Dark Deals: The Vampire Who Owns Hogwarts

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"Damn it! Dracula knows everything, and yet he keeps playing tricks on me!"

In the cramped, dimly lit office of Quirrell, the young Voldemort, now more solidified and terrifying than before, wore a twisted expression, his once-handsome features contorted into an expression of sheer fury.

"You loser! Haven't you figured out a way to handle that beast by now?!" Voldemort's voice cracked with venom as his eyes seethed with hatred. He tossed the thick pile of homework, freshly collected, directly at Quirrell's face. "What good is all this nonsense—lesson plans and assignments? I didn't send you to Hogwarts to become Dracula's errand boy! I sent you to steal the Philosopher's Stone, not to indulge in menial tasks!"

Quirrell flinched, crumpling under the weight of Voldemort's fury. Trembling uncontrollably, he knelt on the cold stone floor, letting the homework scatter like useless debris around him. His gaze lowered in fear, not daring to utter a word in his defense.

"I should have let you die in Dracula's hands back in the Leaky Cauldron," Voldemort's voice was ice-cold, venom lacing every syllable. "I wasted part of my soul to save you from Dracula's control. That energy could've been replenished by the Horcrux Diary. Instead, I squandered it on you. And now, thanks to the curses I've used to shield your identity on the Quidditch pitch, most of my remaining energy is drained... for what? So you can't even defeat a beast?"

"The blood of the unicorn, though it provided some measure of strength, has barely begun to replenish my power," Voldemort hissed, his voice cold and filled with contempt. "But I am still far from whole. Using that power again for such a trivial matter is unthinkable."

Quirrell's face turned an even shade of white, his lips trembling. "I... I'm sorry, Master. I... I thought of a plan. If the Romanian smuggler I contacted delivers the dragon eggs, I could use them to make a bet with Hagrid, and from there, I'll figure out how to deal with the three-headed dog..." His voice faltered as Voldemort's eyes narrowed into slits.

Voldemort's gaze was a mixture of rage and disbelief. "Are you a complete idiot?" he roared. "That's too obvious! Hagrid wanted a fire dragon, and now, someone just happens to lose a bet to him and give him a dragon egg? Even a child would see right through that!" His voice lowered, dripping with menace. "Both Dracula and Dumbledore are playing the long game. They're waiting for the slightest misstep. The moment we make a move, an unbreakable net will be cast over us, and we'll be trapped."

Quirrell, shaken, raised his pale face, his eyes filled with desperate confusion. "Then... what do we do? How do we remain undetected? How do we escape their notice?"

Voldemort's expression twisted with frustration. The answer seemed obvious, but it came with terrible consequences. Dealing with the three-headed dog himself—that was the only option left. But doing so would expose him, weaken him further in the eyes of his enemies. Worse, there were more perilous trials awaiting him ahead. Who knew what other dangers the professors had set in motion?

His gaze flickered upward, his mind racing. Was the Stone worth the risk? Was it worth expending what little power remained?

Just then, as if driven by an unseen hand, the diary on the desk opened by itself.

A line of graceful, precise handwriting appeared on the blank page:

"I have an idea."

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Elsewhere in Hogwarts, trouble brewed.

Snape, uneasy about the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, was far from concerned about just the game. He knew Quirrell, controlled by the Dark Lord, was a far greater threat than Voldemort himself realized. The stakes were higher than ever—especially for Lily's son.

Determined to keep Harry safe, Snape had manipulated the situation to become the referee for the match, sending Madam Hooch aside. From this vantage point, he could watch over Harry, ready to step in and break the curse should it strike again. He could scan the entire field, ready to track down whoever dared to harm the boy.

But that wasn't all. Snape also had a more personal interest in seeing the Gryffindor team lose. If he could somehow tilt the match in favor of Hufflepuff, he'd buy Slytherin a better chance at the championship. His plans were a tangled web, but they were his to control.

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Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all on edge, their worry etched on their faces as they feared another deadly curse might strike Harry during the match.

Harry had been lucky last time—rescued by the giant bat conjured by Professor Dracula. But this time, Hermione and Ron both shared the same grim premonition: whoever cursed Harry would be more vicious, using a more powerful spell that would throw him to the ground before anyone had a chance to intervene.

"I have to compete," Harry said, determination hardening his features. He looked directly at his friends, his voice firm. "If I quit now, the Slytherins will think I'm scared, that I can't face a challenge. I want to see the look on their faces when their smug smiles vanish after we win."

Hermione's face softened with concern. "Just... just promise me you'll be careful, Harry," she said quietly. "And as long as we don't have to carry you off the field, I guess I can live with it." Her eyes then brightened with sudden realization. "Wait! Professor Snape's the referee this time. He'll protect you. He went to great lengths to save people during the last match, and he'll do the same now that he's in charge."

Harry froze for a moment, an incredulous look crossing his face. He couldn't shake the image of Snape's usual sneer, the expression of utter disdain whenever their eyes met. It felt surreal to think that Snape might actually protect him. Still, he couldn't deny the truth: last time, Snape had indeed been the one to cast the counter-curse.

"I just hope," Harry muttered, "that he doesn't spend the whole match deducting points from Gryffindor like he usually does." His voice carried a note of frustration. "Honestly, he can't even let us have this one."

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Back in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Dracula's patience wore thin as he stared at the Weasley twins, their playful grins only irritating him further.

"What are you two scheming now?" Dracula asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

"Professor," George said with a grin, "today's the big match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. If Gryffindor wins, they're pretty much guaranteed the Quidditch Cup!"

"But here's the problem," Fred continued, "Snape, Harry's old enemy, is the referee. And as usual, we're betting he'll favor Hufflepuff."

"We need a stronger professor to keep Snape in check," George added. "And it would be a bonus if that professor could also inspire Harry to win this match!"

"And you've already saved Harry once from a curse during the last Quidditch match," Fred chipped in. "We know you don't want to see your little wizard in trouble again, right?"

Dracula paused, his thoughts momentarily distracted. Why did those words sound so familiar? Yet, without further word, he stood up, grabbed his umbrella and walked towards the Quidditch pitch, lost in his thoughts.

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