A piercing scream echoed across the deserted island in the middle of the Black Lake.
"Aaaahhh—Wooo!"
Lockhart, completely unprepared for Apparition, crashed hard onto the ground, his once-handsome face sinking into the damp, muddy earth.
He scrambled upright, spitting dirt from his mouth and coughing awkwardly, not caring about his appearance for the first time in his life.
"I… I'm telling you, this kind of sneak attack is unethical! You're not fit to be a Hogwarts professor!" Lockhart sputtered, flicking mud from his golden hair and turning his dirt-caked face toward Dracula. "You've just provoked the world's greatest expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts!"
Dracula chuckled, shaking his head. "Then tell me, how is it that the world's greatest expert… can't even handle a simple Apparition?"
"Was it that I couldn't handle it? No, it wasn't!" Lockhart retorted stubbornly. "It's because you lack honor! Ambushing an author who trusts his fans implicitly is a cheap trick! In a head-on fight, you wouldn't even touch a hair on my head!"
Dracula's lips twitched. He hadn't expected Lockhart to remain so stubborn even now.
"So be it, great defense expert." Dracula gestured invitingly. "A head-on fight, then. Show me what level a so-called member of the Dark Force Defense League possesses."
Lockhart's face turned serious, his expression determined—though with his face smeared in mud, the effect was more comical than intimidating.
He fumbled in his pockets with dirty hands, finally pulling out his expensive cherry wood wand and pointing it at Dracula with a trembling hand.
"Don't regret this! If you don't want to face the wrath of the world's greatest Defense Against the Dark Arts master, then apologize and admit defeat! Considering you're a fan of mine, I might just forgive you!" Lockhart shouted, though his voice betrayed his fear.
"Hurry up and make your move, or you won't get another chance," Dracula said, arms crossed, impatience clear in his tone.
Seeing that Dracula's attitude wasn't changing, Lockhart gritted his teeth. He racked his brain, finally remembering an offensive spell, and waved his wand resolutely—
"Incendio!"
…
Dracula watched, dumbfounded, as a tiny, feeble flame sputtered from the tip of Lockhart's wand.
A cold wind swept across the island, causing the little flame to flicker, threatening to go out at any moment.
"Is that a Fire-Making Spell?" Dracula nearly laughed. "If I had a cigar, would you come light it for me?"
Lockhart's expression froze, matching the mud on his face.
He hadn't expected to forget even the most basic Fire-Making Spell.
"Uh… well, I was just livening up the atmosphere, haha…" Lockhart said, forcing a laugh as he put away his wand. "You know, as a well-mannered star, I adore my fans. How could I possibly attack one?"
"I thought you said you were an author. When did you become a star?" Dracula asked, teasing.
"You don't understand—a struggling author and a successful author are different!" Lockhart puffed out his chest, straightening his luxurious robes. "Besides, those singing and acting stars in the wizarding world aren't as educated as a wizard like me, who can write books to broaden everyone's horizons!"
"By the way, can I leave now?" he asked, shuffling his feet, clearly hoping to sneak past Dracula.
But the next moment, the air turned icy cold—as if winter had returned. Lockhart shivered uncontrollably.
"Did I say you could leave?" Dracula's expression went cold.
The waters of the Black Lake crept onto the island, climbing up Lockhart's legs and freezing him in place.
"Don't get excited, Professor Dracula!" Lockhart yelped, panic finally breaking through as the ice reached his chest, leaving everything below it numb. "I… I was wrong, please spare me this time!"
"Tell me, how did you write the experiences in your books?" Dracula raised his hand, halting the spread of ice, and slowly walked toward Lockhart.
"It's all my fault, Professor Dracula…" Lockhart said, his face twisted in distress. "But I did it for the sake of writing! If I didn't make people believe I'd done those things, the books wouldn't sell—readers wouldn't want to read about the deeds of an old American wizard, even if he freed a village from werewolves. If his photo were on the cover, no one would even open the book! And that old witch who banished the Banshee, she had a harelip! Think about it…"
"I'm not interested in your excuses, nor in hearing how you took credit for others' achievements." Dracula flicked his fingers impatiently, and the ice crept another inch higher, making Lockhart snap his mouth shut.
