Dracula, holding a large black parasol, stood on a high platform at the edge of the Quidditch pitch.
His face wore an expression that clearly said, "Keep away," a stark contrast to the lively, buzzing atmosphere of the young wizards surrounding him.
Out of a healthy respect—or perhaps a touch of fear—for this particular Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, the young wizards consciously left him a sufficiently wide space. They themselves huddled together in the four corners of the platform, shivering slightly in the crisp autumn air.
Madam Hooch, the referee, stood in the centre of the pitch, broom in hand, waiting for the two teams to enter.
Harry glanced towards the platform. First, he saw a high-flying banner magically flashing the words "Potter for the Win." Then, his eyes found Professor Dracula, standing alone with his parasol on the high platform, looking extremely conspicuous—and undeniably imposing.
Dracula gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod to Harry, who was standing on the Quidditch pitch, resplendent in his scarlet and gold Gryffindor uniform.
Harry gripped his Nimbus 2000 tightly.
The support of his Gryffindor companions and the encouraging gesture from the professor made his heart leap with a surge of joy. He felt he had the courage to defeat Slytherin—to win this, his very first match.
After a short, sharp speech, Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle with a piercing blast. In the next moment, 15 brooms soared into the air simultaneously, rising high into the clear sky.
The game began.
Subsequently, Dracula fell into a state of utter, profound boredom.
He was not very interested in the sight of young wizards on broomsticks flying around in the sky, nor in the various winged balls zipping past. These things were far from as fast as he could fly himself. During the viewing process, he did not experience the exciting, thrilling feeling that the young wizards clearly felt. He only found it very, very dull.
What was more, it was a sunny day—a particularly bright one at that—and Dracula found it increasingly difficult to maintain a good mood in such weather.
He looked around at the surrounding young wizards, watching their constant cheers and excited screams with a distinct lack of interest. He endured the deafening noise and the vibrations from the packed stands with growing, barely concealed annoyance.
Dracula wanted to slip away from the platform several times. But he always noticed Harry, the Gryffindor Seeker, inadvertently looking towards his position while searching for the Golden Snitch, as if expecting his approval, a silent validation of his efforts.
So, in order not to disappoint this earnest little fan, Dracula had to remain standing in place, enduring this atmosphere that was not at all comfortable for a creature of the night.
Just as he was about to succumb entirely to the crushing boredom—and had mentally planned to leave regardless of the young wizard's expectations—Dracula suddenly noticed a young wizard wearing a yellow and black uniform. This student was sitting among a group of Hufflepuff badgers, watching the game while occasionally taking out a pen and notebook to jot down some notes.
This young wizard, named Cedric Diggory, possessed a certain potential—a hint of vampire aristocrat in his appearance and temperament—and Dracula admired him greatly for it.
So, he snapped his fingers and conjured a giant, shadowy bat. As soon as the bat appeared, it flapped its leathery wings and flew to the next platform, deftly grabbing Cedric and bringing him over.
Cedric was suddenly seized by the claws of a giant bat, and his heart skipped a beat in pure terror.
However, the Defence Against the Dark Arts class taught by Dracula had not been entirely in vain. He reacted quickly, took out his wand from his pocket, and prepared to cast a spark spell to send a signal to the professors.
Before he could, however, the bat quickly dropped him onto Dracula's platform and then—just as suddenly—vanished into thin air.
'Good morning, Mr Diggory,' a familiar, smooth voice sounded in Cedric's ear.
Dracula had made the parasol very large and stuck it firmly into the ground, creating a small, shaded area on the platform where the sun rarely penetrated.
'Just sit anywhere,' he said, already lounging on a chaise longue that he had just conjured with a flick of Transfiguration magic. He gestured to another empty chair and started a conversation with Cedric. 'I saw you were taking some notes just now. What did you write down?'
Seeing Dracula—the "most terrifying professor at Hogwarts," according to popular student opinion—up close, Cedric secretly cast a pleading look towards his Quidditch teammates on the Hufflepuff platform.
However, the teammates who had originally looked prepared to lend a hand and rescue Cedric from the giant bat's claws quickly turned their heads away after seeing Dracula. They suddenly acted as if they did not know Cedric at all.
Even his prefect, Truman, gave him a look of utter helplessness, silently telling him to accept his rather unfortunate fate.
'Good morning, Professor,' Cedric had no choice but to face Professor Dracula alone. He said, through gritted teeth, 'Actually, I am the Seeker for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and I am currently observing the methods used by Potter when he is the Seeker.'
'What do you think of Potter's skills?' Dracula asked, his voice tinged with his persistent boredom.
'Very good—for his age,' Cedric praised, trying to sound professional.
Just then, the subject of their conversation—Harry—flew in a wide arc directly over their heads. The figures of the 2 Seekers were momentarily blocked from Cedric's view by Dracula's large parasol, which made Cedric anxious, as he was genuinely enjoying the spectacle of the game.
'Professor, it is a sunny day today. Do you still need an umbrella?' he could not help but ask. 'Also, are you not cold wearing such a thin wizard's robe in this weather?'
'Not cold,' Dracula adjusted his red and black cloak and said casually. 'Besides, I hate being in the sun. Is it not perfectly normal to put up an umbrella when the sun is out?'
As the conversation went on, Cedric gradually relaxed and found himself chatting quite pleasantly with Dracula.
However, this surprisingly pleasant interlude did not last long. An unexpected and alarming situation suddenly occurred on the Quidditch pitch—
High in the sky, Harry's broom began to behave extremely strangely. It had started at some unknown moment. The broom twitched and twisted frantically, bucking all the way, slowly, yet inexorably, carrying him higher and higher, away from the relative safety of the game.
'What kind of tactic is this?' Sitting next to Dracula, Cedric looked at Harry through his telescope, wondering what on earth he was up to. 'Is it some new type of psychological game to deceive the opponent?'
Dracula's wine-red pupils moved slightly, his gaze fixed intently on the unfolding, dangerous scene.
Harry's broom began to somersault and roll non-stop. He could only barely hold on to keep from falling. Suddenly, the broom twisted frantically again, and Harry was thrown off. He was now hanging precariously in the air, holding onto the broom handle with only one hand, his fingers slipping.
'Wait—this is not some kind of Quidditch tactic! There is really something wrong with Potter's broom!' Dracula said, a deep frown creasing his brow.
As he spoke, he immediately turned his gaze to Quirrell on the professors' platform.
However, the development of the situation seemed to exceed all expectations—
Dracula had originally thought that Quirrell had already surrendered to Voldemort, that all his probing and plotting was for the Philosopher's Stone that Voldemort so desperately needed. He had assumed that this time Quirrell was attacking Harry Potter to vent Voldemort's residual anger.
But just as Harry was struggling desperately with his bewitched broom, the Nimbus 2000, Quirrell—at this precise moment—showed no unusual movements whatsoever.
He was, in fact, admiring the game with great interest, showing absolutely no signs of using a spell or being involved in any way.
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