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"Mr. Dracula... is he in this room?" Lucius asked the waiter beside him in a low voice, his eyes wide with tension.
"Mr. Dracula is in this compartment, Mr. Malfoy," the waiter replied with a polite smile.
Lucius swallowed nervously. He raised his hand several times to knock on the door, only to lower it again each time. He still couldn't believe this door had finally opened—nor that he had been granted the opportunity to step inside.
"Come in, Lucius."
At that moment, Dracula's smooth, unmistakable voice came from within, and the door to the dazzlingly luxurious room opened on its own.
Lucius exhaled a long breath, then stepped quietly inside.
Though he was the current head of the Malfoy family and believed he'd witnessed many grand spectacles, the interior of the compartment still made him gasp. His eyes darted around, trying to take it all in.
"Tell me, what's so important that you requested to meet in person?"
Dracula sipped the golden-red wine from his crystal glass and smiled with satisfaction.
But Lucius remained too stunned to respond. It was as though he hadn't even heard the question.
After hesitating for a long while, he finally gave in to his curiosity.
"Mr. Dracula... why are you here?"
"Hm?" Dracula set down his glass and turned his head. "Mr. Malfoy, if I remember correctly, didn't you stay behind after the school board meeting and secretly invite me to meet here at the Green Dragon Bar?"
"N-No, I meant... why are you in this compartment?" Lucius quickly clarified. "I heard this door hasn't been opened in over a hundred years..."
"That's because this compartment has always been reserved for me," Dracula said calmly, leaning back against the soft cushions. "Any other questions?"
On the surface, Lucius maintained composure, but inside, a storm was raging.
As far as he knew, this opulent room had existed for over a century. If it had remained closed all that time purely because it was reserved for Dracula—who didn't look a day over thirty—then just how old was he?
The thought alone was staggering.
Lucius lowered his eyes and said respectfully, "No further questions, Mr. Dracula."
"In that case, it's time for you to tell me why you asked to meet," Dracula said as he refilled his wine glass, showing no intention of offering Lucius a drink. "Why couldn't it wait until the next school board meeting?"
Lucius carefully placed his cane at his side, glanced around to ensure the room was soundproof, and then lowered his voice.
"Mr. Dracula... the Dark Lord has returned!"
Dracula paused mid-sip, then chuckled and lowered the glass.
"And what made you think of telling me such a secret?" he asked, amused.
"You're... you're not surprised?" Lucius asked, stunned. He had expected at least a flicker of shock.
"I've known for quite some time," Dracula replied, eyeing the faint outline of the Dark Mark on Lucius's left arm. "Fenrir Greyback—a werewolf and Voldemort's lackey—you know him, don't you?"
"He surrendered during the last wizarding war," Lucius muttered awkwardly, slightly flustered at having his Death Eater identity so casually exposed. "But he was never really a Death Eater. Just a pawn. Did that idiot spill the news?"
Lucius felt a pang of disappointment. If Dracula already knew of Voldemort's return, the value of the information he had brought plummeted.
"No, he didn't tell me anything," Dracula said. "He attacked me using Inferi—creatures crafted by Voldemort. But after I captured him, I simply took the information from his memory."
"But that information must be outdated!" Lucius insisted. "He was sent on a mission months ago—he wouldn't have had any recent updates."
The truth was, Lucius had hoped to keep playing both sides, switching loyalties as it suited him. But after coming to Bai Feilong Bar today and discovering that the proprietress had reserved this room for Dracula for a century, his instincts kicked in.
Clearly, Dracula was someone worth betting on.
"So... why tell me about Voldemort?" Dracula asked, his voice low and curious. "Was it because you made a mistake and fell out of favor? Or is it just the Malfoy way—to keep all escape routes open, no matter who wins?"
Lucius broke into a cold sweat.
"Mr. Dracula, I'm not trying to play both sides..." he began defensively. "But I did make a mistake. I... tampered with one of the Dark Lord's most important dark artifacts during a Ministry raid. Now he's furious, and I fear he may have already marked me for death. When I thought of who might stand against him, you were the only one who came to mind."
"A dark artifact, you say?"
