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A brilliant white light shot from the tip of Lockhart's wand, striking Dracula with great force.
Yet, Dracula remained unfazed, his gaze indifferent, the light in his eyes swirling as he allowed the Forgetting Curse to fall upon him.
In an instant, the spell took effect, forming a connection between Lockhart's memories and Dracula's mind.
A thousand years of knowledge surged forth like a tidal wave, crashing into Lockhart's consciousness, shattering his fragile recollections in an instant. His memories—once locked away—became scattered, washed ashore like debris from a storm. As the remnants of his thoughts receded, they were fully absorbed into Dracula's vast sea of experience.
Dracula sifted through the chaos, searching for the fragments he had claimed. After a moment, tucked away in a forgotten corner, he uncovered a memory of Robert—along with the precise location of his secluded retreat.
"I knew he wasn't really here," Dracula murmured.
He turned his gaze toward Lockhart, whose eyes had grown vacant. A smile touched Dracula's lips. "If I hadn't been influenced by Tesla's ideals and restraint, this would have been much simpler."
Initially, he had considered using Legilimency to probe Lockhart's mind directly. But in Lockhart's tale, Tesla—a younger vampire—held firmly to his principles, refusing to feed on the innocent.
Dracula had been unexpectedly moved by Tesla's integrity, so—if only for a fleeting moment—he chose to embrace his own code of honor.
Instead of invading Lockhart's mind outright, he manipulated the wizard into casting the Forgetting Curse first. The spell rebounded, overwhelming Lockhart's mind with centuries of memory—far beyond what an ordinary wizard could withstand.
It may have been an elaborate game, but it made the victory all the more satisfying.
To set the stage, Dracula had deliberately spread his wings above the Danube, ensuring Lockhart recognized his vampiric nature. Predictably, panic overtook Lockhart, compelling him to fight back—though the outcome had already been decided.
"Hello?"
Lockhart's voice wavered.
Dracula glanced at him, now seated on the ground, his expression vacant as he stared ahead.
"This place is rather remote, isn't it?" Lockhart mused. "Do you live here alone?"
"No." Dracula arched an eyebrow, amused. This new version of Lockhart—stripped of memory—was oddly endearing. "What can you recall, Mr. Lockhart?"
"Mr. Lockhart? Is that my name?" His face brightened as he tried to grasp something familiar. "Oh, let me think... I vaguely recall being a professional liar... But that can't be right. Lying isn't good, is it? Maybe I'm mistaken..."
Dracula chuckled. "If you cannot remember, don't concern yourself. Trust me, and follow me."
"Of course—you seem like an honest and respectable man." Lockhart's sincerity was almost laughable.
Dracula grasped Lockhart by the collar, unfurling his wings once more as they soared into the sky.
Guided by the direction uncovered in Lockhart's memories, Dracula navigated toward the secluded mountain forest where Robert lived in isolation.
The cold wind rushed past Lockhart, tousling his hair as he dangled beneath Dracula's grip.
"This is incredible! It's magic!" he exclaimed, his excitement unabated.
...
Robert's residence lay just beyond the previous hill.
Dracula descended, his wings retracting as he landed outside a wooden house—simple in appearance yet meticulously maintained.
Nearby, a lush field of green lettuce stretched toward the horizon. Amidst the plants, an old man worked diligently, slicing through lettuce stems with a sickle and collecting them in a woven basket strapped to his back.
Time had left deep furrows across the man's face, his rough hands hardened by years of labor. Soil clung to the crevices beneath his nails. His clothes, though worn and faded, bore no signs of discontent—only quiet persistence. A dirt-streaked towel hung around his neck, used to wipe away the sweat of honest toil.
To an outsider, he was nothing more than a farmer. There was no trace of his past as the Serbian Auror captain.
Catching sight of Dracula and Lockhart near the wooden house, the old man straightened, stepping away from his field.
"You're wizards, aren't you?" His gaze flicked over their robes, a glimmer of surprise in his tired eyes. "It's rare to see wizards in a place like this."
Dracula studied the man—an old ally of vampires—before gesturing toward Lockhart. "Do you know him?"
