Chapter 32 — Snape's Suspicion
"Knock, knock, knock."
Just as the black-haired youth was laughing happily, a sudden knock came from outside Quirrell's office.
His smile froze. Then, startled, it dissolved into a puddle of ink, raining down onto the blank pages of the diary.
"Knock, knock, knock." The knocking came again.
Quirrell hurriedly shoved the diary into a drawer and locked it. Only then did he cautiously lift a soundproofing charm, stammering as he called out:
"Ou…outside…who is it?"
"It's me." Dracula's deep, unique voice came from outside the door. "I was a bit heavy-handed just now. I came to see if I could do anything to help with your scars, to make a small amends."
Hearing Dracula's voice, Quirrell shivered violently.
Just you, I fear the most! he thought bitterly.
But having just cleared his name in front of the professors, Quirrell had no real excuse to refuse opening the door. Trembling, he inspected every corner of the room to ensure no compromising evidence was left behind, then finally opened it.
The moment the door swung open, Dracula stepped into the office, surveying the room from all sides.
"Why open the door so slowly? You weren't doing anything… unspeakable in here, were you?" Seeing nothing unusual in the room, Dracula shifted his gaze to Quirrell himself, a faint, teasing smile on his lips.
"N…no, I was just… suddenly feeling a little headache," Quirrell stammered.
"Ah, it's my fault—I was too harsh earlier," Dracula sighed, feigning apology. "Assistant Quirrell, you work so hard grading my assignments and organizing lesson plans, and yet I, out of a small suspicion, spoke harshly to you, even embedding your head into the floor."
Quirrell's eyes twitched awkwardly at the corners, but he forced a smile. "Pr…Professor Dracula, I understand… it's all for Hogwarts. I don't… mind suffering a little."
"Impossible! If Assistant Quirrell can be so noble, I cannot act like someone who refuses to acknowledge their mistakes, who fails to maintain collegiality!" Dracula said with righteous conviction. "I must find a way to completely remove those troublesome scars on the back of your head!"
"N…no need, it's… it's nothing," Quirrell shook his head repeatedly.
"May I understand this as a refusal of my kindness, Assistant Quirrell?" Dracula asked gently, though the air in the office grew colder, the atmosphere more lethal.
Quirrell shivered all over and quickly changed his head-shaking to a nod.
"Th…thank you, Professor Dracula, then," he said reluctantly.
Dracula smiled faintly and moved behind Quirrell. The office finally returned to its normal temperature.
"May I ask, Assistant Quirrell, how did these three scars on the back of your head form?" Dracula asked casually, as he looked at the grotesque scars.
With a great, terrifying Dark Lord standing behind him, Quirrell felt extremely uneasy. Trembling, he repeated the old excuse he had used before:
"I… I said before, I encountered a vampire in Romania… we… we fought, and the wicked vampire left these three… three claw marks on my head. They simply cannot heal…"
Dracula finally laughed. He knew perfectly well what marks a vampire could leave, and he could tell at a glance that Quirrell's scars were not from one.
Vampires generally don't attack heads with such cumbersome methods; their preferred targets are the shoulders and the base of the neck—perfect for lowering one's head to feed.
Clearly, Quirrell had lied again, covering up some unknown truth.
Having obtained the information he wanted, Dracula lost interest in Quirrell's ugly scalp, moving away from him with disdain and heading toward the office door.
"Pr…Professor Dracula, you're not going to check… examine my scars?" Quirrell asked in surprise, glancing at Dracula, now at the door.
"No," Dracula waved his hand. "Sorry, Assistant Quirrell. I truly am powerless regarding this matter!"
With that, he left Quirrell's office.
Quirrell: "?"
Less than a minute of observation, and he claims to be powerless—could it get any more perfunctory?
…
Dracula ascended the marble staircase of the castle's main tower, intending to return to his office via the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
But when he arrived, he found someone already silently standing on the podium, waiting for him.
The classroom was pitch-black. The figure wore a voluminous black cloak, like a giant bat.
"Professor Snape, what a coincidence," Dracula raised an eyebrow, greeting the figure on the podium.
Snape's face remained stern, his dark eyes piercing as he looked at him.
"Not a coincidence. I've been waiting for you."
Snape drew out his words slowly. "Before we start, may I ask—where were you just now, Professor Dracula?"
"My whereabouts are none of your concern, Professor Snape," Dracula replied lightly, with a smile.
"Even if you don't answer, I can guess—you went to see Quirrell, didn't you?" Snape's lips curled into a sharp, biting smile.
Dracula was genuinely surprised. No one had followed him, and he did not expect Snape to guess why he had gone to Quirrell.
He turned his gaze fully on Snape, studying his hooked nose and uneven teeth, crossing his arms, silently signaling him to continue.
"You're in cahoots with Quirrell, aren't you?" Snape said coldly, then asked directly.
Snape's question stunned Dracula. His eyes widened in shock.
"You don't need to come up with a clever excuse; I'll say it for you," Snape continued. "First, a top wizard like you teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts is already suspicious—unless you knew there was something extremely valuable here."
"Even ignoring that, you brought a teaching assistant with you, letting him attend classes alongside you. And your assistant has recently been wandering into many secret places, even once entering the forbidden corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
"He seems particularly interested in the treasure there, and could try to retrieve it at any moment. You would dare deny that all this is under your instruction?"
"Perhaps," Dracula said indifferently, then asked with interest, "So what do you intend to do?"
Snape gritted his teeth and slowly raised his wand.