Chapter 19 — Youth Is a Blessing
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The moment they saw who had arrived, the Weasley twins shivered all over.
"Professor McGonagall! What are you doing here?" they said sheepishly, forcing smiles.
As they spoke, each of them subtly hid a hand behind their back—Fred took the coins, and George took the betting board, in perfect unison.
"I came to remind Wood about a few things," Professor McGonagall said, lips pressed into a thin line. "But it seems I've caught you cheating with a bet instead! I had planned to end your detention early so you could help Wood train the new members of the Quidditch team. Now it seems that unless I keep you locked up properly, you'll never learn!"
"And you, Wood! Why are you wasting time with these two troublemakers instead of helping Potter improve his Quidditch skills?!"
Wood's tall frame seemed to shrink instantly, and he murmured weakly, "I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall. I was wrong."
At the same time, he discreetly gave each of the twins a light slap and whispered, "You two have gotten me into trouble!"
But the Weasley twins didn't even notice. Their full attention was on what McGonagall had just said.
"Potter? Harry Potter is joining our Quidditch team!" Fred and George exchanged shocked glances.
Wood quickly rushed forward to cover their mouths, lowering his voice: "Quiet! Potter is our secret weapon. Don't let the other houses find out!"
The twins nodded eagerly.
Once Wood withdrew his hands, they pounded their chests in assurance to Professor McGonagall.
"Professor, we won't get into trouble again!" Fred declared with conviction. "But the Quidditch team can't do without us—we're the best Beaters!"
"That's right! Our Transylvanian fake moves are so realistic, even if we hit Slytherins in the face, it wouldn't count as a foul!" George added, veering off-topic as usual.
Professor McGonagall looked at the two troublemakers helplessly, then nodded and said sternly, "This must not happen again."
The twins quickly agreed.
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Having promised McGonagall, the Weasley twins immediately ran to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.
"You want to bet with me?" Dracula asked, reclining half on the soft office sofa, clearly intrigued. "As far as I know, your Head of House would be very unhappy to see you doing this."
"That doesn't matter!" George waved his hand. "As long as we keep it secret, Professor McGonagall won't find out we're betting."
Fred nodded beside him, grinning. "No need to worry. As long as you don't say anything and neither do we, who else would ever know?"
"Think about it, Professor—there's nothing for you to lose."
"We're betting on the Gryffindor Quidditch team winning. If we win, you give us twenty Galleons, which just covers what we lost earlier—no loss for you. If we lose, you profit twenty Galleons!"
"That's right. Even if you lose, it still inspires the students to fight for victory," George chimed in with Fred. "We heard from our silly little brother Ron that you're Harry's favorite professor. If Harry knows you're paying attention to this match, he'll be even more motivated!"
"Exactly! Spending a little money to motivate your dear student to victory is completely worth it!"
Dracula watched the twins' lively, back-and-forth pitch, clearly amused by their earnest performance.
"Fine, I'll bet with you," he said with a chuckle. "Even if it costs me twenty Galleons to get a show out of you, it's not a loss."
Fred and George were overjoyed.
"Professor, you're my hero!"
"Professor, if you ever need another performance, just call us!"
Dracula waved his hand with a smile, dismissing them to return to their dormitory.
The twins, still ecstatic, even bowed comically as they reached the door.
As Fred held the office door handle, about to close it, he seemed to remember something and peeked back through the crack.
"Professor, you must come watch our Quidditch match!"
Seeing Dracula nod, Fred happily shut the door. Finally, the Defense Against the Dark Arts office was quiet.
Dracula leaned back on the sofa, a delighted smile lingering on his face for quite some time.
"Spending time with the young… it even makes you feel alive, doesn't it?"
Not far away, Nico Lemaire appeared in the bronze mirror on the desk, which bore a carved phoenix, smiling at Dracula.
Dracula nodded gently and murmured,
"Yes… youth really is a blessing."
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After classes in the afternoon, Dracula delegated lesson planning and grading to Quirrell, then, holding his nose in disgust, left Quirrell's shabby office.
Compared to the much-admired Dracula, the Defense Against the Dark Arts assistant Quirrell was pitiful in every way.
As for the overpowering scent of cologne Quirrell carried, students had settled on one widely accepted theory, echoing Harry's words: a man with a weak constitution needs such external aids to boost confidence!
Despite being an adult wizard, Quirrell's eyes twitched frequently, and his face was always pale. His pallor was very different from Dracula's—Quirrell looked visibly ill, while Dracula's pale skin carried a strange, almost eerie beauty.
Additionally, Quirrell was perpetually anxious, often trembling, stammering when he spoke, and wearing a strange purple turban. As everyone knew, purple in late 20th-century England carried certain… connotations.
These odd traits cemented Quirrell's reputation as the classic "weak, pathetic man." Students felt a mix of pity and disgust for him, kept their distance, yet couldn't resist laughing at his misfortunes.
At this moment, the entire Hogwarts jest had respectfully seen Dracula out of the office.
Quirrell, cautiously peeking outside, waited until Dracula had left. Only then did he place heavy protective spells on the office door, slowly sit between two mirrors, and remove his purple turban.
Using the light reflected in the mirrors, Quirrell trembled as he gazed at the grotesque face behind him.
"Ma…Master, now that I've become the laughingstock of Hogwarts, no one should notice our actions anymore, right?"
Quirrell whispered fearfully to Voldemort.