HP: Vampire Professor

Gilderoy Lockhart was in a magnificent mood.

He had, for the fifth time, been honored with Witch Weekly's "Most Charming Smile Award," his dazzling visage gracing the cover of the widely read magazine. To celebrate—or more accurately, to capitalize on the publicity—Lockhart had organized a special tea party at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop in Hogsmeade, offering his loyal fans a chance to interact with him face-to-face.

Madam Puddifoot's establishment, nestled on a quiet street corner, was an explosion of saccharine decor. The windows were festooned with frilly, delicate decorations in shades of soft pink, appealing to the sensibilities of a teenage girl. Inside, the shop was cramped and humid, the air thick with the steam from brewing tea, which gave the room a perpetually misty quality. Nearly every surface was draped in gaudy lace.

With Hogwarts on summer vacation, Hogsmeade was nearly devoid of young wizards. The tea shop was instead packed with Lockhart's primary demographic: housewives and older witches with ample time on their hands. They sat in chattering groups, their gazes fixed expectantly on a small, specially erected stage at the front of the room.

A booming voice suddenly cut through the din. "My dear, wonderful fans, how are you all today!"

From behind a curtain, a wizard dressed with the subtlety of a peacock made his grand entrance. Gilderoy Lockhart was undeniably handsome, with a mane of wavy golden hair and teeth so brilliantly white they seemed to catch and reflect the light. His robes were a masterpiece of ostentatious design, covered in intricate, luxurious patterns that shimmered as he moved.

Clutching a golden microphone, Lockhart strode onto the stage, greeting the assembled witches with an enthusiastic wave.

The response was immediate and deafening. A wave of shrieks filled Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. Witches screamed his name, desperately inching their small stools forward, craning their necks for a better view.

"Everyone, please, be patient!" Lockhart flashed his signature smile, a perfect, gleaming white line. "I have set aside plenty of time today for us to interact. Rest assured, I will treat every fan with the care they deserve. Everyone will receive my autograph, and..." He paused for dramatic effect.

"A hug!"

The crowd's excitement intensified. One witch, overcome by the prospect, promptly fainted.

Lockhart, ever the showman, seemed to have anticipated this. With a casual wave toward the counter, he signaled Madam Puddifoot. The plump owner, her hair in a shiny black bun, quickly poured a cup of iced tea and began to navigate the crush of bodies to aid the fallen admirer.

The minor interruption did nothing to dampen Lockhart's spirits. He took his place on the stage, bathed in the glow of numerous candles.

"First things first," he began, his voice smooth as silk. "Although I'm sure you all know who I am, tradition dictates I introduce myself." He chuckled. "I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and, as of a few days ago, a five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award! But of course," he added with a wink, "I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

Thunderous applause erupted, the witches clapping until their palms were red.

"Excellent! I see many of you have brought my collected works," Lockhart beamed. "Let's have a little quiz, then, to see how well my dearest fans really know me."

He scanned the crowd. "In my book, Travels with Vampires, after meeting me, what food did the vampire become obsessed with? Hands up, please!"

Nearly every hand in the room shot into the air. Even the witch, who had fainted moments before, revived by Madam Puddifoot's tea, weakly raised her arm.

"Alright, you, my dear lady," Lockhart said, pointing to a middle-aged witch with fiery red hair, a stout figure, and a kind, gentle face. "What is your name?"

The chosen witch looked stunned, covering her mouth like a shy schoolgirl. "Molly, sir. Molly Weasley," she said, standing up, her voice trembling with excitement. "The answer is lettuce!"

"Perfect! A perfect answer!" Lockhart smiled warmly. He produced a bright pink rose from his pocket as if by magic and presented it to her. "A small token for you, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for reading my work so diligently."

Mrs. Weasley accepted the rose with a blissful expression, clutching it to her chest as the other witches looked on with undisguised envy.

Just as the clamor began to subside, a calm, pleasant voice sliced through the air from the window.

"And... why did the vampire eat lettuce?"

