NOVEL NEXT Chapter 33: Unexpected Behavior
Dracula folded his arms, his crimson eyes glimmering faintly in the dim light as he regarded Snape's raised wand.
"Do you truly intend to challenge me, Professor Snape?" he asked, his tone light and dripping with mockery, yet laced with a dangerous undertone.
Snape didn't reply. His black eyes locked onto Dracula's, cold and unyielding. With deliberate precision, he raised his wand higher, stepping into the stance of a seasoned duelist.
The smirk on Dracula's face wavered, his expression sharpening with intrigue. A faint glint of nostalgia passed through his eyes as he slowly reached into his coat.
"A duel," he murmured, almost to himself. "How bizarre. It's been centuries since I've indulged in this... ceremony."
With a casual flourish, he produced a wand of dark, twisted wood, its surface pulsating faintly, as though alive. He mirrored Snape's stance with unnerving grace, his movements fluid and predatory.
Snape offered only a stiff half-bow, the gesture more formality than respect. Dracula returned the bow with equal detachment, his gaze never leaving Snape's.
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell burst from Snape's wand in a fiery flash of crimson, illuminating the darkened classroom with a brief, searing light. Dracula's smirk returned as he flicked his wand lazily, the disarming spell careening off into the rows of desks, shattering wood into splinters.
As the light faded and darkness reclaimed the room, Dracula let out a soft, dismissive chuckle. "Surely you can do better than this, Severus," he said, his voice calm but tinged with disappointment.
Snape's jaw tightened. Without hesitation, he unleashed a rapid volley of spells, his wand moving with deadly precision. Stunning charms, disarming hexes, and binding spells crackled through the air, their force shaking the room with every burst.
But Dracula moved like a shadow, each spell sliding past him or dissipating against the faint aura that seemed to surround him. His movements were fluid, almost effortless, his expression growing increasingly bored.
"Is this really all you have?" Dracula asked, sidestepping a particularly well-aimed curse. "You're supposed to be one of the most formidable minds at Hogwarts, and yet you waste my time with these... schoolboy spells."
Snape didn't answer, but his attacks grew fiercer, his wand a blur of motion. He seemed to be searching for an opening, a weakness in Dracula's defenses.
Then Dracula's demeanor changed. His burgundy eyes gleamed with something darker—a predatory gleam. Slowly, he raised his wand, and the air around him seemed to thicken.
"You bore me, Severus," he said softly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "Let's end this, shall we?"
Dracula raised his wand with predatory grace, and a shadowed crescent moon seemed to rise behind him, its faint glow casting an otherworldly halo around his silver hair. It shimmered like a dream—a beautiful, chilling prelude to destruction.
From the moonlight emerged a crescent-shaped blade of light, slicing silently through the classroom air. The blade moved too quickly for the eye to track, its deadly arc cutting through the oppressive stillness.
Snape reacted instinctively. His wand flicked forward, conjuring a shimmering shield, the spell snapping into place just in time. Simultaneously, he pointed his wand sharply at Dracula, his voice slicing through the tense quiet.
"Sectumsempra!"
The crescent blade struck first, crashing into the transparent barrier with such force that it shattered like fragile glass, sending Snape flying backward. He tumbled across the debris of shattered desks and collided hard with the classroom door, the impact reverberating with a dull, heavy thud.
But in that fleeting moment before the crescent's impact, Snape's hidden spell—a faint, nearly imperceptible ripple of magic—surged toward Dracula.
The vampire's crimson eyes narrowed, the ghost of a smirk vanishing as his gaze tracked the unfamiliar curse. Curiosity flickered in his expression. Without hesitation, he raised a hand, intending to intercept the ripple barehanded.
A soft hiss echoed in the silence as the ripple struck. Dracula's hand recoiled, his slender fingers curling slightly in a reflexive motion. He lowered his gaze, inspecting his palm with interest. A single, vivid bloodline stretched across the pale skin—a straight, narrow cut, gleaming crimson against the faint moonlight.
Yet something was different. The cut wasn't healing with the supernatural speed expected of a vampire. Instead, the bloodline seemed to smolder and shrink, like a fuse burning down or water evaporating under a relentless sun.
"Fascinating," Dracula murmured, his lips curving into an amused smile. He flexed his injured hand deliberately, watching the wound. "A curse of your own design, I take it?"
Snape, slumped against the doorframe, clutched his side where Dracula's crescent blade had struck. His face was pale, his breathing uneven, but his dark eyes gleamed with defiance.
"It's none of your concern," he spat coldly, his voice sharp despite the pain.
Dracula's smile only deepened as he stepped forward, his polished boots crunching over the remnants of desks. The smirk on his face was maddeningly calm, as if the entire duel had been a game to him.
"Professor Snape," he said softly, crouching beside the injured man, "I always assumed you embodied Slytherin's values—calculated, resourceful, patient. Yet here you are, reckless and impulsive, dueling me alone without understanding my capabilities."
A soft white glow bloomed in Dracula's hand. He extended it toward Snape, the light radiating a soothing warmth.
"Your actions puzzle me," Dracula continued, the glow encircling Snape's wound. "If you truly doubted me, the logical course of action would have been to consult your revered Headmaster. Surely, even the great Severus Snape isn't one to act against Dumbledore's judgment?"
Snape didn't reply, his jaw tightening as the magic worked. His wound mended unnaturally fast under the light, though his cold expression betrayed no gratitude.
Dracula's voice dipped lower, taking on a teasing edge. "Unless, of course, this wasn't about me at all. Was it your pride, perhaps? A bruised ego seeking retribution for that little humiliation outside the Great Hall?"
With a heavy shake of his sleeves, Snape stood unsteadily, his face unreadable. "You're overthinking it," he said icily. "This was merely a matter of regaining my dignity. Nothing more."
As he straightened his robes, Snape's movements without meaning to, revealed a glimpse of his left forearm. Dracula's sharp eyes caught it—a small glimpse, but enough.
Beneath the folds of the fabric lay a dark tattoo: an ominous skull from which a serpent slithered, its sinister form unmistakable.
The Dark Mark.
Dracula's gaze lingered on the mark, his mind whirring as pieces of the puzzle began to fit together. He stood, his expression unreadable, but the faintest spark of intrigue glimmered in his eyes.
A sudden realization flickered in Dracula's eyes as he recalled Snape's actions, which defied his typical behavior. A knowing spark ignited within him, as if the pieces of a hidden puzzle were falling into place. Whatever Snape's true intentions, they were far more layered than they appeared.
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In the darkness, Snape didn't notice the subtle change in Dracula's expression.
He slowly got to his feet and walked toward the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. His movements were robotic, his mind elsewhere, as he replayed a conversation from Dumbledore's office twenty minutes ago.
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