Dracula's interest was suddenly piqued. He hadn't cared much about Lucius's justification until now.
If Lucius had mishandled something Voldemort deeply valued—perhaps even a Horcrux—this could be crucial.
Dracula already suspected Voldemort had made more than one Horcrux. The careless way he'd hidden Slytherin's locket, allowing even a house-elf to discover it, showed just how overconfident the Dark Lord had become.
So if Lucius had misplaced another one... and Voldemort still hadn't killed him... it was yet more proof.
"What exactly was this dark artifact?" Dracula asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.
"Um..." Lucius froze. "Is... is that detail really necessary? During the Ministry raid, I had far too many dark objects to keep track of. I couldn't possibly recall which one it was..."
"And the Dark Lord... he didn't even ask which item was missing. It was as if he already knew."
"I see." Dracula nodded. "When we meet next, prepare a list of all the dark items you sold off. Every single one."
"But... it's been over half a year!" Lucius said, face twisted in anguish. "I've forgotten most of them..."
"Some things aren't truly forgotten," Dracula said with a cold smile. "They're just buried deep in your mind. So either you give me the list, or I'll use Legilimency to extract it myself."
"Actually, now that you mention it, Mr. Dracula, I do remember a few!" Lucius straightened up with a forced smile. "For your cause, I will try my absolute best to recover those memories!"
"Enough pretending," Dracula scoffed. "Fine. As compensation for the information, I'll let you go on playing the wallflower."
"Mr. Dracula, you don't need to test me like this!" Lucius suddenly stood and slammed his cane to the floor. "How could I, Lucius Malfoy, be some scheming turncoat? I am sworn to the Dark Lord!"
"Very well, Lucius," Dracula smirked. "In that case, help me assassinate Voldemort. The magical world will remember your noble sacrifice."
Lucius's face froze mid-expression.
"Y-You're quite the joker, Mr. Dracula..." he muttered, awkwardly sitting back down.
"Enough games." Dracula leaned forward now, his elbows on the table, fingers steepled under his chin. His deep gaze pierced Lucius. "All I need from you is to stay a wallflower."
"You'll continue following Voldemort. And every time there's a school board meeting, you'll report to me. That's all I ask. It's not too difficult, is it?"
In truth, a surrendering Lucius Malfoy was of little use to Dracula.
He didn't need weak allies or old money. What he needed was an informant—a man behind enemy lines to feed him Voldemort's movements.
Lucius had prepared himself to choose a side today. He had braced for compromise, expecting that one way or another, he would have to fully commit. Yet Dracula had given him a rare gift—the freedom to remain uncommitted, lingering in the gray area where no one took notice.
The realization thrilled him.
"Can it be this easy…?" Lucius blurted out, then immediately caught himself. Clearing his throat, he hastily corrected, "Ah, no—what I mean is, I am honored to serve you, Mr. Dracula."
With Dracula's approval secured, Lucius delved into the details of the recent upheaval among the Death Eaters.
---
It had all begun one night, near the start of summer, when every Death Eater still bearing the Dark Mark felt a sudden, unsettling shift beneath their skin.
Each one, no matter where they were, instinctively hid away, pulling back sleeves in secret isolation to inspect the mark on their arm.
Where once it had been faded red, the Dark Mark had begun to bleed into a deep, sinister scarlet—and as the hours passed, it blackened, its burnt shade settling like charred flesh.
The reactions among them were mixed.
Some trembled in fear, their breath caught in their throats. Some stared blankly, confused, uncertain, at a loss.
But others…
Others felt something close to ecstasy.
For they all knew what it meant.
The Dark Lord had returned.
It didn't matter whether they welcomed him or dreaded him—each active Death Eater, wherever they were in the British wizarding world, disapparated at once, vanishing into the shadows of Little Hangleton, where the Riddle family cemetery awaited their arrival.
Among them were Alecto Carrow, Amycus Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, and many others—wizards who had either slipped away during the war or vanished into Azkaban over a decade ago.
Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape.
Both had answered the call.
The Death Eaters assembled before their master, who stood before them—not whole, not fully restored, but something more terrifying than they remembered.
