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Chapter 19: It's good to be young.

As they spoke, each twin put a hand behind his back, with Fred discreetly taking the coins and George gathering the betting slips.

"I came to give Wood some instructions and found you two betting here!" Professor McGonagall's lips tightened into a thin line. "Releasing you from detention early was meant to help Wood train the new Quidditch team members. It seems you need more time in detention to learn your lesson!"

"And you, Wood! Instead of focusing on training Potter's Quidditch skills, you're betting with these two troublemakers?!"

Wood, who usually stood tall and proud, seemed to shrink at her words, weakly muttering, "Sorry, Professor McGonagall, it was my mistake."

He then sneaked a slap to each of the twins and whispered, "You two got me into trouble!"

However, the twins paid no mind to Wood's slap, their attention fixated on what Professor McGonagall had said.

"Potter? Harry Potter is joining our Quidditch team!" Fred and George exclaimed, exchanging surprised looks.

Wood quickly covered their mouths and whispered, "Keep it down! Potter is our secret weapon. We don't want other houses to find out!"

The twins nodded hastily.

Once Wood let go, they thumped their chests and promised Professor McGonagall, "Professor, we won't do it again!" Fred said earnestly. "But the Quidditch team can't do without us; we're the best Beaters!"

"Exactly, our Transylvanian feint is so good it won't be called as a foul even if we hit a Slytherin in the face!" George added, starting to go off-topic.

Professor McGonagall looked at the pair with exasperation, finally nodding and sternly saying, "This better be the last time!"

The Weasley twins eagerly agreed.

...

After promising Professor McGonagall, the twins immediately ran to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.

"You mean you want to bet with me?" Dracula, half-reclining on his soft office sofa, asked with amusement. "As far as I know, your head of house doesn't like seeing you doing this kind of thing."

"That doesn't matter!" George waved it off. "As long as we keep it a secret, Professor McGonagall won't find out we're betting."

Fred nodded beside him, grinning, "No need to worry about that. As long as you don't tell, and we don't tell, who else would know?"

"Think about it, Professor. No matter what, you don't lose."

"We bet on Gryffindor's Quidditch team to win. If we win, you give us twenty Galleons, which just cancels out what we owe you. You lose nothing; if we lose, you gain twenty Galleons!" Fred and George chimed in together.

"Exactly! Even if you lose, you'll be encouraging students to strive for victory. We heard from our dumb brother Ron that you're Harry's most admired professor. If Harry knew you were watching the game, he'd be even more motivated!"

"Right, right, spending a little money to help your beloved student gain motivation to win—it's totally worth it!"

Dracula watched their lively performance, amused by the entertaining pair.

"Alright, I'll take the bet," he said, laughing. "Even if it costs twenty Galleons to watch you perform, it's worth it."

Fred and George cheered.

"Professor, you're a legend!"

"Professor, if you need more performances, just call us anytime!"

Dracula waved them off with a smile, telling them to get back to their dorms.

The twins, full of excitement, bowed comically as they reached the door.

As Fred grasped the doorknob, he seemed to remember something and poked his head back in through the crack.

"Professor, make sure you come to watch our Quidditch match!"

Seeing Dracula nod, Fred closed the door, leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts office in quiet once more.

Half-reclining on the sofa, Dracula's pleasant smile lingered.

"So, spending time with young people makes you feel more energetic?"

Not far away, Nicolas Flamel's figure appeared on a brass mirror engraved with phoenixes, smiling at Dracula.

Dracula nodded lightly, sighing, "Yes, youth is wonderful."

...

After finishing his afternoon class, Dracula left the task of writing lesson plans and grading papers to Quirrell, pinching his nose in disdain as he left Quirrell's shabby office.

Unlike the much-admired Dracula, whose exploits were the stuff of student legend, Quirrell, the assistant professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, was much less fortunate.

As Harry had noted, the overpowering scent of cologne around Quirrell led students to believe that the man needed it to find confidence due to certain personal deficiencies.

Quirrell, a grown wizard, had a constantly twitching eye, perpetually pale complexion, and a distinct air of illness. His pallor was very different from Dracula's ethereal beauty—Quirrell's face looked sickly while Dracula's was almost enchantingly pale.

Furthermore, Quirrell was perpetually anxious, often trembling, stammering, and wearing a peculiar purple turban. In late 20th-century Britain, purple had certain connotations that only added to Quirrell's odd image.

All these eccentric traits made Quirrell a laughingstock, simultaneously evoking pity, disgust, and amusement from those around him.

At this moment, Hogwarts' laughingstock was respectfully seeing Dracula out of his office.

Once sure Dracula was gone, Quirrell set up numerous defensive spells on the door and slowly sat down between two mirrors, carefully removing his purple turban.

With the light reflected from the mirrors, Quirrell nervously looked at the grotesque face on the back of his head.

"M-Master, I've become the joke of Hogwarts. No one will notice our actions now, right?"

Quirrell stammered as he spoke to Voldemort.