Chapter 33 — Uncharacteristic Behavior
Dracula crossed his arms, a playful expression on his face as he watched Snape raise his wand.
"You mean to duel me, Professor Snape?" he asked lightly.
Snape ignored him, solemnly holding his wand upright in one hand, his gaze locked on Dracula.
The standard stance for initiating a duel.
Seeing this, Dracula's playful expression faded, replaced by a flicker of reminiscence.
"A wizard's duel? Now that is a long-forgotten formality," he murmured.
Then, unusually, he drew his own dark, ominous wooden wand, holding it upright before him.
For the bowing ritual before a duel, Snape offered a half-hearted nod, bending only slightly. Dracula, even more careless, lowered his head briefly, and the duel between Hogwarts professors began.
"Expelliarmus!"
Snape was the first to cast.
A bright red light illuminated the pitch-black Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, turning Dracula's crimson eyes a deep, blood-red hue.
Dracula raised his wand and casually deflected the disarming spell to the side, letting it explode against the desks and chairs, reducing them to splinters.
As the red light faded, the classroom returned to its dimness.
"Don't hold back. Your skill shouldn't be limited to this, right?" Dracula said, casually taunting Snape.
Snape said nothing. He shifted his attacks continuously, flicking his wand repeatedly, sending one ordinary spell after another toward Dracula.
Petrificus Totalus, Stupefy, Expelliarmus… these basic spells, unchanged for centuries, streamed endlessly from Snape's wand tip, each deflected by Dracula with fluid, effortless precision.
Faced with these rudimentary spells, impatience began to show on Dracula's face. Eventually, he didn't even bother with his wand, stretching out his hand to catch the mundane spells midair.
"You only know these basic, mundane spells?" he said impatiently. "If your next attacks remain this dull, then this duel will end right here."
Dracula raised his wand. Behind him, a shadowy moon seemed to rise, highlighting his silver hair like an ethereal vision.
From the moonlight, a crescent-shaped blade of light silently streaked toward Snape.
The classroom fell into complete silence. Yet the crescent's speed was nearly impossible to track with the eye!
Instinctively, Snape cast a protective iron armor spell, generating a transparent barrier in front of him, and pointed his wand forward—
"Sectumsempra!"
The crescent blade struck the iron spell, shattering it instantly. Snape, along with the barrier, was sent flying backward, toppling countless desks before crashing heavily against the classroom's back door.
At the same time, a hidden ripple spell Snape had cast at the last moment shot straight toward Dracula.
Dracula's eyes flickered with curiosity at this spell, one he had never seen before. He raised his hand, intending to grasp the invisible wave in his palm.
With a heavy thud, the door groaned under the impact as Snape's body hit the floor, his face instantly pale as death.
At the same moment, Dracula's long hand reflexively drew back.
He glanced down at his palm—and there, a straight, narrow scarlet line ran across it!
The wound began to heal, but unlike the usual rapid regeneration of a vampire, it contracted slowly, like a fuse burning down or a trail of water gradually evaporating under the sun.
"Interesting spell… did you create it yourself?" Dracula said with a light laugh, looking away from his palm.
"None of your concern," Snape said coldly, leaning weakly against the classroom door, clutching a wound at his waist.
Dracula was utterly unconcerned, smiling as he stepped over the debris of desks and chairs, slowly approaching Snape.
"Professor Snape, I always thought you were a quintessential Slytherin—not an impulsive type." He crouched beside Snape, a soft white light glowing in his hand. "Regardless, the most advantageous way for you would never have been to duel me alone, especially without understanding my full strength."
Snape was about to retort, but then he realized that the wound at his waist, sliced open by Dracula's crescent slash, was now healing at an absurdly fast pace.
"I'd say that after suspecting me, you should have reported to the Headmaster. That would align with Salazar Slytherin's self-serving style," Dracula continued. "Yet you still came to duel me. That proves Headmaster Dumbledore trusts me and did not approve of your suspicions."
Snape remained silent.
"Now, another question arises: even if the Headmaster denied your suspicion, it's unlikely you would recklessly come at me directly. You're not idle like me, seeking thrills, right?"
In a moment, Snape's wound had fully healed. If not for the rip in his robes, there would be no trace of the severe cut at his waist.
"You're overthinking. I simply couldn't let the embarrassment from earlier in the hall stand—I wanted to reclaim a bit of face," Snape said coldly.
He swished his sleeve and stood, showing no gratitude for Dracula's treatment.
Dracula, crouched on the floor, glanced up just as Snape swept his sleeve—and noticed something on his left wrist… a mark?
Thanks to his excellent night vision and memory, Dracula faintly recognized the pattern of the tattoo—a grotesque skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth, like a long tongue.
This is… a Dark Mark? Dracula thought, startled.
In the past decades of newspapers he had collected in the Library, he had seen this symbol before.
Immediately, Dracula connected it with Snape's uncharacteristic behavior, his eyes lighting up with realization.
…
In the darkness, Snape did not notice the change in Dracula's expression.
Standing, he walked mechanically toward the classroom door, his mind involuntarily flashing back to twenty minutes earlier, to the scene of his conversation with Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office…