He had forged a new body, built from the bones of old Tom Riddle, steeped in magic so ancient that the mere sight of him sent a shudder through the ranks.
Incomplete or not, he was stronger than all of them.
Lucius recounted the moment of his return—the way Voldemort surveyed his army, pleased despite the passage of time.
Voldemort had never feared Dumbledore.
But Dracula?
That was another matter entirely.
Unlike Dumbledore, Count Dracula had no moral restraint—no inclination toward leniency or mercy. If he had chosen to purge the Death Eaters from existence, he would have done it without hesitation.
Dracula wasn't bound by ideology or sentiment.
And that terrified Voldemort.
That was why Voldemort had revealed himself early, before regaining his full power—before Dracula had the opportunity to pick off his followers one by one.
Before his army crumbled in the absence of his command.
And so, Voldemort had stood before them all that night, eyes burning with fanatical certainty, and declared:
"I am immortal. No one can kill me. None of you can escape my control."
He had repeated his vision of pure-blood supremacy, a glorious future woven from promises that demanded absolute loyalty.
Lucius saw wavering wizards falter, their uncertainty crumbling beneath their master's presence.
Dumbledore was old.
Voldemort was eternal.
And yet—Lucius had begun to doubt.
His aspirations to reclaim power in Voldemort's ranks had been shattered the moment his master lavished praise upon Snape—only to turn on him moments later.
The rebuke had been merciless.
The punishment?
Unbearable.
Lucius had barely lasted the first night without succumbing to the Cruciatus Curse, his body trembling with the weight of Voldemort's fury.
That was when he had realized:
He had fallen from favor.
His prestige was gone.
And the Death Eater camp would not offer him safety.
So, his mind had turned elsewhere—to Dracula.
Dumbledore was too righteous to consider alliances built on convenience.
Dracula?
Dracula could be bargained with.
His strength was undeniable—Lucius had witnessed it firsthand at the school board meeting, had listened as Draco spoke highly of him, had watched Dracula manipulate power so effortlessly that even his authority over Hogwarts had seemed limitless.
Dracula didn't rule by loyalty.
He ruled by control.
Lucius understood that kind of power.
And so, he had extended an invitation—using the upcoming school board meeting as cover, ensuring that no one would suspect his true intentions.
Now, standing in the Green Dragon Bar, Lucius watched Dracula seated within the compartment that had remained closed for a century.
He thought back to the parchment Dracula had held in his hands that day.
A parchment capable of expelling school board members.
The realization settled over him like a cold shadow.
Dracula's influence might run even deeper than he had imagined.
---
Dracula listened, amusement flickering in his gaze as Lucius concluded his tale.
"Interesting," he murmured, his lips curling in intrigue. "I wonder… what if next time Voldemort summons you with the Dark Mark, I simply follow you there? Apparate alongside you, dispose of his new body entirely?"
Lucius froze.
Shock flooded through him.
"Mr. Dracula, please—don't!" He hurried to dissuade him. "Even if you defeat the Dark Lord, unless you destroy him completely, he'll suspect me when he returns!"
Lucius's breath was uneven now, voice urgent. "If I am caught, I am dead. I—I beg you to spare me for the information I have given you…"
Dracula sighed. "Fine. Seems I can't bully him just yet."
Lucius barely suppressed a shudder.
Bullying the Dark Lord?
Who was this man?
Dracula leaned back lazily. "You can go. Don't forget to send me a list of the black magic artifacts you acquired."
"Of course!" Lucius wiped his brow, the beads of sweat lingering on his skin as he hurried toward the exit.
His pulse raced.
He had never met anyone so casually dismissive of Voldemort's power.
The thought alone was terrifying.
Dracula poured himself another glass of blood-red wine, then paused, swirling the liquid absently.
School would start soon.
And yet—he had yet to find a suitable teaching assistant.
Collapsing against the sofa, he gazed out through the crystal window, watching the crooked streets of Knockturn Alley.
Shabby wizards.
Dark creatures lingering in the shadows.
Then—something caught his attention.
A thin figure.
Round glasses.
"Huh?" Dracula murmured, straightening.
His lips curved slightly.