Chapter 7: CH: 7 Godlja
Amidst the chatter and laughter of the professors, a thin wizard approached with an unsteady gait.
He had greasy hair, sallow skin, a prominent hooked nose, and wore a long black robe that billowed with each step.
Dracula, with his extensive knowledge of bats, almost mistook him for a giant bat upon seeing his appearance!
"Ah, Severus, excellent timing," Dumbledore's warm voice filled the air as he greeted the newly arrived individual. With an amicable smile, he proceeded to introduce Severus to Dracula. "Professor Dracula, this is Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House."
"Severus, this is Professor Dracula, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." Dumbledore continued, his voice carrying a tone of respect and affirmation.
As Dumbledore mentioned the position of "Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Severus's impassive gaze froze, a flicker of intrigue mingling with an undercurrent of apprehension.
Without hesitation, Snape lifted his piercing, obsidian eyes, locking them with Dracula's gaze.
"Professor Dracula, is it?" Severus sneered, his voice laden with barely concealed hostility. Each word was uttered through clenched teeth, as if he struggled to contain his venom. "Before the school year begins, I believe it is necessary for me to remind you... Defense Against the Dark Arts is an extremely dangerous subject. I hope you are capable enough to handle it."
The underlying animosity in Snape's words did not escape Dracula's notice. Sensing the hostility woven through Snape's tone, he subtly raised his eyes, meeting Snape's piercing gaze head-on. The clash of their gazes felt like a collision of opposing forces, an invisible torrent of energy crackling between them.
In that charged moment, their malevolent gazes intertwined, locked in a dangerous dance. It was as if invisible sparks flared to life, illuminating the tension and deep-seated conflict that simmered beneath the surface.
In that charged moment, their malevolent gazes intertwined, locked in a dangerous dance. It was as if invisible sparks flared to life, illuminating the tension and deep-seated conflict that simmered beneath the surface.
A subtle shift occurred within Dracula's wine-red pupils, an enigmatic glimmer that caught Snape off guard. The sudden transformation caused Snape's own deep black eyes to momentarily shrink in response, betraying a flicker of unease beneath his steadfast facade.
Caught off balance, Snape instinctively retreated, his steps faltering as he subconsciously distanced himself. His complexion paling slightly.
In the midst of the tense standoff, Professor McGonagall swiftly intervened, her presence commanding and authoritative as she positioned herself between Dracula and Snape. Her swift action effectively severed their line of sight, diffusing the potential for further escalation.
"Severus, enough!" She admonished Snape sternly, her gaze piercing through him with an unwavering resolve. Her words carried the weight of authority, reminding him to reign in his temper and maintain his composure.
Caught off guard by Professor McGonagall's intervention, Snape's initial defiance faltered. He averted his gaze, his eyes momentarily reflecting surprise and uncertainty
The other professors were taken aback by his evident embarrassment. Despite the notorious reputation of the Head of Slytherin, the professors recognized his strength deep down. After all, not everyone could become the right-hand man of the Dark Lord based solely on raw power.
However, this expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts and master of Legilimency had suffered a sudden defeat in the mental confrontation with Dracula!
While the other professors were still processing the situation, the conscientious Deputy Headmistress McGonagall took the lead and guided Dracula to the Great Hall.
"Professor Dracula, pay no mind to Severus," She advised, her voice carrying a note of resignation. "Severus has always desired to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but he has not received Albus's permission. Therefore, he harbors a disrespectful attitude towards every successful applicant for the position. None of the wizards have received a warm reception from him."
Dracula arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing within his eyes, as he glanced back at the brooding bat-like figure of Snape, still seething with a palpable resentment.
"Surprisingly, this position is quite popular," He chuckled, a bemused smile gracing his lips.
Professor McGonagall escorted Dracula to the High Table on the elevated platform of the Great Hall, ensuring that he was seated far away from Snape to avoid any further conflicts...or, in other words, to prevent Snape from facing further embarrassment.
"Now that everyone is here, let us enjoy our dinner!" Dumbledore announced, his voice carrying a tone of finality. The previous tensions momentarily forgotten, a warm smile graced his features as he brought the attention back to the present. With a gentle tap of his hand upon the table, he signaled the start of their communal feast.
