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Hearing Dumbledore's congratulations, the Great Hall erupted in warm applause.
All the faculty and staff clapped with genuine enthusiasm, their faces lighting up in celebration.
After all, to be re-elected for a second year as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts was something unprecedented in decades—an achievement no one had dared hope for in recent memory.
"Professor Dracula seems to have incredible luck," Professor Flitwick remarked emotionally, adjusting his tiny spectacles. "Since he took office, he hasn't run into any of the usual messes. Those who came before him always faced all kinds of strange, harrowing events. It must be absolutely exhausting!"
"Filius, you don't know the whole story," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile directed at Flitwick. "In truth, Professor Dracula has encountered many strange things. But he handled every single one of them with remarkable skill and calm. They never became a problem."
Indeed, this was the case.
The infamous curse Voldemort placed on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position had its limits—and currently, the professor couldn't be killed outright.
Instead, the curse subtly influenced fate itself, twisting fortune with cruel irony. It made one choke on cold water, stumble over one's own feet, and even burst into laughter at the most inappropriate moments. It gnawed at luck like a relentless, unseen force.
As the anniversary of the appointment approached, this curse's effect became sharper, more relentless, dealing heavier blows.
But Dracula paid these petty misfortunes no mind; nothing truly troubled him.
He'd met far stranger challenges: the mischief of Fred and George Weasley; a troll's sudden attack behind him on Halloween; staring down the deadly gaze of a basilisk deep in the Restricted Section; even facing the Dark Lord himself in fierce combat.
All these strange, dangerous moments—none affected him beyond adding spice to his otherwise dull existence.
The luncheon, held in this lively and jovial atmosphere exclusively for faculty and staff, ended before anyone quite realized it.
Once the last plate was cleared, Dumbledore beckoned Dracula, and the two quietly left the Great Hall, walking side by side toward the Headmaster's office.
"Professor Dracula," Dumbledore began with a smile, "before you leave, would you mind restoring the auditorium ceiling's brightness to its usual state? Also, in this brilliant sunshine, I imagine you wouldn't want to walk through the courtyard entrance—why not fly up to the eighth floor instead?"
"Indeed, you're right." Dracula nodded nonchalantly as he exited the Great Hall and restored the enchanted ceiling to its original brilliance. "But don't mistake this for me having time to leisurely accompany you up the stairs."
Before Dumbledore could reply, Dracula vanished from sight, apparating directly into the headmaster's office ahead of him.
Dumbledore shook his head with a faint smile and called Fawkes, his phoenix, to follow him inside.
"Professor Dracula," Dumbledore began, settling onto a chair opposite him, "I don't think you need to constantly seek excitement and speed in everything. Sometimes, there is unique joy in appreciating ordinary, quiet moments."
Dracula, lounging on the sofa and idly toying with the Sorting Hat, raised an eyebrow.
"As a man over a hundred years old, I have probably outgrown the impatience of youth," Dumbledore continued gently. "I find peace in the simple pleasures—walking the stairs quietly, feeling the magic woven through this castle, savoring the joy of small things."
Dracula flung the squealing Sorting Hat aside and glanced at Dumbledore with a wry smile.
"That's true. As an old man over a hundred, you can enjoy those little things. But as someone over a thousand years old… such things no longer interest me. I've long since grown tired of them. Why, then, should I bother climbing stairs with you?"
Dumbledore's expression froze for a moment, caught off guard.
Confronted with Dracula's youthful appearance and unconventional attitude, he often forgot that this man had lived over a millennium. Today, to hear Dracula cite age as a reason, as if it mattered, was unexpectedly humbling.
"Ah, Professor Dracula," Dumbledore quickly changed the subject, "have you heard any secret rumors lately?"
"Secret rumors?" Dracula's interest piqued as he straightened up. "How secretive are we talking?"
Dumbledore's face grew serious as he fixed Dracula with a steady gaze.
"Voldemort is back," he said solemnly.
Dracula smirked and reclined once more. "Tell me, how many times do people try to break this news to me these days?"
"Have you already heard?" Dumbledore's surprise was evident.
"Of course," Dracula replied coolly. "Everyone seems to know these days. I almost think it's common knowledge."
"Your news came from Snape, yes?" Dumbledore asked.
Dracula nodded. "Right. When Snape and I sparred last year, I caught a glimpse of the Dark Mark on his arm and decided to check his history."
"Since Snape—a former Death Eater with many dark stains—has earned your trust, it's clear he defected before the end of the last war. He's not the kind to switch sides once Voldemort fell."
"It's a pity Voldemort is such a fool. He should have sensed something fishy about Snape gaining the trust of a man as sharp as you."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Don't underestimate Tom's intelligence. He was brilliant in his youth, and even now, his power and cunning cannot be ignored."
Dracula sneered playfully. "He mutilates his own body with dark magic and tears apart his soul all for a shallow goal like immortality. I hardly call that smart."
"Back to the matter at hand," Dumbledore said, shaking his head with a smile. "After being beaten by you and fleeing, Voldemort wasn't seriously harmed. Within a month, he returned to the magical world—and even regained a body."
