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Gilderoy Lockhart was in an exceptionally good mood.
Once again, he had been voted Most Charming Smile by Witch Weekly and was featured on the cover of the esteemed magazine. It was, of course, a well-deserved honor, and Lockhart saw no reason to be modest about it. To celebrate this triumph—and perhaps to ensure that the enthusiasm surrounding him did not wane—he decided to host a tea party at Madam Puddifoot's Teahouse in Hogsmeade. A direct interaction with his devoted fans was always a splendid idea.
Madam Puddifoot's Teahouse stood on a cozy street corner in Hogsmeade, its windows adorned with peculiar pink frills and dangling lace ornaments that fluttered in the breeze. The interior was small and intimate, perpetually fogged with steam from the countless teacups in circulation. Lace-trimmed tablecloths covered every surface, and the entire place exuded a sweetness that bordered on overwhelming.
Since the students of Hogwarts were already on holiday, the village was quieter than usual. Most of the attendees at Lockhart's event were housewives and older witches who had the time and energy to fawn over their favorite celebrity.
The teahouse was packed. Every seat was occupied, and every eye was fixed expectantly on the makeshift stage at the front of the room.
"My dear friends, how are you?"
A booming voice rang out, and from behind the lace curtain emerged a wizard who looked like a peacock in full display.
Gilderoy Lockhart was, without a doubt, a striking figure. His wavy blond hair was immaculately coiffed, his teeth gleamed as though polished daily with a whitening charm, and his robes—oh, his robes—were a masterpiece of opulence, adorned with intricate gold embroidery that shimmered under the candlelight.
The room erupted in delighted squeals. Witches called out his name, some even standing on their chairs in an effort to get closer. The atmosphere buzzed with uncontainable excitement.
"Patience, my dear ones! I have ensured there will be ample time for us to connect!" Lockhart assured them, flashing his dazzling smile. "Fear not! Every one of you shall receive an autograph, and—"
"A hug!" cried a voice from the crowd.
Lockhart chuckled, looking pleased. "Indeed, a hug! I wouldn't dream of depriving my most devoted fans of such a moment."
The excitement surged anew, and one witch, in her overwhelming enthusiasm, promptly fainted.
Lockhart barely blinked at the commotion. With a practiced gesture, he waved toward the counter, where Madam Puddifoot—round, bustling, and sporting a tightly wound bun—immediately rushed over with a steaming cup of herbal tea to revive the fallen fan.
Stepping onto the small stage bathed in candlelight, Lockhart cleared his throat theatrically.
"Now, though I am certain you all know me well, it is only proper that I introduce myself." His voice carried the unmistakable lilt of someone accustomed to holding an audience captive. "I am Gilderoy Lockhart, a third-class recipient of the Order of Merlin, an honorary member of the League Against the Dark Arts, and—just days ago—once again crowned Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile for the fifth time! Of course, I wouldn't say I vanquished the Banshees of Bandon purely with my smile!"
The audience erupted in applause so vigorous that hands turned pink from the force of their clapping.
"Excellent enthusiasm!" Lockhart beamed. "I see many of you have brought your complete sets of my literary masterpieces. Let's begin with a simple question to test your knowledge! In Voyages with Vampires, what peculiar food did the vampire develop a fondness for after meeting me?"
Nearly every hand shot into the air. Even the witch who had fainted moments ago seemed to recover miraculously, her hand raised high.
"You, my dear lady." Lockhart selected a plump, red-haired witch with a kindly face.
The woman gasped, placing her hands over her mouth like a schoolgirl. "Molly! Molly Weasley, Mr. Lockhart! And the answer is—lettuce!"
"Perfect!" Lockhart flourished a bright pink rose from his pocket and presented it to Mrs. Weasley with a dramatic bow. "A token of my gratitude for being such a dedicated reader!"
Mrs. Weasley accepted it with flushed cheeks, while the surrounding witches looked on with envy.
At that moment, a voice, smooth and unhurried, sliced through the lively chatter.
"So… why did the vampire eat lettuce?"
Lockhart stiffened. A murmur rippled through the audience as heads turned toward the window, where the question had originated.
A figure sat perched on the windowsill, one leg draped carelessly over the ledge. He had silver hair that shimmered in the dim light, eyes a deep burgundy, and an open copy of Voyages with Vampires resting in his hand. His presence alone seemed to command attention, and many of the witches found themselves momentarily reevaluating Lockhart's supposed handsomeness.
Lockhart's pleasant expression faltered. "Madam Puddifoot," he said, his voice clipped. "I was quite clear that entry was limited to guests with a full set of my collector's edition books and an invitation. Might I inquire how your security measures allowed this… interruption?"
Madam Puddifoot paled and hurried forward, preparing to shoo the stranger away.
Before she could, however, Mrs. Weasley gasped in delight. "Professor Dracula! It's you, isn't it?"
Dracula arched an eyebrow at her in mild surprise. "And you are…?"
"Molly Weasley! My boys talk about you all the time! Fred and George simply adore your lessons—they say you're the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they've ever had!"
Dracula's lips twitched in amusement. "Ah, Weasley. Of course."
She beamed. "And you remember my husband and me? We helped send that crystal ball to Romania for you!"
Recognition dawned on Dracula's face. "Ah, yes! Much appreciated."
On the other side Lockhart's smile faltered for the briefest of moments, his eyes narrowing as he processed the presence of the Hogwarts professor. But he was nothing if not adaptable. A sly grin spread across his face as an idea took root in his mind. Instead of shying away, he decided to turn this encounter to his advantage. After all, what better way to bolster his reputation than to be seen alongside the enigmatic Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?
