Chapter 3: CH: 3 Lifted His Own Coffin
Dumbledore thoughtfully attached a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor accident statistics form with the letter of appointment. He placed them together on the desk and pushed them towards Dracula.
Dracula picked up the lengthy list and read it with great interest.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's accident statistics," Dracula began, amusement lacing his voice. "Killed by a wild boar, blasted to death by his own spell during class, starved to death after getting lost in the castle, tripped over his left foot and fell to his death off the podium after his right foot..."
A sinister laughter emanated from Dracula's lips, a chilling sound that reverberated through the air. "Hehehehe... Not many individuals manage to escape the clutches of this esteemed position with their lives intact," He mused, his voice laced with amusement, his two sharp fangs glistening beneath the dim light.
A subtle cough broke the eerie ambiance, drawing Dracula attention towards Dumbledore's, who was engrossed in the list. Understanding the urgency, Dumbledore cleared his throat twice, pointing him to the 'Cause of Death' of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the end of the list.
Dracula averted his gaze, fighting to stifle the laughter bubbling within him. An amused smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.
The parchment read—
"Died from laughter after listening to a student's joke for half an hour."
"..." A moment of silence enveloped the room as Dracula absorbed the absurdity of the cause of death. No words were spoken, but the air was heavy with suppressed mirth and incredulity.
He tossed aside the accident statistics form, his attention now directed towards the letter of appointment. Holding it before his eyes with an air of nonchalance, he swiftly signed his name, sealing his acceptance of the position with an air of detached confidence.
Dracula directed his attention towards Dumbledore, his curiosity piqued as he inquired, "Alright, aside from the cause of their deaths, is there anything else I should know about being a professor?"
Without even addressing Dracula's question, Dumbledore couldn't contain his excitement. "Since you've agreed to take the position, we'll be colleagues in the future." He eagerly stood up and shook hands with Dracula, stating, "Everything you need to prepare is outlined in the letter of appointment. As for the teaching content, you can decide that for yourself."
A mischievous glint flickered in Dumbledore's eyes as he playfully suggested, "I believe the legendary Count Dracula should excel in 'defense' in the realm of dark magic, shouldn't you?"
Dumbledore emphasized the word "defense," highlighting that the course was Defense Against the Dark Arts, not the teaching of Dark Arts.
"Rest assured, Headmaster," Dracula remarked nonchalantly, gracefully waving his hand in dismissal before leisurely making his way towards the window of the headmaster's office.
After taking a few steps, and a brief pause, Dracula turned back, his gaze fixed upon Dumbledore.
With a sly grin, he snatched the blood-flavored lollipop from Dumbledore's hand, his curiosity piqued, before resuming his position by the window. Without a moment's hesitation, he leaped down.
Dumbledore cast a bemused glance towards the now-vacant window, a resigned sigh escaping his lips as he shrugged his shoulders, in a gesture of resignation.
Afterward, Dumbledore's gaze shifted to the letter of appointment resting on the table, a radiant smile gracing his face.
"Nick, thanks to you, Hogwarts has finally found a reliable Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this time!" Dumbledore exclaimed with heartfelt gratitude, his voice filled with sincere appreciation.
Dumbledore joyfully retrieved a phoenix-embossed mirror, which bore a striking resemblance to Dracula's bronze mirror. He spoke to the mirror, his excitement evident.
As for the resume bearing the name Quirinus Quirrell, tucked away in the corner of his desk, he subconsciously ignored it.
...
London, Diagon Alley.
Dracula nonchalantly popped the blood-flavored lollipop into his mouth, savoring the distinct taste as he glanced at the list of required items attached to the letter of appointment with a tinge of boredom.
"Being a professor is quite troublesome, especially needing to prepare a wand." Dracula remarked his voice tinged with a hint of weariness, and indifference.
Despite his complaints, Dracula had no choice but to visit Ollivander's wand shop, located deep within Diagon Alley, in order to experience the joy of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The Wizarding world's progress seemed as slow as ever. Apart from a few small shops and the increasingly dilapidated signs, the structure of Diagon Alley appeared unchanged for the past 200 years.
And as always, Ollivanders stood as the finest wand shop in the area.
However, Diagon Alley seemed livelier than usual today, with many people rushing towards the Leaky Cauldron.
Dracula's wine-red pupils shifted as he peered into the crowd, his gaze penetrating deep into the bustling crowd.