Dumbledore locked eyes with Dracula and, with a half-smile, addressed him with a rare honorific:
"His resilience is, in a way, a slap in your face, Lord Earl."
Dracula's eyes twitched slightly at the title.
When he first heard the news of Voldemort's return, Dracula hadn't considered it to be of such gravity. But after Dumbledore spoke bluntly about the matter, Dracula couldn't help feeling a bit embarrassed.
Voldemort had recovered so quickly after his soul was shattered. It was nothing less than a provocation, right in their faces!
"No, the more I think about it, the angrier I get!" Dracula sat up bitterly on the sofa. "I'm going to find Voldemort right now and deal with him once and for all!"
"Perhaps we should wait a moment, Professor Dracula."
Dumbledore seemed to anticipate Dracula's impatience. Calmly, he pulled a parchment from his drawer labeled simply: Plan.
"Instead of vainly trying to eliminate Voldemort's fragmented soul and stopping his resurrection through Horcruxes, we should focus on completely destroying him."
He slid the parchment toward Dracula.
Dracula looked down at it and saw three key points:
"The first is to investigate how Voldemort managed to recover so quickly and regain a body; the second is to determine the exact number of Voldemort's Horcruxes and destroy them one by one; the third is to deploy undercover agents to monitor Voldemort's movements and thwart any dangerous threats to the magical world in time."
…
Meanwhile, Voldemort himself—the subject of their intense discussion—walked happily through the Albanian forest.
After more than ten years in hiding, Voldemort was pleased to find so many who answered the call of the Dark Mark and obeyed his orders. Among them were powerful figures in the wizarding world, even Dumbledore's trusted confidants like Snape.
An evil smile curled Voldemort's lips as he silently mocked Dumbledore.
Dumbledore prided himself on seeing into people's hearts, yet he didn't know that Dean Slytherin—whom he trusted implicitly—had joined the Dark Lord and spied on Voldemort for over a decade, feeding him vital information.
Thinking of Hogwarts, Voldemort's expression darkened at the memory of the vampire count who sought work there as a teacher.
Why was Dracula born immortal and disdainful of Voldemort's own struggle for eternal life?
Why would Dracula, if he were no ally, come to Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—when he had no business there—and even sabotage Voldemort's plans?
Voldemort seethed with rage, imagining casting countless Cruciatus Curses on Dracula, ending his cursed immortality with a Death Curse.
But he knew he was not strong enough yet.
He had to bide his time until his Horcrux diary received Harry Potter's blood and his body was fully restored, reaching its peak power.
Only then would he be able to face Dracula.
To grow stronger, Voldemort set an important goal—
He had long believed "seven" was a magical number in the wizarding world, so he planned to split his soul into seven parts, gaining unparalleled power.
What he didn't know was that twelve years ago, in Godric's Hollow, the seventh soul fragment had accidentally lodged itself inside his old enemy—Harry Potter.
Now, he had come to the Albanian forest to create what he believed would be his final Horcrux.
He had already chosen his sixth Horcrux: the enormous snake who had accompanied him through his darkest times—Nagini.
There were risks. Even masters of soul splitting and Horcrux creation like Voldemort had never before attempted to split their soul into a living creature by their own hand.
But Voldemort loved Nagini.
Unlike mindless snakes that obeyed only commands, Nagini possessed remarkable intelligence. She could talk with him, understand his struggles, and share his rage.
In fact, Voldemort had learned the name "Nagini" from the snake herself.
He was determined to make this magical viper his Horcrux, so she could always stay by his side—the one true companion who understood him when he felt cold and isolated on high thrones.
Walking the Albanian forest, Voldemort called out in a serpentine voice, searching for her.
Hours passed as he traversed the woods, his voice growing hoarse from constant calling.
All he received in response were the hisses of ordinary forest snakes.
Nagini had seemingly vanished into thin air.
Voldemort's face darkened with frustration.
…
Inside a hidden cave, two enormous snakes lay quietly in the dim shadows.
Though one was smaller than the other, both were colossal—creatures that would astonish any Muggle who saw them.
One was a dazzling green serpent, fifty feet long, with a bright red feather crest on its head.
The other was a twelve-foot-long viper, covered in spots.
Both trembled in the shadows as hissing voices echoed nearby, but they pretended not to hear.
Suddenly, Voldemort's tone outside shifted to a sharp command:
"Nagini, come out to me!"
The smaller viper lost her composure instantly and swung her body, about to leave the cave.
But the huge basilisk held her tightly, preventing her from falling into Voldemort's trap.
Despite Nagini's desperate struggles, the immense basilisk coiled tightly around her, using its sheer size to restrain her, preventing her from throwing herself into Voldemort's grasp.
Only after Voldemort's departure did Nagini finally regain her senses. Blinking in confusion, she felt a strange clarity settle over her mind.
The basilisk hissed knowingly. "You see, Nagini? Even after a short absence, he shouts at you in that harsh, commanding tone. I tell you—Voldemort is not a good man."
Nagini stared at the ancient serpent, her mind reeling. After a pause, she tapped her head twice against his in quiet acknowledgment.
"Thank you..." she hissed softly. "Without you, I might have spent another twelve years blinded to his true nature."