"Professor Dracula, I must confess, Minerva is very unhappy with you right now."
In the headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore regarded the silver-haired man before him with an expression of weary helplessness.
"I believe I reminded you at the beginning of the term," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "to be mindful of your image as a professor. Specifically, I recall mentioning the issue of exiting through windows." He paused, a faint twinkle in his blue eyes. "And yet, this time you took a student with you?"
On the soft sofa opposite him, Dracula lounged languidly, utterly unconcerned. He had a blood-flavored lollipop perched in his mouth and was casually stroking the brilliant crimson feathers of Fawkes, who cooed contentedly under the attention.
"So, Professor McGonagall intends to dismiss me?" he inquired, glancing at Dumbledore with an air of detached amusement.
"Firing you is out of the question; we would have a dreadful time recruiting another Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "But if there are no consequences for this, I fear I won't be able to face Minerva…"
"Then by all means, punish me. I have no objections," Dracula offered with an understanding nod.
Dumbledore's face brightened with relief. He reached for his desk drawer, presumably to retrieve an official disciplinary notice.
Just as his fingers closed around the parchment, Dracula spoke again.
"And while we're settling accounts," he said conversationally, "there is the matter of the rent for Hogwarts Castle. Excluding the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake, the castle and its facilities occupy approximately one thousand acres. Seeing as we've been colleagues for a few months, I'm prepared to offer you a discount: one million Galleons per year."
He extended an open hand towards Dumbledore.
The old headmaster's expression froze. His hand paused, then slowly retreated from the drawer. The disciplinary notice was silently slid back into its place. In its stead, he produced a neatly wrapped package bearing the cheerful Honeydukes logo.
"Ahem," Dumbledore cleared his throat, his demeanor shifting to one of grave seriousness. "Professor Dracula, I believe there is still room for negotiation with Professor McGonagall on this matter."
He pushed the package across the desk. "This is a blood-flavored chocolate cordial. I had to call in a favor from my decades as a loyal customer to have it specially ordered. I am told vampires find them quite agreeable."
"Please, enjoy it here. I shall go and… discuss the situation further with Professor McGonagall."
Watching Dumbledore hurry out of the office, a faint, knowing smirk touched Dracula's lips. He leisurely unwrapped the package and popped a rich, blood-red chocolate into his mouth, savoring the taste.
The chill of December began to settle over the castle, and soon the Christmas holidays were upon them.
During dinner a few days before the break, Professor McGonagall moved along the Gryffindor table, a parchment listing the students staying for Christmas in her hand, confirming the names one by one.
Dracula, happening to pass by, strolled over with idle interest to observe.
At the sight of him, Professor McGonagall's stern expression tightened almost imperceptibly. Ever since her discussion with Dumbledore, she had ceased interfering with Dracula's… unique teaching methods and had made no further mention of punishment. Her demeanor towards him had shifted from professional wariness to a kind of strained, formal respect.
Dracula surmised that Dumbledore must have revealed his true identity to the conscientious Deputy Headmistress. He imagined that the fair and selfless Minerva McGonagall had finally been forced to weigh her principles against a one-million-Galleon annual rent, and reluctantly chosen to compromise. After all, compared to many previous Defence Against the Dark Arts professors, Dracula's eccentricities were far from the worst the school had seen.
"Fred Weasley, George Weasley?" Professor McGonagall asked, pointedly ignoring Dracula as he watched the proceedings. "Are you two certain you're staying as well?"
"Yes, Professor!" Fred replied cheerfully. "Our parents are off to Romania to visit our second brother, Charlie, for the holidays. They've abandoned us!"
"That's right," George added, putting on a pitiful face. "The poor, abandoned Fred and George can only beg Hogwarts to take them in."
Professor McGonagall fought to maintain her composure, shooting the twins a sharp glare before turning to the next student on her list. As soon as she moved on, Dracula approached them.
"Your parents are traveling to Romania?" he asked, his tone casual. He crossed his hands, his fingers unconsciously tracing the line of his high collar. A rare, fleeting look of contemplation crossed his face.
"Yes, Professor," George confirmed. "Our brother Charlie works at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary."
"Right," Fred chimed in. "Charlie's the real son, you see."
Dracula hesitated for another moment, then finally seemed to reach a decision. He produced a delicate crystal ball from an inner pocket of his robes, a sphere clearly enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. Within the hazy core of the orb, a dim, silver moon seemed to rotate in a silent, endless orbit.
"In that case, write a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ask them to do me a small favor," Dracula said, his gaze fixed on the crystal ball before he slowly handed it to George. "When they arrive in Romania, please have them visit Bran Castle and give this to one of the castle guards."
"Just give it to a guard? There's no letter to go with it?" George asked, puzzled.
"No letter is needed. Any guard will understand," Dracula chuckled, shaking his head. He met their eyes. "Consider me in your debt for this. If you ever require assistance, you need only ask."
"Consider it done, Professor!" the twins chorused, their faces alight with the promise of a favor from the most mysterious professor at Hogwarts.
Just as they were pocketing the crystal ball, a fierce argument erupted from the other side of the Gryffindor table.
Two minutes earlier, as soon as Professor McGonagall had completed her rounds and exited the Great Hall, a Slytherin student with sleek, platinum-blond hair and a sharp, pointed face had deliberately sauntered toward the Gryffindor table. Flanked by his two hulking shadows, Crabbe and Goyle, he radiated an air of arrogant provocation.
"I almost feel sorry for them," Draco Malfoy drawled, his voice carrying just loud enough to be heard over the din as he passed Harry's seat. "Having to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because their own families don't want them around."
He cast a pointed look at Harry. Crabbe and Goyle snickered stupidly.
Harry kept his head down, determinedly swallowing a mouthful of pudding and ignoring the taunt. Ron, however, was not so restrained.
While Fred and George's comments were self-deprecating humor, the same words from Malfoy—heir to a family that held a long-standing enmity with the Weasleys—were a deliberate and venomous insult.
The insult hung in the air for a split second before Ron, his face flushed with fury, launched himself from the bench. He charged straight at Malfoy, only to be intercepted by the two large goons, and in an instant, a messy brawl had broken out.
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