Dark Deals: The Vampire Who Owns Hogwarts

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Just as Dracula and Dumbledore exchanged knowing smiles and prepared to examine Quirrell's crime scene together, a ghost suddenly emerged from one of the bathroom stalls.

The ghost appeared to be a short, plump schoolgirl with thick glasses perched on her nose, acne dotting her face, and an expression of perpetual discontent.

"This is the girls' washroom!" she exclaimed, suspiciously eyeing the two professors. What are you two doing in here? Just because no one uses it doesn't mean professors can walk in whenever they feel like it. I'm telling on you!"

Dracula and Dumbledore's expressions froze. Although they had meticulously avoided human eyes, they had overlooked the ghost who permanently resided here.

"Myrtle," Dumbledore said gently, clearly familiar with her, "we're here to investigate something important."

Myrtle crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. "I've been here the whole time, and I can tell you there's nothing wrong with this bathroom! You're just making excuses!"

With that, she began to float upwards toward the ceiling, ready to spread the scandalous news of their intrusion.

"Nothing wrong? Then you must not have noticed Quirrell sneaking in this morning, did you?" Dracula asked, stopping her in her tracks.

Myrtle huffed indignantly. "If I say no, then no! And if you don't believe me, well..."

She turned to glare at Dracula, but the moment her eyes landed on him, she froze.

"Are you... are you the new professor?" she stammered, her expression shifting from suspicion to excitement. Her voice trembled with nervous energy. "Wow, I've never seen such a handsome professor before! Can I... can I come to your class sometime?"

Dracula's mouth twitched in mild discomfort.

Dumbledore seized the moment, smiling as he said, "Indeed, Myrtle. This is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. If you'd like to attend, his classroom is on the second floor. It's not far from here."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Myrtle's eyes sparkled with joy. "Then you'll definitely run into trouble, right? If you die, you have to come find me! I'd love to share this bathroom with you forever!"

Blushing, Myrtle twirled in the air, clearly lost in daydreams of an imagined future.

Dracula shot Dumbledore a pointed look, his expression darkening. "Dumbledore, don't tell me you, as headmaster, weren't aware there's a mentally unstable ghost haunting this place?"

"Well," Dumbledore replied, maintaining his composure, "this is the girls' bathroom after all. I don't usually come in here. Myrtle passed away decades ago, but I never expected she'd still be hanging around."

Dracula frowned. "Is this where she died? Could the bathroom itself be connected to her death?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It happened fifty years ago. There were a series of attacks at Hogwarts, and Myrtle was the only student who died. The truth behind those attacks still remains unknown."

Dracula turned his attention back to Myrtle, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Myrtle, can you tell me what happened here fifty years ago?"

However, his usual persuasive charm failed him.

Instead of answering, Myrtle let out a dreamy sigh and wailed, "Professor... wuwuwu... my professor..."

Dracula's confident smirk faltered. He glanced at Dumbledore, who was watching the scene with barely concealed amusement.

"So... she's really not mentally stable, is she?" Dracula asked.

"I'm afraid Myrtle's current state has more to do with you than anything else," Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling mischievously. "You're the one who needs to bring her back to normal."

Dracula studied the lovestruck ghost for a moment, then made up his mind. "Keep an eye on her. Don't let her leave and spread rumors. I'll find some... outside help."

Before Dumbledore could respond, Dracula vanished into the shadows with a swirl of bats.

Dumbledore watched him go, then shrugged and pulled a packet of honey candies from his pocket, popping one into his mouth as he waited.

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Not long after, Dracula returned to the gloomy bathroom.

Myrtle was floating above the stalls, sobbing loudly, while Dumbledore offered comforting words between bites of his honey candies.

"Do you think I don't know what they call me? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Sniveling, miserable Myrtle!" she wailed. "And now, even the handsome professor hates me! I don't want to be here anymore!"

She made an attempt to dive into the toilet, trying to drown herself—again.

"Don't be sad, Myrtle," Dumbledore coaxed gently. "Professor Dracula didn't leave because he hates you. Look, he's back now."

Myrtle peeked out from the toilet, looking at Dracula with hopeful eyes.

"Exactly," Dracula nodded, arms crossed. "Besides, Myrtle, you're already dead. You can't drown yourself again."

At this, Myrtle burst into a fresh wave of tears and tried to sink back into the toilet.

Dumbledore sighed. "Professor, I thought you'd say something comforting."

"Comforting words are pointless," Dracula said coolly. "Besides, isn't it amusing to watch a ghost flopping around in a toilet? Don't worry, she can't drown. anyway"

Dumbledore shook his head with exasperation. "So... where's the help you mentioned?"

Dracula gestured with his chin toward the far wall.

A slender ghost with waist-length hair drifted gracefully through the wall, gliding toward them.

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