Knock, knock, knock.
Just as the ethereal, black-haired young man was laughing with sinister delight, a sudden knock came from outside Quirrell's office.
His smile froze. Shock contorted his features for a fleeting instant before he immediately dissolved into a pool of shimmering black ink, falling back onto the blank diary like dark raindrops.
Knock, knock, knock. The knocking sounded again, more insistent this time.
Quirrell hurriedly stuffed the diary into a drawer and locked it. Then, with trembling hands, he carefully undid an anti-eavesdropping charm and stammered towards the door:
'Wh-who is it outside?'
'It is me.' Dracula's uniquely rich, mellow voice came from outside the door. 'I was a little too heavy-handed just now. I came to see if I can help with your scars—to make up for it a little.'
Hearing Dracula's voice, Quirrell immediately tensed up, his whole body going rigid.
'You are the one I am most afraid of!' he thought, a mixture of bitterness and terror churning within him.
However, Quirrell, who had just—in his view—cleared his name in front of the other professors, had no plausible excuse not to open the door. So, he had to tremblingly check every corner of the small room, making absolutely sure there was no incriminating evidence left behind before finally, reluctantly, opening the door.
Dracula stepped into the office the moment the door creaked open, his eyes immediately scanning Quirrell's cramped room.
'Why did it take so long to open the door? You were not doing something you should not be doing in the office just now, were you?' Not finding anything unusual in the room, Dracula turned his penetrating gaze to Quirrell himself, asking with a half-smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
'N-no, I just… I suddenly have a bit of a headache,' Quirrell said, his voice halting and uneven.
'Alas, it is all my fault. I was too heavy-handed just now.' Dracula sighed, a theatrical sound, and apologised to Quirrell with a distinct lack of sincerity. 'Professor Quirrell, you have been working so hard to grade homework and organise lesson plans for me, yet I treated you harshly because of a small suspicion and even embedded your head rather firmly into the floor.'
The corner of Quirrell's eye twitched unnaturally twice, but he still managed a forced, pained smile. 'Pro-Professor Dracula, I know you are all… you are doing it for Hogwarts. I do not mind suffering a little… it is nothing, really.'
'No! If Professor Quirrell can be so understanding of the greater good, then I cannot be the kind of villain who does not correct his mistakes and does not know how to maintain proper relationships with his colleagues!' Dracula declared righteously, his voice ringing with false conviction. 'I must think of a way to completely solve those unsightly scars on the back of your head that are clearly bothering you so!'
'N-no need, I am… I am fine,' Quirrell shook his head repeatedly, his eyes wide with alarm.
'Can I interpret that as you rejecting my kindness, Professor Quirrell?' Dracula smiled gently, but the air in Quirrell's small office became colder and colder, and the atmosphere grew more and more solemn, almost suffocating.
Quirrell trembled all over and quickly changed his frantic shaking of the head into a series of jerky nods.
'Th-then thank you, Professor Dracula,' he said reluctantly, his voice barely a whisper.
Dracula smiled faintly, a flicker of amusement in his wine-red eyes. He walked behind Quirrell, and the office finally returned to its original, less oppressive temperature.
'May I ask presumptuously, Professor Quirrell, how did these 3 scars on the back of your head actually form?' Looking at the 3 ugly and undeniably hideous scars, Dracula asked, his tone seemingly casual.
With an extremely terrifying entity—Dracula—standing directly behind him, Quirrell felt incredibly uncomfortable. Trembling, he recounted the reason he had used before:
'I… I said before, I encountered a… a vampire in Romania… you know I fought with… with him. It was the vicious va-vampire who left these 3… 3 claw marks on my head, which cannot be dissipated at all…'
Hearing Quirrell's explanation, Dracula finally laughed, a low, knowing sound.
He knew the kinds of wounds that vampires could leave like the back of his own hand. He could tell at a single glance that the scars on the back of Quirrell's head were definitely not caused by vampires.
Vampires usually did not use such clumsy attack methods as scratching someone's head. The parts they preferred were always where the shoulders and neck met—because this was the most convenient position to lower their heads and suck blood.
Obviously, Quirrell had lied again in order to cover up another truth of some unknown and likely sinister nature.
Having obtained what he wanted to know—or rather, confirmed what he already suspected—Dracula lost all interest in Quirrell's ugly back of the head. Disgusted, he moved away from Quirrell and walked towards the office door.
'Pro-Professor Dracula, are you not going to help me check… check the scars?' Quirrell turned his head in surprise, looking at Dracula, who had already reached the door.
'No need to look.' Dracula waved his hand dismissively. 'I am sorry, Professor Quirrell. I am indeed powerless to do anything about this particular affliction of yours!'
With that, he left Quirrell's office, leaving the man standing alone in stunned silence.
Quirrell: '?'
He observed it for less than a minute and then said he was powerless? Could he possibly be any more perfunctory?
Dracula walked up the marble stairs of the castle's main tower to the 2nd floor, preparing to return to his own office through the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
However, when he arrived at the classroom, he found that another person was already silently standing on the podium, clearly waiting for him.
The classroom was pitch black, illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through the tall windows. The figure on the podium was wearing a large black cloak, resembling an enlarged, brooding bat.
'Professor Snape, what a coincidence?' Dracula raised his eyebrows and greeted the shadowy figure on the podium.
Snape, his face a stern, unreadable mask, looked at him with his deep, black eyes.
'Not a coincidence. I was waiting for you.'
Snape drawled out his tone, his voice slow and deliberate. 'Before we start our… topic, I would like to ask, where did you go just now, Professor Dracula?'
'Where I go does not seem to be any of your business, does it, Professor Snape?' Dracula said with a light chuckle, though his eyes remained sharp.
'It does not matter if you do not say it. I can guess. You must have gone to find Quirrell, right?' Snape curled his lips, his voice laced with sharp insinuation.
Dracula was genuinely surprised this time. He had not noticed anyone following him along the way, and he did not think Snape could possibly guess what he was going to do with Quirrell.
So he turned his gaze fully to Snape, taking in his large hooked nose and uneven teeth. He folded his arms and, with a slight inclination of his head, motioned for Snape to continue.
'You and Quirrell are in cahoots, are you not?' Snape smiled coldly, then asked, his voice like ice.
Snape's question momentarily stunned Dracula, who stared at him with wide eyes, a flicker of genuine astonishment in their depths.
'You do not need to think of reasons to quibble. I will say it all for you at once,' Snape continued, his voice gaining momentum. 'Not to mention that it is already an unusual move for a top wizard like yourself to deign to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts—unless, of course, you know there is an extremely precious item hidden here.'
'Even if we exclude that particular issue, you have also very unusually brought in a teaching assistant, letting him attend classes with you. And your… teaching assistant… has recently been observed entering and exiting many secret places within the castle. He even went to the forbidden corridor on the right side of the 4th floor on one occasion.'
'He seems very interested in the treasures hidden within that particular checkpoint, and may attempt to go and challenge it at any time. Dare you say that all of this is not at your behest?'
'Maybe.' Dracula nodded indifferently, then asked with a spark of genuine interest lighting his eyes, 'So what do you want to do?'
Snape gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped something unseen within his sleeve. He slowly raised his wand.
***********
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