"I just need you to tell me directly: how was 'Travels with Vampires' written?"
"So you're interested in that book? It's the same story—the protagonist was just an old man hiding in the mountains, growing vegetables. No one would care about him!" Lockhart still didn't understand Dracula's question, continuing to complain and deflect responsibility.
"You have to understand, Professor Dracula, my work isn't as easy as people think—I have to track down these people, ask them how they did those things, and then cast a Memory Charm on them so they forget all about it."
"I've worked so hard to become famous! I believe you, as a Hogwarts professor, must be an upright and good person. I have nothing to say for being caught by you, but please have pity on my efforts and let me go back!"
After his long-winded plea, he looked at Dracula with pleading eyes, still convinced a Hogwarts professor wouldn't harm him.
But all he saw was cold indifference.
The next moment, the ice completely encased Lockhart, leaving only his mud-covered head exposed.
"A good person? I think you misunderstand me." Dracula's lips curled coldly. "If you're useless, why should I spare your life?"
As Dracula spoke, the ice began to creep higher.
"Wait… wait, I'm still useful! I really am!" Lockhart shouted in terror, finally sensing the true danger. "I know things! I can help you!"
At last, he realized this Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was nothing like the kindly Hogwarts professors he'd imagined. Dracula didn't care about the rules of the wizarding world—he acted without hesitation. In his hands, Lockhart knew his life was truly at risk.
The ice stopped.
"I'll give you one last chance." Dracula's voice was soft but chilling. "Tell me, what use are you to me?"
"I… I can find the memory of the old man who traveled with vampires…" Lockhart stammered, but the saliva in his mouth froze before he could swallow, making his expression even more pained. "My Memory Charms are excellent. If I focus, I can recall the old man's memory completely!"
"I hope so," Dracula said. "You have one minute."
Lockhart squeezed his eyes shut, brow furrowed, face pale as parchment.
Dracula leaned back against the ice pillar Lockhart was frozen into. A wave from the lake rose up, but before it could touch his black and red robes, it froze into a gracefully curved ice sculpture, perfectly supporting his body.
Dracula produced a goblet and a bottle of vivid red wine from his pocket and began to savor it.
…
A minute passed in a blink.
Driven by desperation, Lockhart opened his eyes on time, gasping for breath.
"Did you find his memory?" Dracula asked, sipping his wine, still leaning against the ice sculpture.
Lockhart nodded with difficulty. "I remember—the old man's name is Robert. He was an Auror Captain in Serbia. After retiring, he wanted nothing more to do with fighting, so he secluded himself in the mountains, living a quiet life farming."
He began to recount the story—
After retiring, Robert, a former Auror from Serbia, grew tired of conflict and chose a solitary life in the mountains. He had no family or friends, expecting to grow old alone.
One day, while plowing his fields, a vampire—badly injured—stumbled into the forest where he lived.
Because wizards are taught to fear vampires, Robert drew his wand, ready to fight to the death.
But the vampire didn't want to fight—he only begged Robert for something to eat, desperate to restore his depleted strength.
Robert, weary of violence, agreed and brought out a large piece of lettuce from his stores. It was his latest crop, and he had more than enough.
The vampire devoured the lettuce, but his injuries were too severe, and his blood reserves were nearly gone. Nothing but blood could truly restore his energy.
Robert was amazed and asked why the vampire hadn't tried to feed on him.
The vampire adamantly refused.
He explained that his name was Tesla, and he was of a noble line. High-ranking vampires like himself, he said, possessed the discipline to control their bloodlust; they were not like the frenzied, lesser beasts who gave their kind such a fearsome reputation. The leader of their clan, he explained, held nothing but contempt for those who could not master their urges, who preyed on humans and tarnished the name of their race.
"Those creatures," Tesla had said with disdain, "are not worthy of being called vampires. They are merely animals."