As Dumbledore's words reverberated through the room, a magnificent display unfolded before their eyes. The air seemed to shimmer with magic as an array of sumptuous dishes materialized upon the golden plates, each one a tantalizing masterpiece for the senses.
Dracula's gaze flickered over his dinner plate, an expression of mild indifference gracing his features. However, his curiosity was piqued when his eyes landed upon his plate, discovering a delightful surprise. Raising an eyebrow in surprise, he shifted his attention towards the center of the grand Headmaster's seat.
"I've heard that duck blood soup and pig's blood sausage in Poland are delicious," Dumbledore shared, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "And the Godlja in the South is quite unique. So, I had the house elves add them to the menu!"
A playful wink accompanied Dumbledore's words, his enthusiasm contagious.
...
After the evening's feast, Dracula found himself in his office, face to face with Quirinus Quirrell once more, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Dracula poured himself a generous glass of cold water, feeling the coolness trickle down his throat as he consumed it in a single fluid motion. Setting the glass down, he regarded Quirrell with a discerning gaze.
"So, are you certain in your decision to serve as my teaching assistant?" Dracula inquired, his voice laced with a calm assertiveness.
Quirrell's expression flickered with a mix of emotions, an internal struggle visible within his features. However, after a moment of contemplation, he mustered the courage to nod in affirmation.
"Y-yes...Yes, I am s-sure," Quirrell stammered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
In truth, the decision posed little difficulty for Quirrell, or rather, for the presence that resided within him - Voldemort.
On one hand, the obsession with the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was a matter of his remaining dignity. On the other hand, it was an opportunity to get closer to the Philosopher's Stone, a chance for resurrection.
So Voldemort decisively cast aside his dignity.
As the saying goes, Is dignity something that can be eaten?
For Voldemort, what good is dignity? Can it grant him more power? Can it enable him to escape death?
Clearly, it cannot.
As a "Soul Remnant" who had lived in the Albanian forest for 11 years, Voldemort did not hesitate to sustain himself by consuming various small animals, extracting their life essence like a parasite.
It wasn't until Quirrell arrived that he had some capability to act.
Furthermore, Voldemort sensed a potent dark power in Dracula the first time he laid eyes on him, evoking a deeply dangerous feeling within him.
This was why he promptly ordered Quirrell not to take any action and to flee immediately.
After Quirrell failed to escape, Voldemort possessed his body and narrowly escaped Dracula's attempt to block his own dark magic.
During this time, he gained a deeper understanding of Dracula's power.
As a result, Voldemort had long abandoned any hope of seizing the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and he had already begun making alternative plans.
However, Dumbledore's timely appointment letter as a teaching assistant was like a refreshing rain, reigniting Voldemort's plan to steal the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts.
"That's good, but I have a few demands," Dracula stated icily, his gaze fixed upon the now subservient Quirrell. With a calculated composure, he took another sip of his cold water before continuing. "Firstly, from now on, tasks such as grading homework, creating lesson plans, and organizing papers will all be your responsibility. I won't bother with these tedious tasks."
Quirrell faltered momentarily, caught off guard by the coldness of Dracula's words. He struggled to find his voice, stuttering as he attempted to respond to the formidable demands placed upon him.
"O-Okay... o-okay, I understand," Quirrell managed to stammer, his voice wavering.
"And secondly," Dracula continued, his voice icy and commanding, "Should I ever find myself unwilling, or dare I say, lazy to attend class, it will be your duty to step in and teach the students in my stead."
Quirrell nodded once more.
"And lastly..." Dracula's expression turned icier, his tone laced with disdain as he placed the water glass down with a sharp clink. "Finally, let me rid your body of that repulsive garlic smell!"
A wave of revulsion washed over Dracula as he spoke, he couldn't stand the smell of garlic that emanated from Quirrell from time to time. It was an odor that repelled even the undead, it made him nauseous.
It wasn't just because vampires detest garlic, but also because the scent reminded him of the Godlja he had recently consumed.
Dracula couldn't fathom what Dumbledore was thinking when he suggested that the cold and somber vampire try spicy and hot Godlja! Dracula had eaten a few bites out of curiosity about this peculiar dish, and now he felt as if he had basked in the warmth of the sun. The sensation was truly indescribable!
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