4 CH: 4 Meeting the Savior

Ollivander's voice brimmed with astonishment as he examined the plank of wood that Dracula had brought out. "This is...Shadowthorn wood?" He exclaimed, surprise etched across his face. "According to the records, this is one of the most suitable materials for necromancy and dark magic!"

He furrowed his brow, lost in deep in thought. "However, to my knowledge, Shadowthorn wood has been extinct for countless years," He mused aloud, his tone reflecting a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

Suddenly, Ollivander's gaze locked onto the hexagonal board clutched in Dracula's hand, his eyes widening with a sudden realization. "You didn't happen to lift someone else's coffin, did you?!" He exclaimed, his voice tinged with a blend of accusation and disbelief.

Dracula's face darkened, his expression growing increasingly somber in response to Ollivander's remarks.

"Enough with the nonsense, just get on with it!" He retorted curtly, his voice laced with a touch of impatience.

Undeterred by Dracula's response, Ollivander's excitement remained unabated. "Of course sir, let us proceed without delay!" He exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Encountering such a rare and extraordinary material is an opportunity not to be missed!"

Eager to delve further into the intricacies of wand craftsmanship, Ollivander delved into the topic with delight. "What kind of wand core do you prefer? Dragon heartstring or phoenix feather? Unicorn tail hair is also an option, but it may not be suitable for you..." He trailed off, his words rising in a crescendo of curiosity and anticipation as the conversation turned to the artistry of wand-making.

Raising his hand to silence Ollivander's prattle, Dracula interjected with a tone of indifference. "These three cores do not pique my interest. Are there any other alternatives?" He inquired, his voice carrying a sense of intrigue.

Ollivander, renowned for his extensive knowledge in the field of wandlore, maintained his confidence as he weighed Dracula's inquiry. "Speaking with the utmost responsibility," he began, his tone steady and assured, "After decades of experimentation, I have concluded that the three cores—unicorn tail hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather—stands as the most reliable and optimal choices among all wand cores." Ollivander's voice exuded unwavering certainty. "Hence, I exclusively utilize these materials, ensuring the utmost stability in wand cores."

Dracula's lips curled into a sly smile, his curiosity piqued by Ollivander's response.

"In that case," Dracula began, his voice laced with a hint of mischief, "Would it be possible to add a monetary incentive?" He inquired, his voice laced with a touch of cunning,

Ollivander's expression remained firm and resolute as he shook his head, reaffirming his unwavering stance. "I apologize, but I am a man of principles. I'm afraid you have misunderstood my intentions," He said, his tone unwavering.

Dracula's gaze grew colder as he murmured softly, his words laden with an eerie intensity, "Principles, I see...But principles can be swayed, can't they?" With a swift motion, he pinched the pinky finger of his right hand, and with a sickening "Crack!," the bone snapped, severing it from his hand.

A dark and chilling flame flickered across, and on the long and slender white phalanx that remained on the severed finger, it shone like jade...

Ollivander's eyes widened as he watched Dracula's indifferent expression, feeling like a mere spectator as the fingerbone was handed over nonchalantly.

In the blink of an eye, the little finger of Dracula's right hand regrew at an astonishing speed, returning to its intact, pale, and slender form.

Ollivander's voice faltered as he uttered in a hushed tone, his eyes locked onto Dracula's mesmerizing wine-red gaze while taking in the sight of his flowing silver locks. The realization dawned upon him, finally recognizing the figure before him.

"You... you are..." Ollivander stuttered, his voice trailing off as he pieced the puzzle together, the truth taking shape in his mind.

Dracula's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint dancing within their depths, as he issued a chilling warning. "Keep your mouth shut," He commanded, his voice laced with an unmistakable threat.

Barely missing a beat, Ollivander hastily corrected himself, his words carrying a mix of honeyed flattery tinged with a hint of excitement. "No, no, please allow me to continue my previous statement," He interjected, his voice laced with an ingratiating tone. A flattering smile graced his features as he quickly amended, "What I meant to say is that you, dear sir, are truly a figure of unparalleled magnificence!"

Anticipation brimming within him, Ollivander's voice resonated with enthusiasm as he eagerly retrieved the coffin board and the finger bone from Dracula's outstretched hand.

"The wand crafted from Shadowthorn wood and the phalanx core of a powerful magical creature make for a perfect combination!" Ollivander praised, his voice resounding with admiration. "Rest assured, the wands produced by Ollivander will never disappoint!"

Just then, a tinkling bell chimed.

It signaled the arrival of a new customer at Ollivander's Wand Shop.

Upon hearing the sound, Ollivander immediately suppressed the smile on his face, assuming an enigmatic expression once again.

Dracula gazed curiously at the shop's entrance, where he saw two figures cautiously entering the narrow space—one large and one small.

