Chapter 5 — Quirrell
On a bright, sunny day, one room in the Leaky Cauldron had its thick curtains drawn tightly shut, blocking out every trace of light.
A letter stamped with the seal of Hogwarts had been torn in half, its crumpled pieces scattered across the table by the window.
Quirinus Quirrell—whom Harry had just mentioned—was currently writhing on the floor in agony, screaming continuously. A purple turban had fallen to the side, revealing his bald head.
Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was instead an extremely hideous and terrifying face.
The face was chalk-white in color. Its crimson eyes glowed ominously, and beneath them were two thin, snake-like slits that served as nostrils.
At this moment, the grotesque face on the back of Quirrell's head was roaring and cursing furiously.
"Damn that Dumbledore! How dare he go back on his word! And that newly recruited Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—how dare he steal my position! I'll make him wish he were dead!!"
The owner of this horrifying face was none other than the man whose name struck fear throughout the wizarding world—Voldemort.
Yet at this moment, he was nothing like the powerful, independent Dark Lord he had once been. Instead, he was extremely weak, able to exist only as a remnant of a soul parasitically inhabiting Quirrell's body.
When Quirrell received Dumbledore's letter informing him that Hogwarts had found a more suitable candidate for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, the Voldemort attached to the back of his head had nearly exploded with rage.
Decades ago, Voldemort had already wanted to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
After being rejected twice in succession, he had even cursed the position itself, ensuring that no one could remain in the job for longer than a single year.
Moreover, the position was not only tied to his obsession—it was also a crucial part of his plan to steal the Philosopher's Stone. If Quirrell lost the job, all of his preparations and schemes would collapse into nothing.
"It's all your fault, you useless fool! If you had managed to obtain the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts, we wouldn't be in such a passive position now!"
The power Voldemort exerted while inhabiting Quirrell's body surged violently, causing Quirrell unbearable pain.
"Master, we can go find him and kill him!" Quirrell cried out in agony. "I'll handle it properly this time—I won't disappoint you again!"
Just then, a sudden knock, knock, knock sounded from outside the door.
The room fell silent in an instant.
Quirrell took a shaky breath and fumbled beside him to pick up his wand. With a light flick, he dispelled the soundproofing charm that had been placed on the room.
Then he deliberately adopted his usual timid demeanor and called out toward the door,
"D-didn't I say… not to… to come… and disturb me?"
The knocking paused for a moment.
However, the grotesque face of Voldemort suddenly changed expression. He quickly whispered to Quirrell in a low voice:
"Put the turban on—quick! He's already broken through the defensive spells at the door!"
Quirrell's face changed instantly. In a panic, he hurriedly waved his wand, wrapping the fallen turban back around his head.
Bang!
The next moment, the door to the Leaky Cauldron room was shoved open violently, slamming hard against the wall.
A tall man with silver hair and wine-red eyes strolled into the room, sizing up the wizard wearing the oversized turban with obvious ill intent.
"I heard that the newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts is staying in this room, so I came specifically to pay a visit…"
Before he finished speaking, Dracula suddenly frowned.
"Where did this overwhelming smell of garlic come from?"
As he spoke, he waved his hand without hesitation. The tightly drawn curtains and the windows were flung open, and a strong gust of wind immediately swept through the room.
Quirrell instinctively grabbed his turban, afraid it might be blown away by the wind.
"W-why… why did you come h-here?" he stammered. "This is… is private property. You c-can't do this."
Dracula ignored his protest. Only after the pungent smell of garlic had mostly dissipated did he finally turn his gaze toward the strange man with the turban.
"You're Quirinus Quirrell, the newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts?" he asked.
"Y-yes… I am. And you are…?" Quirrell said nervously, trembling slightly.
Looking at the timid wizard before him, Dracula's expression darkened. He let out a cold laugh.
"What a coincidence. I'm also the newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts!"
Quirrell's eyes widened immediately.
He had never expected that the man he had just been planning to hunt down and eliminate—the one who had stolen his position—would come knocking on his door himself!
"So you're the bastard who stole my position!" Quirrell suddenly stopped stammering. The trembling disappeared from his voice as well, replaced by naked hatred, as if he intended to vent all the pain Voldemort had inflicted upon him onto the man standing before him.
"I didn't expect you to walk right into my trap."
He slowly raised his wand.
However, at that exact moment, Voldemort's voice suddenly rang out in Quirrell's mind, stern and panicked:
"Don't attack! Run! Quickly!!"
Quirrell had never heard Voldemort speak in such a frantic tone before. Cold sweat instantly drenched his back.
Without hesitation, he spun around and prepared to Apparate away from the room.
Meanwhile, Dracula stood with his arms crossed, curious to see what kind of surprise this Professor Quirrell—who wanted to steal his amusement—might bring him.
When he saw Quirrell perform the standard preparatory movement for Apparition, he paused for a moment before shaking his head with a faint, amused smile. Then he raised his hand and made a grasping motion in the air.
Following Dracula's movement, Quirrell—whose body had already half-entered the distorted space of Apparition—was abruptly dragged back into the Leaky Cauldron's room as if seized by an invisible hand. He was slammed violently onto the table by the window.
Crack!
The table split cleanly in half.
Quirrell let out a scream, clutching his back in pain.
Dracula took two steps forward and stopped in front of him, looking down.
"So what you're saying is… that I stole your position?" he asked lightly with a smile.
Quirrell didn't answer.
The panic on his face gradually faded, replaced by a blank expression. Then a sinister aura slowly surfaced in his eyes.
"What a useless fool."
"Quirrell" spoke coldly.
The next moment, a cloud of black mist burst out from Quirrell's body, completely enveloping him.
Dracula frowned slightly and once again raised his hand in a grasping motion.
But this time, Quirrell seemed to have transformed entirely into a mass of mist—untouchable and intangible. Dracula's hand grasped nothing but empty air.
While Dracula was still puzzled, the black mist seeped through every crack and crevice in the tavern room, dispersing silently until it vanished completely.
Dracula frowned, watching the entire process as Quirrell's figure disappeared without a trace.
"Interesting."
A slow smile curved across his lips, and the crease in his brow gradually relaxed.
"In that case, let me see what secrets you're hiding."
Dracula casually snapped his fingers. Without chanting any spell, the Leaky Cauldron room rapidly restored itself to exactly the way it had looked when he first arrived.
Then he glanced at the bright sunlight outside the window, clicking his tongue in faint annoyance before walking out of the room through the front door.