Dark Deals: The Vampire Who Owns Hogwarts

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The moment the Sorting Hat uttered the word "Azkaban," a heavy silence descended over the professors' table.

All eyes turned, startled, to the Sorting Hat perched atop Dracula's head. A collective wave of disbelief rippled through the room as the professors exchanged bewildered glances.

"After all these years as headmaster, I must admit, this is a first!" Dumbledore broke the silence, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "A fifth house at Hogwarts—Azkaban! Let us congratulate Professor Dracula on this unique honor. Surely, his promotion to Dean of Azkaban is only a matter of time!"

With a smile, Dumbledore led the applause.

Professor Kettleburn, leaning heavily on his cane, limped over to Snape, a mischievous grin lighting up his weathered face.

"Well, Severus, this simplifies things, doesn't it?" Kettleburn chuckled, giving Snape a hearty pat on the shoulder with his only remaining hand. "No more sorting ceremonies for your Slytherins—they can just be escorted directly to Azkaban! Saves us all the trouble of seven long years, don't you think?"

As a proud Hufflepuff of the old guard, Kettleburn never missed a chance to poke fun at Slytherin. The house's long-standing disdain for Hufflepuffs made the opportunity irresistible.

Snape's expression darkened, but he said nothing. Decades of seniority and Kettleburn's eccentric charm rendered any retort futile.

Meanwhile, Dracula's lips curled into a sardonic smile as the teasing continued. Removing the Sorting Hat, he held it up and eyed it with a sinister glint.

"Feeling bold today, aren't we?" he drawled, his voice laced with menace. "Or is this your idea of revenge for what I put you through last Christmas?"

"Revenge? Me? Never!" the Sorting Hat protested, its voice trembling with mock innocence. "It was just a bit of humor, my lord. A little something to liven up the atmosphere…"

"Humor, you say?" Dracula mused, the corners of his mouth lifting into a chilling smirk. "Well then, how about I treat everyone to some entertainment? Perhaps… a performance featuring the Sorting Hat passing through a ring of fire?"

The professors exchanged uncertain glances as a flickering circle of flames materialized before the hat.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" the Sorting Hat cried, its voice dropping to an urgent whisper audible only to Dracula. "My lord, I have information—about the founders! This is important!"

Dracula's eyes narrowed, the flames vanishing with a snap of his fingers. He held the hat aloft, his expression unreadable.

"This troublesome hat just needs the occasional fright to keep it in line," he remarked coolly, addressing the curious professors. Placing the hat back on his head, he added with a nonchalant wave, "Now, let's not let dinner grow cold. Eat up, everyone—the main course will be cleared soon."

As the professors returned to their meals, Dracula adjusted the brim of the hat and murmured softly, "All right, out with it. Let's hear what excuse you've come up with this time."

Inside his mind, the Sorting Hat's voice was a mix of complaint and apology. "My lord, you have no idea how difficult this is for me! You've lived for a thousand years! A thousand! How am I supposed to match that with one of the founders' temperaments? It's… impossible!"

Dracula smirked as he helped himself to a slice of blood pudding. "So, I'm the problem, then?"

"No, no, never!" the Sorting Hat assured him hastily. "It's my own shortcomings. I'll… work on it!"

Dracula chuckled. "Honestly, I thought you'd just make something up to save yourself the trouble."

"I tried!" the Sorting Hat exclaimed. "But the four founders left their wills embedded in me, granting me the ability to sort students based on their traits. Their thoughts about you, however, complicate everything. Worse still… their minds can argue!"

Dracula straightened in his chair, his interest piqued. "Argue? Are you saying Salazar and Godric bickered over where to place me?"

"Constantly!" the hat replied, exasperated. "Ravenclaw, too, had her opinions—she's always been intrigued by you. And, of course, Gryffindor and Slytherin both wanted to claim you as their own…"

Dracula's expression softened, his gaze distant. Memories stirred of a time long past, when the four founders were not yet legends but spirited young wizards, and he was merely a fledgling vampire wandering with them across the frozen Black Lake.

But the reverie was short-lived. A thought struck him, and he asked, "What about Helga? Did she have nothing to say?"

"My lord, let's be honest," the Sorting Hat replied dryly. "You embody none of Hufflepuff's values. Loyalty? Hard work? Honesty? Helga gave up on you centuries ago. She's been the silent peacemaker while the others bickered endlessly."

Dracula's face darkened, and his tone grew sharp. "That still doesn't explain why you said 'Azkaban.'"

The Sorting Hat hesitated, then blurted, "Blame Gryffindor! His inappropriate humor rubbed off on me—it's in my fabric, I swear!"

Dracula sighed, exasperated but amused. "One of these days, you'll be the death of me, you insufferable hat."

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