Chapter 10 — Dracula's Office
After the start-of-term feast ended, Professor Dumbledore stood up once again. The Great Hall gradually fell silent.
He gave the young wizards a few reminders, warning them not to enter the Forbidden Forest and not to cast spells in the corridors.
Dumbledore's expression, however, was far from stern, so these warnings probably wouldn't have much effect.
At least when Dracula glanced down from the professors' table, he could clearly see the eager glints in the eyes of many Gryffindor students, as though they were itching to try exactly those forbidden things.
After finishing the reminders and a brief notice, Dumbledore's expression suddenly became solemn.
"Lastly, I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to suffer an accident or die a very painful death should avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor," he said seriously.
A few laughs seemed to rise from the crowd below, as though some students believed he was joking.
Dracula turned curiously to the short Professor Flitwick seated beside him and asked, "He doesn't look like he's joking."
"Oh! He certainly isn't," Professor Flitwick replied in his distinctive high-pitched voice. "Albus seems to be protecting something. A while ago he asked several of us who teach the core subjects to design some interesting obstacles to prevent that item from being stolen by a thief."
"Oh? Why wasn't I informed about this? Isn't Defense Against the Dark Arts considered a core subject?" Dracula asked.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts is certainly a core subject! Ahem… although it hasn't exactly been treated like one for the past several decades…" Flitwick stroked his small mustache awkwardly. "But it's normal that you weren't aware of it, Professor Dracula. When Albus was arranging the obstacles, you happened to be away, so he had Quirrell set yours up in your place."
"I see." Dracula nodded.
In the next moment, he noticed that the smile on Professor Flitwick's face had suddenly frozen.
Standing in the center of the professors' table, Dumbledore faced the students and flicked his wand lightly. A long golden ribbon streamed out from the wand, twisting like a snake above the dining tables and forming lines of text in midair.
"Everyone choose your favorite tune," Dumbledore said. "Ready… sing!"
Upon hearing the "singing" of the entire hall, Dracula's expression froze as well.
"Wait—after a thousand years, Hogwarts still hasn't found someone to compose a melody for the school song?!"
Amid the chaotic, argument-like chorus filling the hall, Dracula raised his voice and asked Professor Flitwick beside him.
Flitwick, clearly delighted not to be singing with the others, stood on his chair and shouted back, "Every headmaster thinks it's a Hogwarts tradition! No one wants to break it!"
Dracula fell silent, unsure what expression he should even make.
He still vaguely remembered that a thousand years ago, Ravenclaw had written the lyrics for the Hogwarts school song. But since music in Britain during that era had been quite primitive, people back then mostly played things like bagpipes or simple single-string instruments.
The four founders had worried that setting such crude music to the school song would lower Hogwarts' prestige. So they decided to pass down only the lyrics, hoping that some talented wizard composer in the future would eventually create a fitting melody.
Who could have imagined that later headmasters would interpret the lack of a melody as some profound intention left behind by the founders—and would faithfully maintain the tradition of singing it to any tune people pleased, even a thousand years later…
…
After enduring the school song with great patience, Dracula returned to his office.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office was located on the third floor, connected directly to the classroom on the second floor. Whenever class began, the professor only needed to open the side door of the office and walk down a short flight of steps to reach the classroom.
Dracula couldn't be entirely sure whether this layout had always been the case, or whether Dumbledore had arranged it specifically to prevent his habit of jumping out of windows…
Inside the office—decorated in a style strongly reminiscent of dark aesthetics—Dracula met with his teaching assistant, Quirinus Quirrell.
"So your method of removing the garlic smell… was to cover it up with an even worse stench?!"
Before Quirrell could even step inside, Dracula frowned and erected a dark barrier, sealing him tightly behind it.
"P–Professor D-Dracula, you must… must understand m-me," Quirrell stammered from behind the barrier. "B-Because I encountered a v-vampire in R-Romania. T-to prevent him from c-coming after me, I h-had no choice but to do this."
Hearing Quirrell's explanation, Dracula's eyes flickered.
"You've met the vampires in Romania?" he asked curiously.
"Y–Yes."
"How are they doing now?" Dracula's attitude became slightly more serious. He straightened from his reclining position and looked at Quirrell.
"H-How are they doing?" Quirrell looked at him blankly.
"Their behavior, habits, way of life, mental state, population growth—things like that." Dracula forced what he believed to be a rather friendly smile and even let Quirrell into the office despite the smell. "Don't feel pressured. Just say whatever comes to mind."
"Uh…" Quirrell seemed momentarily stunned before replying haltingly. "T-There's n-not much d-different from before. V-Vampires are still as v-violent as ever. P-Pale faces, u-ugly features, t-thin bodies…"
"A-As soon as he s-saw me, he t-tried to suck my b-blood. O-Of course I w-wasn't willing, so w-we f-fought. W-We f-fought for a long t-time, and I u-used a s-spell to d-drive him away…"
"That's enough. It's all nonsense!"
Dracula's expression darkened more and more as he listened. Finally, unable to endure it any longer, he slapped Quirrell straight out the door.
"I don't care what excuse you use. Either get rid of that smell or get expelled—choose one!"
Quirrell tumbled out the door, the back of his head slamming heavily into a pillar in the corridor.
He raised a hand to rub the aching spot, but halfway there, a faint malicious curse seemed to echo inside his mind.
Quirrell immediately withdrew his hand before it touched the back of his head, then stood up and hurried away from Dracula's office in embarrassment.
But he had barely taken a few steps before an invisible hand suddenly grabbed him and dragged him back.
"There's one more thing," Dracula said, erecting another barrier to block the smell before speaking from behind it. "I heard you set up an obstacle for the thing Dumbledore is guarding. Do you know what he's protecting?"
At Dracula's question, Quirrell's body instantly tensed.
"I-I'm n-not s-sure. I was o-only r-responsible for setting up the o-obstacle," he said cautiously.
"I figured you wouldn't know." Dracula curled his lip. "So what did you put there?"
"A… a troll."
Quirrell was thrown out of the office once again, his head striking the same pillar.
"So that's why you smell so terrible—it's the stench of a troll," Dracula said, frowning in disgust.
"Go throw your troll out of Hogwarts immediately. I'll set up the obstacle myself!"