, the boy turned and walked steadily towards Hogwarts Castle, his presence an unsettling shadow that seemed to blur the world around him.

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The aftermath of the Quidditch match left the professors at Hogwarts on high alert.

Professor McGonagall quickly organized a thorough search, inspecting various areas of the castle and enforcing strict checks on the staff. The goal was clear—find the wizard who had cast the breaking spell, nullifying the slowing charm that both she and Snape had cast on Harry's broom.

In the professors' lounge, the staff had mostly been screened. All were seasoned members of the Hogwarts faculty, well-versed in the basics of security, and there seemed to be no immediate cause for concern. However, one figure stood out—Dracula, the newly arrived professor.

Thanks to Dumbledore's endorsement, Dracula had passed the checks, but there remained one lingering question: Quirrell, who still refused to remove his turban.

"Assistant Quirrell," Dracula said, casually reclining on the sofa in the lounge, legs crossed. His piercing gaze rested on Quirrell. "Are you really unwilling to take off your turban?"

Though Quirrell had already been cleared of suspicion regarding the curse on Harry's broom, Dracula couldn't shake the feeling that there were still secrets hidden beneath that turban. This was his opportunity to unearth a few of them.

"Professor Dracula, I… it's just... it's really inconvenient for me to take off my... turban," Quirrell stammered, his face turning a shade pinker.

Dracula raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "So, you're not willing to cooperate with Hogwarts' investigation?"

"No... no, that's not it," Quirrell replied, clearly flustered, struggling for the right words. "I just…"

Dracula leaned forward, his voice dropping to a teasing yet insistent tone. "It's just a turban, Quirrell. It won't fall off and take your head with it. Or Is there something more hidden underneath?"

Quirrell's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. He clenched his jaw and, with a sudden determined movement, reached up to untie his turban.

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