The old man removed the basket from his back, setting it gently beside his feet. He turned to Lockhart, who promptly offered an affable smile.
"I've never seen him before." His brow furrowed slightly as he examined Lockhart's dust-streaked face. "Is he a vegetable farmer?"
"Ah! So I grow vegetables?" Lockhart exclaimed, his eyes widening with delight.
Dracula sighed. "Shut your mouth for now." With a flick of his hand, he sealed Lockhart's lips. "Let's focus on something more important."
Turning back to Robert, Dracula's expression grew serious. "Do you remember your friends?"
Robert dusted off his hands, shaking his head with quiet resignation. "A man like me has no friends left. They either perished fighting dark wizards or grew too old and passed before me. Now, I'm alone—with no attachments, no burdens."
Dracula considered his words for a moment before nodding. "I see."
Without further discussion, Dracula bid Robert farewell, dragging Lockhart away from the secluded forest.
Robert watched them go, shaking his head. "Strange wizards," he muttered before returning to his harvest.
By the Danube, Dracula walked in silence, while Lockhart trailed behind, persistently gesturing at his mouth, pleading to be freed from the spell.
Dracula ignored him.
The encounter with Robert confirmed his suspicions—Tesla's existence had been completely erased from Robert's memory, along with any recollection of Lockhart.
Lockhart, despite his absurd demeanor, had mastered the Forgetting Curse with precision. Robert displayed no signs of forced memory alteration—no gaps, no lingering confusion. His life had simply continued, as if nothing had been lost.
Dracula frowned. If Robert's erased memories were forcibly restored, it would likely do more harm than good.
Annoyed, Dracula turned to the source of his frustration—Lockhart, still miming his request for the spell to be undone.
With a sigh, Dracula snapped his fingers.
"Ah—I can finally speak!" Lockhart practically shouted in relief.
Dracula clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to silence him again.
"I must say, that was incredible! Was it magic? Did I meet a magician?" Lockhart gushed. Then, with sudden enthusiasm, he added, "Wait, I wasn't actually a liar, right? Lying is bad. I must be a vegetable farmer!"
Dracula pressed his fingers to his temple before sealing Lockhart's mouth again.
How was it possible for one wizard to be this insufferable, regardless of his memory state?
Then, suddenly, Dracula's eyes sharpened.
Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the moonlight crystal ball and peered at its center.
The once-dull dark moon had transformed—bathed in crimson, pulsing with a fierce, menacing glow. A terrifying aura spread outward as the blood-drenched moonlight intensified.
Dracula vanished instantly.
By the Danube, Lockhart stood alone, blinking in confusion.
Romania, Brown Castle.
The castle stood majestically in central-western Romania, 30 kilometers from Brasov.
Muggles believed it to be a medieval fortress, originally built by the King of Hungary in 1377 to defend against Turkish forces. Today, the Romanian government presented it as a historical museum, displaying relics from various eras.
But those were merely illusions—the surface world of non-magical existence.
Beyond Brown Castle lay another—the true Dracula's Castle, shielded by an Unplottable Curse, fortified with endless layers of protective enchantments. Muggle-repelling spells ensured no ordinary human wandered too close.
Not that the protections were for their safety.
The castle teemed with lesser vampires—merciless creatures, ravenous for fresh blood. Any unfortunate trespasser would find themselves little more than prey.
Within Brown Castle was a secret chamber, where senior vampires served as gatekeepers, guiding magical visitors into the heart of vampire territory.
Arthur and Molly had sent the moonlight crystal ball here.
It had reached the hands of the stationed vampire, who immediately transported it to the highest tower of Dracula's Castle.
But when Dracula arrived at Brown Castle, the chamber was empty.
He wasted no time.
Recognizing the gravity of the situation, he apparated—this time, to his true domain.
Dracula's Castle.
---
Few people know that Count Dracula was born in Romania.
Dracula came from an esteemed aristocratic family in 10th-century Romania. His father, a grand duke, wielded great influence and commanded a powerful army.
Yet, Dracula had little interest in nobility—titles and etiquette meant nothing to him. What fascinated him was the strange magic he discovered within himself. Gifted with supernatural abilities, he taught himself how to wield them.
