Dark Deals: The Vampire Who Owns Hogwarts

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At noon the next day, an owl arrived at the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, delivering an urgent letter from the Ministry of Magic.

After reading the letter, Dumbledore let out a knowing smile before preparing to leave for the Ministry through the fireplace in his office.

Before stepping into the green flames, he turned to Fawkes and whispered, "When something unusual happens in that bathroom, deliver this letter to Harry."

Fawkes nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting to Dumbledore's desk, where an envelope lay. Written on it in neat script were the words: For Mr. Harry Potter's hands only.

Beside the letter, a mirror rested on the desk. A runic symbol, resembling an all-seeing eye, was carved into its frame. The mirror's surface reflected a scene from the semi-abandoned girls' bathroom—a row of aged copper faucets dripped rhythmically, tick-tock, tick-tock. But among them, one faucet stood out. Unlike the others, it remained dry, its handle missing entirely.

Dumbledore studied the image for a moment and chuckled softly.

"If Professor Dracula knew I was spying on a girls' bathroom, he would certainly use this to tease me."

With a slight shake of his head, he stepped into the flames and vanished.

Meanwhile, the very same Professor Dracula—whom Dumbledore had just thought of—was engaged in the exact same activity, observing the girls' bathroom from afar.

Everything seemed normal. And yet, everything felt subtly off.

Dumbledore had been conveniently called away by an urgent Ministry letter. Mere minutes later, Quirrell had claimed to be unwell and requested a day off from Dracula.

Additionally, Dracula had two consecutive Defense Against the Dark Arts classes that afternoon, making it difficult to slip away.

Alone, these events seemed like coincidences. But together? It was no coincidence at all.

This was deliberate.

Voldemort was making his move for the Sorcerer's Stone.

Despite all his careful planning, Voldemort had failed to account for one crucial factor—Dracula's utter disregard for professionalism.

In his classroom, Dracula lazily announced, "Today's lesson is self-study. The class representative will manage discipline. If you have questions—don't ask me, because I won't be answering. No class representative? Then you, Diggory. Keep order."

Without another word, he leaned against the blackboard, half-bored, half-amused.

But while his body remained in the classroom, his mind was elsewhere.

Through the eyes—and more importantly, the ears—of a bat he had stationed in the girls' bathroom, he was tracking every sound. The bat's ultrasonic signals bounced off the surfaces, forming a perfect map of the bathroom—darkness posed no obstacle.

Neither Dracula nor Fawkes had to wait long.

Halfway through the first class, a shadowy figure in a purple turban slipped into the girls' bathroom. Quirrell moved with purpose, heading straight for the row of faucets.

A sinister, hissing voice emanated from beneath his turban.

Suddenly, the faucet with no handle glowed with an eerie white light and spun rapidly. The entire sink began to sink into the ground, revealing a dark, cavernous tunnel—large enough for a person to slip through.

Back in the headmaster's office, Fawkes' eyes widened at the sight in the surveillance mirror. He recognized this as the moment Dumbledore had warned about.

Grasping the letter in his talons, he vanished in a flash of golden-red fire.

----

In the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Dracula's eyes snapped open, a flicker of excitement flashing across them.

"You all, behave. I'll be stepping out for a moment. Diggory, don't forget to maintain order." His lips curled into an amused smirk before he disappeared through the door.

The Weasley twins, who had been whispering about how to escape detention, exchanged nervous glances.

"That smile is terrifying," George muttered.

"It really is," Fred agreed. Then, as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head, he added, "Wait a minute… the professor is gone."

Without missing a beat, he leapt to his feet, grinning. "Alright, everyone! The professor's gone—let's have some fun!"

Cedric Diggory shot up, attempting to rein in the chaos, but the Gryffindor students—especially the younger ones—were already too excited.

-----

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Ron were engrossed in a game of wizard chess while Hermione sat nearby, buried in her books.

Judging by the board, Ron was dominating the match. Harry, on the other hand, looked frustrated, sweat forming on his brow.

With a triumphant grin, Ron commanded his queen to take a diagonal step forward.

"Checkmate in three moves, Harry," he declared smugly. "You might as well admit defeat."

Harry frowned. "Just give me a moment—"

Before he could finish, a sudden flash of golden-red light caught his eye.

"Ron, did you see that?" Harry asked, turning in the direction of the light.

Ron, too focused on the game, waved him off. "Don't try that, Harry. Fred and George have pulled those distraction tricks way too many times."

"But I swear—"

"Come on, Harry, be a man and take your loss!"

Ignoring him, Harry turned and noticed something odd—a letter had mysteriously appeared on the small table behind them.

"Ron… when did this letter get here?" he asked, puzzled.

Ron finally looked up, clearly irritated. "I dunno, mate. Maybe someone left it there. Can we please finish this game?"

Harry, however, wasn't listening. He stepped over to the table and picked up the envelope.

"To Mr. Harry Potter, …" he read aloud. "It's addressed to me."

Curious, he tore it open. Inside was a single piece of parchment, the handwriting elegant and familiar.

"Harry, if you're observant enough, you may recognize this handwriting. Yes, I am the one who gave you the Invisibility Cloak…"