Robert was stunned. This principled, self-possessed vampire rekindled a spark of adventure in his old heart. He decided then and there to personally escort Tesla back to his home.
There was only one problem. The elderly Robert, having not performed complex magic in years, had forgotten how to Apparate. So, he loaded his small wooden boat with the remainder of his lettuce and other supplies.
And so, the old wizard and the noble vampire drifted together down the Danube, traveling from the heart of Serbia toward the distant mountains of Romania.
…
"This is the story of 'Voyage with a Vampire'," Lockhart finished. "Tesla became Robert's only friend, but because of their different natures, they didn't interact much. So I took the chance to tamper with Robert's memory…"
Lockhart's storytelling was vivid, making it easy for Dracula to picture the unlikely friendship between wizard and vampire.
But Lockhart's actions left Dracula deeply dissatisfied.
The Vampirehad finally produced a principled, self-controlled vampire—yet his only friend had his memories stolen by Lockhart, and now remembered nothing.
"Given Robert's secluded lifestyle, even if you hadn't tampered with his memory, he'd never have discovered you stole his story, right?" Dracula asked quietly. "He hated fighting; even if he did find out, he wouldn't have come after you."
"So why did you make him forget his only friend?"
Dracula's face was dark and frightening.
"I… I just wanted to guard against the tiniest chance!" Lockhart stammered. "Please, Professor Dracula, understand me! As a celebrity, even the smallest mistake is magnified, and fans can abandon me over the smallest things!"
Dracula stood, stepping away from the ice sculpture, and sneered coldly.
Suddenly, a dark, round moon appeared beside them.
The ice binding Lockhart shattered, and Dracula grabbed him by the collar, lifting him like a rag doll and striding into the moonlit darkness.
Lockhart squeezed his eyes shut in terror.
When he opened them again, they were soaring high in the sky. Below, a clear blue river wound between clusters of earthen houses and green trees, rippling under the gentle sunlight.
From above, the river looked like a bright blue ribbon, studded with dark green gems.
"This is… the Danube?" Lockhart gasped, unable to fathom how Dracula had brought them from the westernmost edge of Europe to the Danube in the east in an instant.
"Keep your eyes open and tell me where Robert's home is," Dracula said irritably, clearly bothered by the sunlight.
Immediately, a massive shadow blotted out the sky above Lockhart. He turned his head with difficulty and saw, to his horror, a pair of enormous wings, bristling with sharp bone spurs, unfurling from Dracula's back—like the wings of a demon from legend.
Lockhart's mouth fell open, but the words caught in his throat.
He's a vampire!
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts is a vampire!
Thinking of what he'd done to Robert, Lockhart's heart pounded in terror.
Dracula flew at an incredible speed, the towns below blurring into shadows. Only the vast, rolling mountains moved slowly beneath them.
"Have you found where Robert lives?" Dracula's cold voice cut through the howling wind.
Lockhart shivered and pointed shakily at a hill.
Dracula glanced at him, then dove toward the hill at meteoric speed, the whistling wind so loud it could be heard for miles.
Just before landing—when Lockhart thought he would be smashed to pieces—Dracula's speed slowed abruptly, the sudden stillness nearly giving Lockhart a heart attack.
"Come down and show the way, Mr. Celebrity." Dracula retracted his wings and tossed Lockhart to the ground. "Where is Robert's home?"
Lockhart lay gasping, trembling. After a long pause, he finally pointed to his right.
"Over there… just a few steps forward and you'll see it…" he said weakly. "I… I can't go on, I need to rest…"
Dracula strode in the direction Lockhart indicated, looking down the hillside.
But as soon as he turned his back, Lockhart changed. He stopped trembling, his face no longer pale.
He whipped out his wand and pointed it at Dracula's back.
"Obliviate!" Lockhart shouted.
This was the one spell he truly excelled at, far beyond the level of most wizards.
For his life and his future, he had to succeed!
But at that moment, Dracula spun around, his wine-red eyes flashing with a soul-piercing brilliance…
…
(End of Chapter)
***
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