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On the morning of the second day of school, Harry was looking forward to his first Defence Against the Dark Arts class.
To avoid being almost late for Transfiguration again—like he had been on the first day—Harry dragged Ron out of bed early. They crossed the staircases that sometimes disappeared and were the first to arrive at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
'Harry, why did we have to come so early?' Ron complained, yawning as he slumped onto a desk. 'If you ask me, we should have slept in a bit longer.'
'Fred and George told me that Defence Against the Dark Arts professors can only teach us for a year at most. So, no matter what these professors are like, we just have to get through 1 year, and we will be fine. No need to worry about them causing trouble!'
'That is not the point, Ron!' Harry retorted immediately. 'I met Professor Dracula when I bought my wand at Ollivander's. He is really tall and handsome. And most importantly, he is not afraid of Voldemort. Professor Dracula must be a very powerful wizard!'
Hearing the dreaded name 'Voldemort', Ron shuddered and immediately woke up.
'I cannot believe that besides you—the one who defeated the Dark Lord—there are other wizards who are not afraid of him!' He opened his eyes wide in surprise.
While the two of them were talking, another young wizard walked into the classroom carrying a large stack of books.
This was a young witch with a messy head of thick, bushy brown hair. She also had a pair of rather large front teeth, making her look a bit like an oversized beaver.
'Harry Potter, Ron Weasley?' Seeing Harry and Ron arrive at the classroom before her, the young witch seemed a little surprised. 'What are you doing here?'
'Are you saying it is impossible for us to arrive at the classroom early, Granger?' Ron retorted. He put on a stern face, as if the idea of arriving early had been his own all along.
'Oh, that is not what I meant,' Hermione said. She placed the stack of books she was carrying on the desk in the front row, closest to the podium. 'I am just… a little surprised. You know, you 2 were a bit late to Transfiguration class yesterday.'
Ron felt a little embarrassed and retorted stubbornly, 'We were lost! Lost, understand!'
Just then, Harry tugged at his sleeve.
Ron looked up. He saw a strange wizard with a purple turban and a pale face walking into the classroom. The wizard stood behind the podium.
'Is this the tall, handsome, and powerful Professor Dracula you were talking about? He looks like he has a bad kidney…' Ron muttered to Harry.
'I have also seen this professor at the Leaky Cauldron. He should be Professor Quirrell. Professor Dracula would not be this weak,' Harry said, looking at Quirrell's trembling figure.
Then, he said, somewhat confused, 'But Professor Dracula was clearly present at the opening banquet the night before last. Why is Professor Quirrell teaching us instead?'
Ron stared at Quirrell carefully for a while, then sniffed. 'Harry, have you noticed that Professor Quirrell has a very strong and fragrant smell on him?'
'I smelled it too. I think I know what it is,' Harry whispered. 'It should be the smell of cologne. My uncle sprays a lot on his face every time he goes to meet a client. Although the smell on Professor Quirrell is much stronger than what he sprays!'
'Why spray this disgusting stuff? I am suffocating,' Ron rolled his eyes and made a gagging expression.
Carrying their textbooks, he and Harry slipped to the back row of the classroom to sit down. Only then did they feel a little better.
'Maybe… men with weak kidneys need this kind of thing to boost their confidence?' Harry guessed, finally catching his breath.
As the young wizards gradually arrived at the classroom, the Hogwarts clock tower rang the melodious class bell.
Quirrell opened his teaching plan and stammered to the students:
'G-good… good morning, everyone. I am P-Professor… Quirrell. Today I am here to… to teach everyone D-Defence Against the Dark Arts.'
Harry, who had been enduring the unpleasant smell of cologne for a long time, immediately raised his hand.
'M-Mr P-Potter?' Quirrell looked at him.
'Professor Quirrell, I want to know why Professor Dracula is not teaching us,' Harry mustered his courage. He said the whole sentence in 1 breath and then looked at Quirrell nervously.
Hearing Harry's question, the young wizards in the classroom also looked at Quirrell with hopeful expressions.
Among them, the girls who were enthusiastic about Dracula's appearance and the students sitting closer to Quirrell—the source of the cologne—were especially hoping that Professor Dracula would come to the classroom.
'P-Professor… Dracula?' Quirrell paused for a moment, then explained tremblingly, 'He… he was very dissatisfied with the… the teaching at Hogwarts after yesterday's lesson. So… so he asked me to replace him for a few… a few days.'
A chorus of wails immediately came from the classroom.
Quirrell did not care so much and began to teach diligently.
Of course, his so-called teaching was just to stammeringly read the content from the textbook and lesson plan. He was also often frightened by some of the students' small movements under the podium.
It did not even take 1 class for Quirrell to become the laughing stock of the young wizards from the 2 houses.
At this moment, Dracula—who was letting his teaching assistant become a joke—was not at Hogwarts.
In the Garnier Opera House in Paris, all the audience members were intently watching the performance on stage. They occasionally showed knowing smiles.
The performance had only just begun. But next to an old man with white hair, several audience members suddenly seemed to have thought of something urgent and hurriedly left the theatre.
No one in the audience noticed that a shadow of a dark moon, accompanied by a few bats flying past, suddenly appeared on the empty seats that had just been vacated.
The dark moon faded away. A silver-haired figure leaned lazily against the back of the luxurious chair, crossed his legs, and sat down in the seat next to the old man.
'Oh, Dracula, those audience members paid money to see the play.' The old man turned his head and gave the suddenly appearing vampire professor a reproachful look. 'Why did you use the Muggle Repelling Charm to drive them away?'
'What does it matter to me whether they paid or not? I am not like you—developing a habit of watching plays after so many years,' Dracula curled his lips.
Then he sat up straight. 'Old man, I came here to ask you—are you hiding something from me?'
'What kind of relationship do we have? How could I hide anything from you?' Nicolas said innocently.
'You even lent out the Philosopher's Stone that you rely on to survive, and you still say you are not hiding anything from me?!' Dracula could not help but raise his voice.
Nicolas was startled. He quickly placed a soundproofing charm around them, trapping Dracula's voice inside.
Then he looked at his centuries-old best friend and complained unhappily:
'Albus is really something, actually letting you guess it so quickly…'
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