Chapter 4 — Encounter
"What is this… Eerie Wood?"
Looking at the wooden board that Dracula had taken out, a look of astonishment appeared on Ollivander's face.
"This is one of the materials recorded in the archives as being most suitable for necromancy and dark magic!"
He then scratched his chin, puzzled.
"But as far as I know, this kind of wood has been extinct for many years…"
Ollivander stared at the hexagonal wooden board in Dracula's hand. As he studied its shape—large enough to cover a single person—his eyes gradually widened.
"You didn't happen to pry this off someone's coffin, did you?!"
Dracula's expression darkened.
"Enough nonsense. Just tell me whether you're making the wand or not."
"Make it? Of course I'll make it!" Ollivander said excitedly. "How could I pass up such a rare material!"
"What wand core do you want? Dragon heartstring or phoenix feather? Unicorn tail hair is out of the question—it doesn't suit you…"
The moment the topic of wand-making came up, Ollivander immediately began chattering nonstop.
Dracula raised a hand, cutting off his rambling.
"I'm not interested in those three cores. Are there any other options?"
"Speaking responsibly," Ollivander said confidently, "after decades of testing, I have reached a conclusion—unicorn tail hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather are the most stable wand cores of all!"
"So I never use any other materials as wand cores!"
Hearing this, Dracula curled his lips in amusement.
"Would extra money change your mind?" he asked.
"Sorry, I'm a man of principles. I think you've mistaken me for someone else," Ollivander replied firmly.
"Principles can change, can't they?"
Dracula spoke softly as he pinched the little finger of his right hand.
With a crack, the finger snapped off and was pulled free.
A streak of pitch-black, chilling flame swept across it. When the fire faded, all that remained of the finger was a slender white bone, smooth and jade-like…
Ollivander's eyes widened as he watched Dracula calmly—almost indifferently—hold out the finger bone, as though he were merely an observer.
Meanwhile, Dracula's severed little finger began regenerating at an astonishing speed. In the blink of an eye, it had grown back completely, returning to its pale and slender form as if nothing had happened.
"You… you are…"
Looking at Dracula's deep wine-red eyes and long silver hair, Ollivander seemed to realize something.
"Watch your mouth." Dracula's gaze turned dangerous.
"No, no, no—I meant to continue what I was saying earlier!" Ollivander hurriedly corrected himself with a fawning smile. "What I meant was, you really do judge people well!"
As he spoke, he enthusiastically accepted both Dracula's coffin board and the finger bone.
"A wand made from Eerie wood, with the finger bone of a powerful magical creature as the core—what a perfect combination!" Ollivander exclaimed in admiration. "Rest assured, a wand produced by Ollivander will never disappoint you!"
At that moment, a series of jingling chimes rang out.
This meant that a new customer had arrived at Ollivander's wand shop.
Seeing this, Ollivander immediately wiped the smile from his face and once again adopted his mysterious, inscrutable demeanor.
Dracula curiously glanced toward the shop entrance and saw two figures—one large and one small—hesitantly stepping into the narrow space.
The contrast in their sizes was extremely exaggerated—
The smaller one was a boy, short and thin, giving the impression of poor nourishment; meanwhile, the larger figure looked as though two burly men had been stacked together both horizontally and vertically. When he squeezed into the cramped shop, he nearly knocked the doorframe off its hinges.
"Good afternoon," Ollivander said softly. "Yes, yes, I knew I would be seeing you very soon, Harry Potter. This is no problem. Your eyes…"
"Huh? Aren't you the kid who was surrounded by a bunch of people earlier?" Dracula looked curiously at the thin boy wearing round glasses, casually interrupting the atmosphere Ollivander had just begun building.
"You don't recognize me?" the boy asked in surprise.
"Should I?" Dracula replied with an amused smile.
Before the boy could answer, the enormous man beside him exclaimed in shock,
"What?! You don't recognize Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived?!"
His voice was so loud that the stacks of wand boxes in Ollivander's shop—piled nearly to the ceiling—began to wobble precariously.
Dracula glanced at the dust drifting through the shop with clear distaste. With a slight flick of his sleeve, a gentle breeze swept through the room, blowing the dust out the door.
Then he walked over to the boy and examined the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, mostly hidden beneath his hair.
"So you're the famous savior, Harry Potter?" Dracula said, studying the boy's thin frame and worn clothing with interest. "Judging by appearances alone, it's rather hard to tell."
"If nothing unexpected happens, I should be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor once you start school. You may call me Professor Dracula."
The dedicated vampire instantly slipped into the role of a professor, addressing the first student he had encountered.
"When the time comes, we'll have plenty of time to study exactly how you manage to defeat Voldemort."
At the sound of Dracula speaking Voldemort's name so openly, both the large man and Ollivander shivered involuntarily.
Harry, however, reacted differently. He looked up at the tall, handsome man with silver hair standing before him and even felt a little moved.
In the single day since he had come from the Muggle world into the magical world, he had heard far too many witches and wizards refer to "You-Know-Who" in front of him.
It was as though everyone knew that Harry had defeated "You-Know-Who," yet none of them dared to say the man's real name—Voldemort.
At that moment, Dracula's image rose dramatically in young Harry's mind.
But Harry still had one question.
"Professor, but when I was at the Leaky Cauldron earlier, Professor Quirrell said he would be my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Harry said. "Are there two Defense Against the Dark Arts professors?"
Hearing this, Dracula's expression darkened.
"Oh? Someone is claiming my position?" he sneered, and the temperature inside the shop seemed to drop several degrees.
"No one is taking such an interesting job away from me."
With that, he waved a hand at Ollivander and Harry before turning and striding directly toward the Leaky Cauldron.
The three people inside Ollivander's wand shop trembled as they watched Dracula leave. Only after he had gone completely out of sight did they finally breathe a sigh of relief.
"Where on earth did Dumbledore find such a terrifying professor…" Hagrid muttered, rubbing his stiff face.
At that moment, now that the tension had eased, Ollivander picked up the speech he had been unable to finish earlier and said to the Boy Who Lived with his usual mysterious tone:
"I knew I would be seeing you soon, Harry Potter. That is quite clear. Your eyes are just like your mother's. It feels like only yesterday that she came here to buy her very first wand…"
But by now, Harry had completely lost interest in what he was saying. His mind was filled with anticipation for his future Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.
"Compared to that stuttering Professor Quirrell with the strange turban, the powerful and handsome Professor Dracula definitely seems much more reliable!" Harry thought.
…