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Chapter 15: Quirrell being the one having fun

"Harry, why did we have to come so early?" Ron yawned as he slumped over his desk, complaining, "We could have slept in a bit longer."

"Fred and George told me that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor can only teach us for a year at most, so no matter how the professors are, as long as we get through the year, we don't have to worry about them causing trouble!" Harry said.

"Not like that, Ron!" Harry immediately countered, "I met Professor Dracula at Ollivanders, and he's really tall and handsome, and most importantly, he isn't afraid of Voldemort. Professor Dracula must be a very powerful wizard!"

At the mention of the terrifying name "Voldemort," Ron shivered and was immediately awake.

"I can't believe it, besides you, the person who defeated the Dark Lord, there are other wizards who aren't afraid of him!" he said, eyes wide with astonishment.

As they were talking, another young witch walked into the classroom carrying a stack of books.

She had a mass of unruly, thick brown hair and a pair of large front teeth, making her look like an oversized beaver.

"Harry Potter, Ron Weasley?" Seeing that Harry and Ron were already there, the young witch seemed a bit surprised, "How come you're here so early?"

"You mean to say we can't come to class early, Hermione?" Ron replied with a scowl, as if he had suggested arriving early himself.

"Oh, that's not what I meant," Hermione said, putting the stack of books on the desk in the front row closest to the teacher's podium, "I'm just... a bit surprised. You know, you did arrive a bit late to Transfiguration yesterday."

Ron felt a bit embarrassed and retorted defensively, "We got lost! Do you understand, lost!"

At that moment, Harry nudged him.

Ron looked up to see a peculiar pale-skinned wizard with a purple turban walking into the classroom and standing behind the teacher's desk.

"So this is the tall, handsome, and powerful Professor Dracula you talked about? He looks like he has a bit of a health issue..." Ron whispered to Harry.

"I've seen this professor at the Leaky Cauldron; he must be Professor Quirrell. Professor Dracula doesn't seem like this," Harry said, looking at Quirrell's trembling figure.

Then he said somewhat confused, "But Professor Dracula was definitely present at the opening feast the night before, so why is it Professor Quirrell who's teaching us?"

Ron scrutinized Professor Quirrell for a moment, then sniffed the air, "Harry, do you smell a strong, pleasant scent from Professor Quirrell?"

"I smell it too. I think I know what it is," Harry said quietly, "It's perfume. My uncle sprays a lot of it on his face before meeting clients. Although the scent on Professor Quirrell is much stronger!"

"Why would anyone wear such an overpowering thing? It's making me gag," Ron said, rolling his eyes and making a retching face.

He moved his textbooks and, with Harry, slid into the last row of the classroom, feeling a bit better.

"Maybe... men with health issues need such things to boost their confidence?" Harry speculated as he finally caught his breath.

"..."

As the young witches and wizards continued to file into the classroom, the bell in the Hogwarts clock tower rang, signaling the start of class.

Quirrell opened the teaching stand and stammered as he addressed the students:

"G...good morning, everyone. I'm P...Professor Quirrell. Today I'll be... teaching you... Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Having endured the unpleasant perfume smell for long enough, Harry immediately raised his hand.

"P...Potter?" Quirrell looked at him.

"Professor Quirrell, I'd like to know why Professor Dracula isn't teaching us," Harry asked courageously, delivering the whole question in one breath and then anxiously looking at Quirrell.

Hearing Harry's question, the students in the classroom also looked at Quirrell with hope.

Among them, especially those who admired Dracula's looks and those seated closer to the source of the perfume, hoped the class would be taught by Professor Dracula.

"P...Professor Dracula?" Quirrell was momentarily taken aback, then stammered an explanation, "H...he was... dissatisfied with Hogwarts' teaching after yesterday and... asked me to cover for him for a few... days."

A wail of disappointment spread through the classroom.

Ignoring the commotion, Quirrell began his lesson earnestly.

Of course, his so-called "lesson" was simply reading aloud from the textbook and teaching stand, occasionally getting startled by minor movements from students at the podium.

In less than a class period, Quirrell had become the laughingstock of the students from two houses.

...

At this moment, while allowing his teaching assistant to become the source of amusement, Dracula was not at Hogwarts.

In the Paris Opera House, all the audience were focused on the performance on stage, occasionally displaying knowing smiles.

The performance had just begun, but next to an elderly man, several audience members suddenly seemed to remember urgent matters and hurriedly left the theater.

No one noticed that a shadow of a dark moon, accompanied by a few flying bats, abruptly appeared in the newly vacated seats.

As the shadow faded, a silver-haired figure lazily reclined on the luxurious seat, crossed his legs, and sat next to the elderly man.

"Oh, Dracula, those audience members paid to see the show," the old man turned and gave the suddenly appearing vampire professor a reproachful look, "Why did you use a Muggle repelling spell to chase them away?"

"It's none of my business whether they paid or not. I'm not like you, who's developed a habit of watching plays over the years," Dracula said, making a face.

Then he sat up straight, "Old man, I came here to ask if there's something you're hiding from me."

"What's our relationship? Why would I hide anything from you?" Niccolò looked innocent.

"You've even lent out the Philosopher's Stone you rely on for survival, and you're saying you're not hiding anything from me?!" Dracula's voice rose uncontrollably.

Niccolò was startled and quickly cast a silencing charm around them, enclosing Dracula's voice.

Then he looked at his centuries-old friend and complained:

"Albus, really, you figured it out so quickly..."