Professor Quirrell was, to put it mildly, infamous.
He had always been a subject of student gossip, known for his perpetual stutter, his strange purple turban, and a general air of timid frailty. But the events of the Quidditch match had transformed his reputation from that of a harmless eccentric into something far more sinister.
No one could believe it. The timid Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching assistant, Quirinus Quirrell, had been caught sneaking into a girls' lavatory while the entire school was at the match. If Harry hadn't miraculously caught the Golden Snitch in under five minutes, ending the game hours ahead of schedule, who knows how long Quirrell would have remained undiscovered?
Suddenly, the turban wasn't just peculiar; it was a mask. The stutter wasn't a sign of nervousness; it was the deception of a creep. The story spread like a plague, and a cloud of fear and disgust descended upon the student body.
The girls of Hogwarts moved in packs, their heads swiveling nervously as they walked the corridors, whispering behind their hands whenever Quirrell shuffled past. Trips to the bathroom became group expeditions. The boys, meanwhile, treated him with open contempt, viewing him as a disgrace who had sullied the honor of all male wizards. He was no longer a professor; he was a pariah.
"Professor, how could you possibly choose someone like him to be your assistant?" The complaint came from Penelope Clearwater, a fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect, her voice sharp with indignation during a visit to Dracula's office.
Beside her, the red-haired Percy Weasley nodded so vigorously his glasses slipped down his nose. "He is a stain on the faculty!" Percy, ever the righteous organizer, had taken it upon himself to unite the prefects from all four houses for this formal protest. "This man, this Quirrell, must be expelled immediately! The student body will not stand for it!"
The scandal was enormous. Even as a teaching assistant, Quirrell was a faculty member. For him to be caught sneaking into a girls' lavatory—his intentions unknown but darkly imagined—was an egregious offense. Expulsion felt like the bare minimum.
If not for Professor Dracula's formidable reputation and the sheer intimidating power of his presence, the scandal might have even tainted him. After all, Quirrell was his assistant.
Faced with the delegation of self-important prefects, Dracula fixed his gaze on Percy, the clear ringleader. Seeing the familiar flash of Weasley-red hair, he let out an internal sigh. It seemed none of that family could ever stay out of his business. If Quirrell were expelled over this, where would Dracula find another such perfect tool? A tireless, wonderfully efficient dogsbody who graded homework, drafted lesson plans, and even provided a constant source of amusement.
The thought was irritating enough to earn Percy another cold glare.
With an impatient wave of his hand, Dracula dismissed the prefects, directing them to take their grievances to Professor McGonagall. Alone at last, he sank into his chair and allowed his mind to drift to the real problem: why had Quirrell gone to that lavatory in the first place?
Dracula knew Quirrell wasn't some common degenerate. The man lacked the courage for true villainy. And if he did harbor such pathetic urges, why choose a disused, semi-abandoned bathroom instead of one frequented by students? The logic didn't track.
Which could only mean one thing. There was something special about that particular lavatory.
After a moment's thought, Dracula made his decision. He rose from his desk, moved silently to the towering office window, and stepped gracefully onto the frame. In the darkness outside, his form twisted and shrank, reforming into an elegant bat. With a silent flap of leathery wings, he soared into the night, banking towards a narrow, grimy window on the castle's third floor. He phased through the glass like a wisp of shadow.
The window was caked with decades of dust, allowing almost no light to penetrate. Inside, he found himself in a place of deep gloom and decay. The lavatory was a mess of peeling paint and cracked stone. A large, stained mirror hung over a row of crumbling sinks, its surface reflecting only darkness. The air was thick with the smell of damp and neglect, and the feeble light from a few guttering candle stubs did little to pierce the oppressive shadows.
This was it. The place where Quirrell had been caught.
Dracula shifted back into his human form, landing on the wet floor without a sound. He began to scan the room, his senses reaching out, searching for the secret the place held.
Just then, a heavy creak echoed from the doorway as the old wooden door was pushed open a crack.
Startled, Dracula instantly cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, melting into the surrounding shadows. If a student found him here, doing the exact same thing as Quirrell, there would be no explaining his way out of it.
He waited, silent and still. But after the door opened, no one entered.
Frowning, Dracula focused his senses. A flicker of claret light glimmered in his eyes, his enhanced vision piercing through the gloom—and through the powerful charm hiding the figure at the door. An elderly man stood there, his own presence concealed.
The figure in the doorway seemed to feel his gaze. Sharp blue eyes looked up, peering through half-moon spectacles, and locked directly onto Dracula's position.
In that instant, they saw through each other's illusions. Both men froze.
"What a coincidence, Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Good evening, Professor Dracula."
Their voices, calm and measured, filled the small space in unison.
"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed, allowing his Disillusionment Charm to fade. He stepped inside, his expression one of polite inquiry. "I came to inspect the scene of the… incident. But tell me, Professor, isn't it a bit inappropriate for you to be found in a girls' lavatory this late at night?"
Dracula let his own disguise dissolve, stepping out of the shadows. "Isn't this a coincidence? I'm here for the same reason," he replied smoothly. "I believe my assistant was bewitched by some lingering dark magic, which prompted his unusual behavior. As the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, it's only natural for me to investigate such traces, wouldn't you agree?"
They looked at each other for a long moment, a silent understanding passing between them, before both men broke into knowing smiles.
Almost as one, they turned and cast subtle but powerful protective wards on the door, sealing it from the outside world. They both let out a quiet sigh of relief. The Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, caught together in a girls' bathroom at night. The rumors, should anyone see them, would be legendary.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Dracula said, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he offered a truce. "Seeing as we're both here, how about we investigate together?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "An excellent proposal, Professor," he replied, accepting gladly. "I would be delighted."
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