He sauntered over to the photographer and reporter, his voice low but brimming with self-assurance. "Do you see that gentleman over there?" he said, gesturing subtly toward Dracula. "That's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. When I go over to speak with him, I want you to capture the moment. The headline should read: Shocking! Hogwarts Professor Revealed as Admirer of Gilderoy Lockhart, Renowned Defense Master and Best-Selling Author!"
The photographer nodded, but Lockhart wasn't done. He leaned in closer, his tone turning urgent. "And listen—when you take the photo, make sure my face is front and center. His? Oh, just tuck him into a corner somewhere. No need to give him too much attention." He flashed his trademark smile, the one he'd practiced countless times in the mirror, and straightened his robes. "Understood?"
The photographer gave a thumbs-up, and Lockhart strode toward Dracula with all the confidence of a man who believed the world revolved around him. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, their whispers trailing after him like a wake.
"Ah, Professor Dracula!" Lockhart exclaimed, his voice dripping with false warmth. "What a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about your work at Hogwarts. Truly, it's an honor."
He extended a hand, his smile gleaming like polished ivory. The camera clicked, capturing the moment—Lockhart's outstretched hand, his too-bright smile, and Dracula, who stood with his arms crossed, his expression one of thinly veiled disdain. The vampire's sharp features were accentuated by the dim light filtering through the window, his piercing gaze fixed on something far beyond the confines of the tea house.
Lockhart's smile wavered. He glanced at the photographer, his voice tight with irritation. "No, no, no! That's not the shot I wanted. Destroy it immediately!" He turned back to Dracula, his charm slipping for just a moment before he recovered. "My apologies, Professor. The press can be so… overzealous."
Dracula's nostrils flared as the overpowering scent of Lockhart's cologne assaulted his senses. It was a nauseating blend of musk and florals, so thick it seemed to cling to the air. He resisted the urge to step back, his lips curling in distaste. The smell reminded him of Quirrell, though at least Quirrell had an excuse—his perfume had masked the stench of Voldemort's corruption. Lockhart, on the other hand, had no such justification. What could possibly compel a man to douse himself in such a noxious cloud?
Lockhart, oblivious to Dracula's discomfort, pressed on. He snatched up the copy of Traveling with Vampires that Dracula had left on the windowsill and produced an emerald-green peacock quill from his breast pocket. With a flourish, he signed the title page, his handwriting as flamboyant as his personality.
"There you are, Professor," he said, handing the book back with a self-satisfied grin. "A signed copy, just for you. I noticed you were quite engrossed in my work earlier. It's always a delight to meet a fan."
Dracula took the book, his expression unreadable. He glanced at the signature—flamboyant loops and swirls that seemed to scream for attention—and then, without a word, handed it to Mrs. Weasley, who stood nearby.
"Mrs. Weasley," he said, his voice smooth and calm, "would you be so kind as to return this to Ron? It belongs to his friend Hermione. I borrowed it some time ago and seem to have forgotten to give it back."
Mrs. Weasley beamed, tucking the book into her basket alongside a stack of Lockhart's collector's editions. "Of course, Professor. Happy to help."
Lockhart's smile faltered again, but he quickly masked it with a laugh. "Ah, the joys of teaching! Always so much to keep track of." He clapped his hands together, drawing the attention of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention!"
He strode to the podium, his robes billowing dramatically behind him. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him. "I hope you'll forgive the little interruption," he began, his voice rich with practiced charm. "But I couldn't let this moment pass without introducing you all to the esteemed Professor Dracula of Hogwarts. He's been a great admirer of my work, you see, and traveled all the way here just to meet me. Let's give him a round of applause, shall we?"
The room erupted in polite clapping, though Dracula's expression remained impassive. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, watching Lockhart with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust.
Lockhart, undeterred, launched into a monologue about his many accomplishments—his Order of Merlin, his membership in the Anti-Dark Arts Alliance, his five-time win of the Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award. "But enough about me," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. "I've always felt a deep connection to Hogwarts. In fact, I've considered applying for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position myself. After all, I've heard the role is… cursed." He paused, letting the word hang in the air. "But if I were to take the position, I'm certain I could break that curse. My experience, my knowledge—it's all at the service of the wizarding world."
The audience sighed in admiration, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. Lockhart basked in their adoration, his chest swelling with pride.
Dracula, however, had heard enough. He stepped forward, his movements so fluid and silent that the crowd barely noticed until he was standing beside Lockhart. The room held its breath.
"Since you're so eager to share your expertise," Dracula said, his voice low and measured, "perhaps you can answer a question for me. In your book Voyages with Vampires, why does the vampire eat lettuce?"
Lockhart blinked, his smile freezing in place. "Ah, well, you see…" He stammered, his mind racing. "That vampire, he… he was so moved by my compassion and wisdom that he gave up his dark ways. Yes, that's it! He renounced blood and turned to… lettuce."
Dracula raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. "Is that so? Perhaps you should revisit your own book, Mr. Lockhart. The vampire in your story was never evil. In fact, he was quite the opposite—a loyal companion, even an object of admiration."
Lockhart's face flushed, but he quickly recovered. "Nonsense! I wrote the book, didn't I? I think I'd remember."
Dracula's smile was cold. "Then perhaps it's time for a refresher." With a snap of his fingers, the two men vanished, leaving the room in stunned silence.
That evening, the Daily Prophet ran a bold headline:
"Famed Author Gilderoy Lockhart Abducted by Hogwarts Professor in Broad Daylight—Wizarding World in Shock!"
The article was accompanied by the now-infamous photo of Lockhart's outstretched hand and Dracula's look of utter disdain. Witches wept, wizards murmured in disbelief, and somewhere, in a dimly lit corner of the wizarding world, Dracula watched it all unfold with a satisfied smirk.