Chapter 12 — A Brief Conversation in the Headmaster's Office
"I'll count down from three. When I finish, you will all cast your spells together," Dracula said coldly from the podium. "If you don't want your homework doubled or to end up in detention, then cast your spells with everything you've got!"
"Three," he recited indifferently.
The young wizards were at a loss. Most of them exchanged helpless looks with their classmates, hoping someone else would take the lead so they could form a united front.
"Two."
Encouraged by Fred and George's "righteous and heroic" expressions, the students gradually steeled their resolve. One by one, they picked up their wands with slightly nervous movements.
"One."
As Dracula's voice fell, the Weasley twins, acting as the pioneers in attacking their professor, were the first to unleash their signature spell—
"Mucus ad Nauseam!"
Dracula's eyelid twitched slightly. With visible disgust, he waved the nasty mucus spell right back at them. Instantly, Fred and George's identical noses began to run profusely.
The twins glanced at each other, sniffed in unison, and immediately started roughhousing, gleefully wiping their endless streams of snot onto each other's robes.
Seeing someone take the lead, the rest of the young wizards gradually gathered their courage. Pressured by the threat of doubled homework and detention, they began casting all sorts of spells at Dracula one after another.
Dracula made no attempt to dodge. Instead, he chuckled lightly and spread his arms, even closing his eyes as he accepted every spell with his own body.
The next moment, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom fell into complete silence.
"Professor? Professor?"
Seeing that Dracula hadn't moved at all, Cedric—who had refrained from casting another spell out of concern—called out softly.
"Professor, are you alright?"
The other students began to panic as well. The classroom quickly filled with anxious chatter.
The twins, who had been rolling around on the floor moments earlier, wiped their noses and stopped their scuffle, turning their attention toward Dracula on the podium.
"Professor Dracula, did something really happen to you?" they asked, unable to hide the delight spreading across their faces.
Hearing the chaotic noise in the classroom, Dracula—who had been quietly analyzing the relative strength of the students' spells—furrowed his brow.
"Silence!" he snapped, opening his eyes and striking the desk heavily with his riding crop.
"The results are in. None of the spells I just received surpassed Mr. Diggory's. Therefore, Mr. Diggory will be exempt from this assignment," Dracula announced. "Next, the five people whose names I call will have their homework doubled—and you will report to my office tonight for detention!"
He then called out the names of five students who had been too frightened to cast any spell at all, pulling them aside and ordering them to practice separately. They would not be allowed to leave until they successfully cast a spell.
As for the rest of the class, their task was to read the textbook on their own. By the next lesson, they were expected to fully master the theoretical content in the first section of Dark Magic: A Guide to Self-Defense.
After assigning the tasks, Dracula leisurely strolled around the classroom. As he walked, he quickly flipped through the students' textbooks, rapidly familiarizing himself with the first section of the third-year curriculum.
In this way, he successfully managed to teach a class without bringing his own materials—by borrowing the students' books on the spot.
When he reached the Weasley twins, Fred raised his hand timidly.
"What is it?" Dracula asked curiously.
"Professor, after getting hit by so many spells… you really don't feel any discomfort at all?" Fred asked stubbornly, a strand of mucus still hanging from his nose.
George nodded eagerly beside him.
"Don't worry. I'll be perfectly fine," Dracula replied with a sly smile. "You two should start saving up your money. I'm waiting for you to hand over those forty Galleons!"
The twins lowered their heads simultaneously, their faces filled with despair.
…
After class ended, Dracula immediately went to the headmaster's office.
"I think there's a serious problem with Hogwarts' education," Dracula said casually as he sat in front of a wall covered with portraits, sucking on a blood-flavored lollipop that had just been delivered from Honeydukes. "How can there be students who have studied magic for two years and still can't cast a single spell? Dumbledore, how do you expect the four founders to look at you?"
"Professor Dracula, all third-year students are wizards who passed their second-year final exams. It's impossible that they truly cannot cast even a single spell," Dumbledore replied calmly, smiling as he tried to reassure him. "I suspect your teaching style may have frightened them a bit."
"That's not because I frightened them—it's a problem with their mentality," Dracula retorted, biting the lollipop into pieces. He instinctively moved to toss the stick out the window.
However, he suddenly thought of Professor McGonagall's stern, tight-lipped expression. Quietly, he withdrew his hand and instead tossed the stick beside Fawkes's claws.
"Help me clean up this trash, Fawkes," Dracula said, casually stroking the phoenix's golden-red feathers before continuing, "A few centuries ago, students like this would never have survived in society after graduating."
Fawkes gave him a disdainful glance. However, the powerful dark aura surrounding the vampire made the bird uneasy. In the end, Fawkes exhaled a small burst of flame, burning the lollipop stick into ashes.
"Professor Dracula, times are changing," Dumbledore said gently, adjusting his glasses as he spoke to the ancient figure before him. "In fact, nowadays even wizards who aren't particularly powerful can still live very well after leaving school."
"Among my former students alone, I can name many who weren't especially strong but still found great success in life—such as the famous witch singer Celestina Warbeck, Devlin Whitehorn, founder of the racing broom company Nimbus Racing Broom Company, and Glenda Chittock, the well-known host of the Wizarding Wireless Network program Witching Hour…"
"In this era, everyone can find their own place to shine in different fields."
A gentle smile appeared in Dumbledore's eyes as he looked into Dracula's wine-red gaze.
Dracula fell silent for a moment.
"Perhaps you have a point," he finally said, staring deeply at Dumbledore. "But the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position still exists. Which means Voldemort hasn't truly disappeared."
"A new war isn't far off, is it? When that time comes, what means of self-defense will those wizards—so outstanding in other fields—have?"
Dumbledore froze slightly, then sighed softly and shook his head. Removing his glasses, he began carefully polishing them.
"Sometimes, when people say 'the Dark Lord is dead,' it's merely a form of self-deception," he said after a long pause. "In truth, many people understand this—but even more choose to forget under the comfort of their own illusions."
"The decline of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts over the past few decades has indeed had a tremendous impact on the wizarding world."
"That is precisely why Hogwarts needs a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor like you, Count."