He observed a group of wizards engaged in conversation, some even bowing in curiosity and awe to a child with ragged round eyes.
The young wizard appeared lost, doing his best to manage everyone's emotions, and mechanically shaking hands with them like a puppet manipulated by others.
Losing interest in the chaotic scene, Dracula turned around and proceeded towards Ollivander's wand shop.
As the bells tinkled, Dracula entered the small and dilapidated shop. Despite the thin layer of dust covering the surroundings, he maintained a composed expression, though a faint frown formed.
Upon hearing the arrival of a customer, an elderly man with pale eyes and pallid skin silently emerged from the counter.
"Good afternoon," The old man softly greeted, his voice carrying a gentle warmth.
Upon catching sight of Dracula, the old man's features transformed, displaying a subtle twist of confusion.
"Strange, truly strange..." He muttered cryptically under his breath, his tone laden with intrigue.
Dracula's patience wore thin, his impatience simmering beneath his expressionless facade as he stared coldly at the elderly man, silently challenging him to provide a straightforward explanation for his cryptic behavior.
A veil of obscure and elusive dark magic permeated the air, causing the crimson and ebony cloak to ripple and billow as if responding to an unseen force.
Caught off guard by the unsettling presence, Ollivander hesitated momentarily, but the urgency to address the situation pushed him forward. With a visible effort, he began, his voice tinged with unease, "Sir, you must understand... I possess an unwavering recollection of every wand I have ever sold, without exception."
A furrow deepened on Ollivander's forehead as he continued, his voice tinged with a trace of uncertainty. "Yet, I do not recall ever having sold you a wand. Is it possible that you acquired your wand from a different wandmaker?" he inquired, a hint of intrigue lacing his words.
Dracula's arms crossed firmly over his chest as he locked his gaze with Ollivander's bright, perceptive eyes. In a resolute tone, he countered, "No, I have never bought a wand before." He asserted firmly, his voice carrying an air of resolute truth. "I am here to purchase my first wand."
Ollivander's astonishment was palpable as he posed his question, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You mean to say you've never used a wand since you were a child?"
Nodding with a measure of transparency, Dracula offered his response. "I have used one, but I was never quite accustomed to it."
Unbeknownst to Ollivander, the art of crafting wands had only emerged a few centuries ago. Dracula had long grown accustomed to harnessing his innate magic of a vampire, relying on the raw, untamed power coursing through his veins to engage in battles and ensure his survival. The notion of relying on a wand to focus his abilities felt foreign to him, a relic of a relatively recent magical development.
If it weren't for the purpose of teaching students, Dracula would probably never have considered buying a wand in his lifetime.
"Oh, then you have missed out on one of the greatest arts in the world," Ollivander couldn't help but remark. However, upon seeing Dracula's unfriendly expression, he immediately changed his tune. "Of course, everyone has the freedom to choose whether to use a wand or not!"
With that, Ollivander grabbed a wand from the shelf and placed it into Dracula's hand.
"Straight-grained pine, unicorn tail hair, fourteen inches...!"
Before he could finish the introduction, Ollivander snatched the wand back from Dracula's hand in a panic, hastily examining it.
"How can this be? I can feel the wand trembling!" he exclaimed in disbelief.
Dracula shrugged.
It was no surprise. Unicorns and dark creatures like vampires were not compatible, and being an ancient vampire himself, his presence would greatly disturb the unicorns.
After carefully inspecting the wand with the unicorn tail hair core, Ollivander became much more cautious.
He attempted various wands with dragon heartstring cores and phoenix feather cores for Dracula, but none of them seemed to suit his magical power. Using these wands was even less comfortable than casting spells without a wand.
Growing increasingly weary of the monotonous endeavor, Dracula let out a sigh of exasperation. "Forget it, don't bother trying anymore," He declared, his words dripping with impatience and frustration.
The lengthy process of trying various wands had left Dracula thoroughly bored, his patience stretched thin. Catching sight of Ollivander's intention to ascend the stairs in search of more options, Dracula curtly waved his hand, refusing any further attempts. His expression remained resolute, unyielding to the prospect of continuing the futile endeavor.
A resounding 'Bang!' erupted as Dracula exerted force, slamming a weighty obsidian slab onto the polished floor of Ollivander's renowned wand shop.
With conviction lacing his voice, Dracula proclaimed, his grip tightening around the handle of his own coffin board, "Craft my wand out of this very wood!" His demand held an air of finality, leaving no room for debate or negotiation.
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