Lockhart froze, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second. He turned toward the window of the tea shop, which had, unnoticed by anyone, been pushed open. A man with silver hair was perched on the sill, one foot braced against the frame, the other dangling casually. He held an open copy of Travels with Vampires.

His sudden appearance captured the attention of every witch in the room. They sized up the handsome stranger, their eyes flickering between him and Lockhart. In the silent comparison, Lockhart's charm seemed to dim ever so slightly.

"Madam Puddifoot!" Lockhart's voice was sharp with annoyance. "What is the meaning of this? I gave explicit instructions: only those with my complete collection and a limited-edition invitation were to be admitted. What sort of security are you running here?"

Panicked at the thought of a bad review, Madam Puddifoot started pushing through the crowd toward the window to eject the uninvited guest.

But just then, Mrs. Weasley, still holding her rose, let out a small gasp. "Oh, my! You must be Professor Dracula!" She hurried to the window, her face alight with recognition. "The silver hair, the burgundy eyes, that tragically handsome face... it has to be you!"

"You are...?" Dracula looked at Mrs. Weasley's vibrant red hair, and her surname clicked. A strange sense of coincidence washed over him. Not another Weasley?

"I'm the mother of Percy, Fred, George, and Ron!" Mrs. Weasley said joyfully. "The boys talk about you constantly! Fred and George, especially—those two rascals say you're the best Defence Against the Dark Arts professor they've ever had!" She leaned in conspiratorially. "And do you remember? You had my husband, and I sent that crystal ball to Romania for you!"

"Ah, of course," Dracula said, a flicker of memory returning. "Thank you again for your assistance." He had almost forgotten. If not for the Weasleys helping him ship that scrying orb to Castle Bran, he would still be awaiting word and wouldn't be free to witness this spectacle.

Mrs. Weasley continued to thank him profusely for looking after her sons at school. She then tried to introduce him to Lockhart, certain that two esteemed Defence Against the Dark Arts experts would have much to discuss.

On stage, Lockhart's mind was racing. Hearing that Dracula was a Hogwarts professor, his initial irritation gave way to a brilliant flash of inspiration. He motioned for his photographer and the reporter scribbling notes nearby.

"You see that professor over there?" he whispered urgently. "I'm going to get a picture with him. The headline should read something like this: Shocking! Hogwarts' Own Defence Professor Revealed as Fan of Renowned Master Gilderoy Lockhart!"

He glanced back at Dracula's striking face and felt a pang of insecurity. "And listen," he added, "when you take the photo, you must not, under any circumstances, capture the professor's face clearly! Frame my 'Most Charming Smile' in the center, and just... tuck him away in a corner."

The photographer gave him an "okay" sign.

Satisfied, Lockhart composed his features into what he felt was the perfect blend of grace and magnanimity and strolled toward the window. "Ah, Professor Dracula! I've heard so much about you," he boomed, extending a hand in a grandiose gesture while flashing a blinding smile at the camera.

Dracula, however, merely frowned in disgust, making no move to shake the offered hand. The overpowering scent of perfume wafting from Lockhart was even stronger than Quirrell's had been. To a vampire's sensitive nose, it was an assault. After the Philosopher's Stone incident, everyone understood Quirrell's situation—the cloying scent had been a desperate attempt to mask the stench of decay from Voldemort's possession. But this man, Lockhart, was vibrant and hale. For someone so healthy to douse himself in such a potent fragrance suggested... other, less magical problems.

Click.

The photographer captured the moment: the famous Gilderoy Lockhart, his smile strained, holding a hand out to empty air, while the Defence professor stood beside him, arms crossed, gazing out the window with a look of profound distaste.

"Cough! That's not what I wanted!" Lockhart hissed at the photographer. "Destroy that photo! Immediately!"

To salvage the moment, he snatched Travels with Vampires from the windowsill. With a flourish, he produced a verdant peacock-feather quill from his breast pocket and scrawled his signature across the title page. A new headline was already forming in his mind: Breaking News! Author Gilderoy Lockhart Personally Signs Book for Inspired Hogwarts Professor!