The contrast in size between the two was incredibly exaggerated—

The small figure was a boy, short and thin, giving the impression of being underweighted. On the other hand, the large figure appeared as if two strong men had been stacked together, barely fitting through the door frame of Ollivander's shop.

With a soft and gentle tone, Ollivander greeted the young boy, his words tinged with a sense of knowing. "Good afternoon, young lad. Yes, yes, I knew our paths would cross again, Harry Potter. Your eyes...they hold a familiar sparkle," he remarked, his voice filled with a mixture of intrigue and nostalgia, as if seeing a long-lost friend.

Dracula's curiosity ignited as he interrupted Ollivander, his gaze fixated on the young boy. "Wait a minute, aren't you the same child who was surrounded by a group of people earlier?" he interjected, his tone tinged with intrigue. In doing so, Dracula unknowingly disrupted Ollivander's emotional buildup, causing the old wandmaker to momentarily falter.

Pausing for a moment, Harry's expression shifted to one of slight surprise. "Don't you know me?" He questioned, a note of disbelief coloring his words.

Dracula responded with an amused smile, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Should I know you?" he retorted, playing along with the unexpected turn of events.

Before Harry could form a reply, the hulking figure standing beside him interjected with a booming voice, causing the very foundations of Ollivander's shop to tremble. "What? You mean to say you don't recognize Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived?!" The shock in his voice reverberated through the space, causing the stacked boxes of wands to rattle precariously, threatening to tumble from their perch near the ceiling.

With a look of disgust, Dracula glanced at the swirling dust in the shop. His sleeves fluttered, and a gust of wind blew the dust out of the premises.

Drawing near to the young boy, Dracula's keen gaze fixated upon the lightning-shaped mark etched upon his forehead, partially obscured by a curtain of unruly hair.

"So, you are indeed Harry Potter, the renowned savior?" Dracula mused, his voice laden with a mixture of intrigue and curiousity, his gaze shifting from the scar to the boy's slender frame and worn tattered attire. "Truly, appearances can be deceiving."

As the dedicated vampire professor assumed his role, Dracula spoke with authority, addressing the first student he encountered. "If all goes well, I should be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor once you enroll," He declared, a sense of purpose resonating in his voice, "You may address me as Professor Dracula."

A sense of intrigue laced Dracula's words as he continued, "At that time, we will have ample opportunity to study how you defeated Voldemort."

Upon hearing Dracula boldly utter the name Voldemort, both the large man and Ollivander involuntarily shuddered.

However, little Harry looked up at the silver-haired man before him, feeling a sense of admiration.

In just one day since arriving in the wizarding world from the muggle world, he had heard numerous wizards mention "You-Know-Who" in front of him. It seemed as though everyone knew that Harry had defeated "You-Know-Who," but they didn't dare speak the man's name—Voldemort.

At that moment, Dracula's image rose in Harry's mind.

However, Harry still had a question lingering in his thoughts.

"Professor," Harry began, his curiosity getting the better of him. "While at the Leaky Cauldron earlier, I encountered a Professor Quirrell who also claimed to be my Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. Are there truly two professors for the same subject?"

Dracula's expression shifted, adopting a darker and more ominous tone. His features contorted into a sneer, his voice dripping with subtle menace. "Oh? It seems someone dares to steal my position?" He scoffed, the shop seemingly growing colder by a few chilling degrees. "This is an intriguing situation indeed. The role of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is a position that none can take away from me."

With those foreboding words, Dracula waved his hand toward both Ollivander and Harry, bidding them farewell as he made his way purposefully toward the Leaky Cauldron.

The three figures in Ollivander's wand shop watched in trepidation as Dracula departed, their hearts pounding in their chests. Only when he was completely out of sight did they finally breathe a collective sigh of relief.

"Where did Dumbledore find such a dreadful professor..." Hagrid's gruff voice resonated with a touch of bewilderment, his hand rubbing his weathered and rugged face in contemplation.

Now that the air had cleared, Ollivander resumed his conversation with Harry, his tone tinged with an air of mystery and nostalgia.

"I knew I would see you soon, Harry Potter," Ollivander spoke cryptically, his words imbued with a mix of wisdom and familiarity. "Your eyes, much like your mother's, hold a captivating resemblance. It feels as if it were just yesterday when she stepped into this very shop to purchase her first wand..."

However, Harry found his attention drifting, his mind consumed by anticipation for his future Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The words of Ollivander seemed to fade into the background as his thoughts focused solely on the upcoming lessons under the guide of Professor Dracula.

'Compared to the stuttering Professor Quirrell wearing a peculiar turban,' Harry pondered to himself, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, 'The presence and reliability of the formidable and attractive Professor Dracula seem far more promising.'