Sorry for the delay. I have started to upload the series again. Patreon is also being set up. I have posted 15 extra chapters on Patreon.
https://Patreon.com/rez540
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A sudden scream echoed across the silent surface of the Black Lake, erupting from an uninhabited island in the middle of its dark waters.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
There was a loud crack, followed by a thud. Gilderoy Lockhart, caught off guard mid-Disapparition, slammed face-first into the soft earth, his once-handsome features buried in the mud.
Groaning, he lifted his dirt-smeared face, coughing and spitting out a clump of soil.
"I— I'll have you know, sneak attacks are highly unethical!" Lockhart huffed, swiping his muddy blond hair back with as much dignity as he could muster. His normally glowing face was now a pale shade of khaki. "You're unworthy of being a Hogwarts professor, attacking a man so beloved by the public! You've just incurred the wrath of the greatest Defense Against the Dark Arts expert in the world!"
Across from him, Dracula tilted his head, amused. "Then tell me," he asked with a lazy smile, "why the greatest expert in the world couldn't handle a simple Apparition?"
Lockhart puffed up indignantly. "It's not that I couldn't handle it! You caught me off guard! A man of my stature trusts his fans! I wasn't expecting treachery—otherwise, you'd never lay a finger on me in a proper duel!"
Dracula raised an eyebrow. Even now, Lockhart had the gall to bluster.
"Very well then, great expert," Dracula said smoothly, making a theatrical 'after you' gesture. "Let's settle this properly. A fair fight. No tricks."
Lockhart attempted a serious expression, but with dirt caked across his face and mud on his robes, he looked more like a bedraggled clown than a dueling champion.
He fumbled through his robes with trembling, filthy fingers until he found his elegant cherry wood wand. Raising it, he pointed it shakily at Dracula.
"Don't make me do this. Apologize and admit defeat now, and in my generosity, I might forgive you!" he declared with forced bravado.
Dracula folded his arms. "Cast your spell, or lose your chance."
With a clenched jaw, Lockhart racked his brain for a spell. Any spell. He finally raised his wand with determination and shouted—
Incendio!"
...
Nothing happened.
A weak, flickering flame sputtered at the tip of his wand, barely enough to light a match. When the island breeze picked up, it threatened to snuff out the flame entirely.
Dracula blinked. "Is that... a fire-making spell? Were you planning to light a cigar for me?"
Lockhart froze, his expression as stiff as the mud drying on his face. Even he hadn't expected it to go that badly.
"I—I was just trying to lighten the mood! Haha..." he chuckled awkwardly, quickly lowering his wand. "You know, a star must always care about his image. I could never harm a fan!"
"You were an author a moment ago," Dracula said, voice dry. "Now you're a star?"
"There's a difference!" Lockhart snapped, regaining a bit of composure. "Between a street author and a literary genius like myself. I'm not just a writer—I'm a scholar, an artist, a household name! Unlike those magic-world entertainers who lack any culture!"
"By the way..... can i go??"
"Mm-hmm.?" Dracula said, watching Lockhart slowly edge backward. "Trying to leave?"
Before Lockhart could answer, the temperature plummeted.
A chill like the dead of winter swept over the island. Lockhart's teeth began to chatter as frost crept across the ground. Then, with a sudden surge, water from the lake slithered up and froze around his feet, locking him in place.
"Did I say you could leave?" Dracula's voice turned cold, his eyes gleaming with silent power.
Lockhart gasped, watching the ice crawl up his legs. "P-Professor Dracula, please! I was wrong, alright? Mercy!"
Dracula stepped forward, stopping just short of Lockhart, who was now half-frozen in the ice.
"How did you write the experiences in those books?" he asked flatly.
"It was me—my fault—Professor!" Lockhart babbled. "But it was all for the sake of writing! No one would read a book about an ugly old American wizard saving a werewolf-plagued village! And the woman who banished the banshee—she was half-deaf and spit when she talked! I had to—"
Dracula raised a hand. The ice crept another inch upward, silencing him.
"I don't care about your excuses. I asked about 'Voyages with Vampires.'"
"Oh, that one..." Lockhart's eyes flicked nervously. "Same method! The original man—just a reclusive old wizard who grew vegetables in the forest. Who would want to read about him?"
Dracula narrowed his eyes.
"No more lies. Tell me exactly how you got that story."
Lockhart paled. "I—I tracked him down, asked him about the vampire, and then... I used a memory charm to make him forget. I always do!"
After speaking for a while, he let out a weak breath and looked at Dracula, hoping for a response. He had always believed that Hogwarts professors would never harm him.
But all he saw was cold indifference.
In the next moment, ice covered Lockhart completely, leaving only his mud-streaked head exposed.
"Then you'll remember him." Dracula's voice was soft as silk. "I'll give you one minute."
Frozen to the chest, Lockhart closed his eyes and concentrated hard. His pale lips trembled—not from the cold, but from fear.
Dracula, meanwhile, conjured a seat of elegantly shaped ice and reclined comfortably, pulling a goblet and a bottle of blood-red wine from the folds of his cloak.
The waves lapped gently, freezing into delicate forms before they could touch his dark robes.
…
Time passed.
Exactly one minute later, Lockhart opened his eyes with a gasp, desperate to prove his worth.