Later, a wandering wizard named Salazar Slytherin traveled to Romania. He introduced Dracula to the concept of magic—giving a name to the mysterious force that had set him apart.
During this time, a deadly plague swept through his father's lands. The entire population perished, including the grand duke himself.
But Dracula survived.
Something had changed within him—his body was no longer quite human. He thrived under moonlight, craved the taste of blood, and felt no hunger for ordinary food.
With the dukedom weakened and its forces dwindling, neighboring knights set their sights on the territory.
Dracula, uninterested in waging war, used magic to protect Dracula's Castle, concealing it from Muggle invaders. Then, he left Romania, traveling to Scotland with Salazar Slytherin—bringing with him the remnants of his father's wealth and a loyal army.
Welcomed by the Grand Duke of Scotland, Dracula was granted the title of Count along with vast lands.
Thus, Count Dracula was born.
Soon after, Slytherin made three more friends—powerful wizards with grand ambitions.
Together, they dreamed of founding a magical school—one that would train young witches and wizards to harness their power and protect themselves from persecution.
Dracula, seeing potential in their vision, leased a large territory to them for a thousand years, from 991 AD to 1991.
The school was named Hogwarts.
Meanwhile, the concealed Dracula's Castle became a refuge—for something new was stirring in Romania.
Ever since the plague had ended, others like Dracula began to emerge—humans who had undergone similar transformations. They were not ordinary vampires that rose from the grave; they were born into their new nature.
Unlike lesser vampires, they could resist their hunger, control their instincts, and even develop magical power. They wielded magic as naturally as any wizard.
This new breed, including Dracula himself, became known as advanced vampires—or simply, Vampires.
Unlike lower-class vampires, they were not repelled by sunlight, garlic, or silver. These things were irritating, but never truly harmful.
Yet, none had ever matched Dracula's power. Whether due to his unique lineage or proximity to the original infection, he alone possessed magic powerful enough to control an entire Dark Moon.
With his strength, Dracula gathered the newly transformed vampires within the safety of Dracula's Castle, ensuring they would not fall prey to vampire hunters.
As the years passed, the castle became a sanctuary—a sacred home for the Vampire Clan.
Dracula's Castle stood atop a towering mountain peak, its walls dark as ink. Unlike the pristine Brown Castle, which gleamed with white stone, Dracula's fortress exuded an oppressive aura.
Thick clouds forever loomed above, mist curling around the jagged walls. Bats flitted between stone towers, their shadows blending into the gloom.
The castle itself felt alive.
But the things surrounding it were far from living.
When Dracula arrived after years of absence, he saw them—
An army of Inferi.
They stretched from the mist-shrouded mountainside down to the foothills—an unholy swarm covering the plains beyond.
Yet in that endless mass, there was silence.
No voices, no battle cries—just the sickening shuffle of rotting limbs dragging across the ground.
Then, a piercing wolf's howl shattered the quiet.
A second followed.
Like a chain reaction, the eerie cries spread throughout the Inferi ranks, filling the air with an unnatural chorus of howling corpses.
Dracula's eyes narrowed. He materialized atop the outer castle wall.
"What's going on?" he asked a nearby vampire guard.
The guard, tense and alert, barely spared him a glance. His focus remained on the nightmare unfolding below.
"You don't know?" he muttered. "Master Alcatel spotted Inferi among the werewolf tribes two months ago. No one expected much—werewolves were never a real threat to our kind. We stayed watchful, but took no action."
His voice tightened.
"Perhaps Alcatel underestimated them… Because now, the Inferi aren't just there—they're being controlled by the werewolves!"
Realization dawned on the vampire's face as he suddenly turned to Dracula.
"Wait—who are you? You're not on duty here. Why are you asking questions?"
His gaze met Dracula's.
For a moment, confusion flickered in his eyes—then, sheer shock.
Then came reverence.
Dropping to one knee, he bowed deeply.
"Lord Dracula!"
Dracula waved a hand dismissively. "Get up. No need for formalities. Just stay sharp—don't let your guard down."
As he walked along the castle ramparts, his gaze lingered on the Inferi-werewolf army below.
Then—
A voice, light yet commanding, called from the sky.
"You've finally returned, Lord ."