He handed the book back to Dracula with a smug grin. "Professor, I couldn't help but notice how engrossed you were in my work! A fan, I presume? I am always happy to oblige my admirers. If you have any other books you'd like signed, don't hesitate to ask!"

Dracula ignored him. He took the book, glanced at the florid signature, and nodded with what looked like satisfaction. Then, he turned and handed it to Mrs. Weasley.

"Mrs. Weasley, would you be so kind as to give this to your son, Ron?" he said politely. "It belongs to his friend, Hermione Granger. I borrowed it some time ago and have been meaning to return it."

"Of course, Professor!" Mrs. Weasley replied, tucking the book into a shopping basket that already contained a full collector's set of Lockhart's works. The sight made Lockhart's heart ache, but he quickly refocused his attention.

It was clear this professor had no intention of playing along. But Lockhart was a veteran in the art of shameless self-promotion. He strode back to the stage and grabbed the microphone.

"I do hope that little interlude hasn't dampened anyone's spirits!" he announced, his wide smile firmly back in place. "That was Professor Dracula from Hogwarts! He has long admired my work and, upon hearing of my tea party, made a special trip just to get my autograph. Let's give him a round of applause, shall we?"

Applause dutifully filled the tea shop as the witches glanced between the two men, savoring the drama.

"As you all know," Lockhart continued, determined to reclaim the spotlight, "I am a celebrated Defence Against the Dark Arts expert. I don't rely on my smile to handle dark creatures! In fact, I have often considered applying for the Defence professorship at Hogwarts myself. As we know, that position seems to be cursed—no professor lasts more than a year. I believe I could be the one to finally break that pattern!"

A compassionate look crossed his face, prompting a few witches to dab at their eyes with handkerchiefs.

"Professor Dracula here has clearly studied my work, which is no doubt how he has managed to survive the position thus far! And I, of course, will not hesitate to share my wisdom and experience with him, to help secure a brighter future for the Defence Against the Dark Arts!"

Another round of enthusiastic applause followed.

Leaning against the wall, Dracula watched the shameless performance with a growing sense of detached amusement. He found it hard to believe that this flamboyant, conceited fool could have survived the adventures detailed in his books. His curiosity piqued, he decided to press the issue.

He took a single step. Before anyone could react, he had crossed the crowded room and was standing beside Lockhart on the stage.

"Since you are so willing to sincerely answer my questions," Dracula's voice was quiet, yet it cut through the applause, "please, answer the one I asked before."

His gaze was level, his tone deceptively mild. "The vampire you traveled with... why did he eat lettuce?"

Lockhart's smile froze solid on his face. "Ah... well..." he stammered, his mind whirring. "That is... that evil vampire was so moved by my personal charm! After much persuasion on my part, he forsook his wicked habit of drinking human blood and took up lettuce instead!" The more he spoke, the more confident he sounded, almost convincing himself.

Dracula simply shook his head. "Mr. Lockhart, are you certain you don't need to reread your own book?"

In Travels with Vampires, the author's relationship with the vampire evolved from misunderstanding to a deep, mutual respect, with the narrator even expressing admiration for his companion. To call him "evil" completely contradicted the book's central theme. Lockhart had clearly forgotten the very story he claimed to have lived.

"Of course not! My answer is the correct one," Lockhart said with a dismissive wave, completely oblivious. "Trust me, Professor."

"Very well," Dracula sighed, shrugging slightly. "In that case, I must ask you to come with me."

He snapped his fingers.

In a blink, both men vanished from the stage, leaving behind a room of stunned witches and a single, forgotten pink rose.

The next morning, the front page of the Daily Prophet ran a banner headline that sent shockwaves through the wizarding world:

LOCKHART VANISHES FROM HOGSMEADE!

Hogwarts Professor Questioned After Famed Author Abducted in Public Spectacle

(End of Chapter)

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