"I found it!" he cried. "His name was Robert—once a top Auror in Serbia. He retired, disappeared into the mountains, living off the land, no family, no friends…"
He went on to describe the story, now with clear and fearful accuracy.
Robert, once a proud Auror of Serbia, had long since abandoned the world of wands and war. In his twilight years, he chose a life of solitude, tucked away deep in a quiet mountain forest. No family. No friends. No heirs. He had resigned himself to the thought of dying alone, surrounded only by rustling leaves and the whispering wind.
That is, until the day a wounded vampire stumbled into his reclusive world.
Robert was working the fields, plowing with quiet determination, when the stranger appeared—bloody, weak, and barely standing. Instinct took over. With trembling fingers, Robert drew from his coat pocket a wand he hadn't touched in years, ready to defend his peace with his life.
But the vampire didn't fight.
Instead, he collapsed to his knees and pleaded, voice hoarse and eyes sunken. "Please," he said, "I need food… anything…"
Caught between caution and compassion, Robert hesitated. But war had exhausted him, and there was something different about this vampire. He lowered his wand and offered what little he had: a large head of lettuce from his harvest.
The vampire ate slowly, leaf by leaf, but his strength didn't return. His injuries were grave, his reserves depleted. No vegetable could replenish what only blood could restore.
Perplexed, Robert asked, "Why not take mine, then? If you need blood…"
The vampire recoiled in surprise. "Never."
His name was Tesla—a high-ranking vampire, refined and self-disciplined. He explained that true vampires, the ones with dignity, abhor the bloodlust that plagued their lesser kin. Feeding on humans, he said, was a stain on their kind's legacy.
"The beasts who do so," he added with disdain, "are not vampires. They are nothing more than monsters."
Robert was moved. In this principled creature, he saw something rare—honor, even in darkness. His long-forgotten sense of adventure stirred within him. Against all logic, Robert decided to help Tesla return home.
But he no longer remembered how to Apparate.
So, the old wizard prepared a canoe, stocked it with lettuce, and the two set off—one man, one vampire—drifting quietly down the Danube River from Serbia toward Romania.
…
"This is the story of Traveling with a Vampire," Lockhart announced with pride. "Tesla became Robert's only friend. But since they were from different races and rarely spoke, I saw an opportunity... I modified Robert's memory."
Dracula sat silently, listening. Lockhart's storytelling, as expected from a famed author, was vivid and engaging. The tale of cross-race friendship was touching—even for him.
But not enough to mask his anger.
This was not just a tale. It was real. Tesla was a vampire of principle, one that his kind could be proud of. And Lockhart had taken the memory of such a rare friendship… and erased it.
Dracula's voice was low but clear. "Given how secluded Robert's life is, he would've never realized you stole his story. Even if he had, he despised conflict too much to expose you."
He leaned forward, his gaze icy. "So why… why erase his only friend?"
Lockhart's confident façade cracked. Dracula's crimson eyes gleamed like blood under moonlight.
"I—I was just being cautious!" Lockhart stammered. "What if he remembered and talked? My reputation—my career! One slip, and the public turns on you!"
Dracula rose from his frozen seat, silent and imposing.
And then—darkness.
A full moon of shadow manifested beside them.
The ice imprisoning Lockhart shattered into shards as Dracula's hand gripped his collar. Like a rag doll, Lockhart was lifted and flung into the moonlight.
He braced for death.
Instead, his eyes opened to a breathtaking sight.
Below them, the Danube shimmered like blue silk, winding between clusters of green and stone. The wind stirred the water into ripples that danced under the sun.
Lockhart's jaw dropped. "The Danube… How—?"
Dracula's voice rumbled in his ear, strained by the loathing he held for daylight. "Look carefully. When you see Robert's forest, speak."
A massive shadow fell across Lockhart's face. He turned—and nearly screamed.
Wings.
Dracula's wings spread wide—leathery and jagged with bone. Not like those of a bat, but of a demon from nightmare.
Lockhart finally understood. The professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts… was a vampire.
And not just any vampire.
As Dracula flew, villages below vanished into streaks of color. Mountains crawled by beneath them, slow and silent.
"Have you found Robert's hiding place yet?"
The wind howled around them, but the voice cut through it like ice.
Shaking, Lockhart pointed to a hill. "There! That one!"
Without a word, Dracula dived.
The descent was terrifying—a blur of motion. Wind screamed. Clouds ripped past. The world blurred.
At the last second, Dracula decelerated. The sudden stop made Lockhart's heart lurch.
"Lead the way, Mr. Star." Dracula dropped him unceremoniously. "Where is Robert's home?"
Lockhart collapsed in a heap, gasping. "J-just ahead… a few steps that way…"
Dracula turned and began walking.
The moment his back was turned, Lockhart's hand darted to his wand.
The trembling was gone. The fear in his face had vanished.
This was Lockhart, the manipulator, the survivor.
He raised his wand.
"Obliviate!"
His voice rang out with desperate confidence. This was the only spell he had mastered beyond all others. His survival—his future—depended on this moment.
But before the spell landed, Dracula turned.
His red eyes met Lockhart's.
And Lockhart saw something in them that froze his blood.
Not rage. Not fear.
Certainty.
The spell fizzled midair.
And then, everything went dark.
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