Professor Vampire.

Chapter 96: Tip-over lane

Here's the translation of the text:

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"How did you find out why Professor Dracula published a book?" Ron asked Fred and George, looking at them with suspicion.

In the living room, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Percy, and Harry also turned their curious eyes toward them.

Fred and George nodded with satisfaction and began to recount what they knew.

"You know Cedric Diggory, right?" Fred said, "The one from third year... No, now he's in fourth year. Anyway, he got the top score in our year's final exam!"

"Then why don't you two hurry up and learn from Cedric?" Mrs. Weasley, setting aside a stack of dishes, put her hands on her hips and looked at the two troublemakers with disappointment.

"Mom, that's not the point!" George protested unhappily, "We're in the middle of telling a story!"

"Alright, I'm curious to hear what you have to say." Mrs. Weasley nodded and quieted down.

She then took the dishes and tossed them into the kitchen, where a floating sponge scrubbed the dishes clean with bubbly foam.

"Harry should know about this, right?" Fred continued, "Cedric received a pendant made by Professor Dracula. I remember you also got one at that time."

'Not only do I remember, but I even lost ten Galleons to the twins over it!' Harry awkwardly nodded.

He had been tutored by Tom with his favorite Dark Arts Defense class, so his grades improved rapidly.

"Yes, everyone knows Cedric was the top scorer. But few people know that he almost became the second!" Fred, unaware of Harry's thoughts, continued to speak to everyone in the living room.

"How could that be? Isn't Cedric's score far ahead of the second place?" Mr. Weasley asked, "Amos Diggory has been bragging about his son in front of me, and my ears are almost calloused. Could it be that Cedric isn't as excellent as he says?"

"Dad, though it's hard to admit, Cedric is indeed that good." George shrugged, "His usual scores really do put a lot of distance between him and the second place."

"Oh? So what happened this time? Did he make a mistake?" Mr. Weasley folded the newspaper, placed it on the freshly cleaned table, and focused intently on Fred and George.

"No, no, Cedric didn't make a mistake." George said mysteriously, "It's just that before the exam, he visited Professor Dracula's office..."

"Get to the point, George!"

Percy, unable to stand the twins' teasing, shouted at them.

"Percy, you really have no sense of humor." Fred said with a smirk, "Get to the point, George. They might be getting impatient."

"The main point is coming up!" George glanced at Percy with annoyance, "Before the final exam, Cedric went to Professor Dracula's office to ask a question. The gist of it was—"

"When answering the questions on the test, should we follow the content in 'Dark Arts: Self-Defense Guide,' or the content taught by Professor Dracula in class?"

"George is right, but do you know how Professor Dracula responded?" Fred said with a mischievous smile, mimicking Dracula's tone, "Professor Dracula told him on the spot: 'The content I taught is the correct one. Any discrepancies with the textbook are the textbook's fault!'"

"That can't be right..." Percy said in surprise, "I filled in all the answers based on the textbook, but I wasn't deducted any points!"

"That's the key issue!" George told Percy, "The final exam papers were not set by Professor Dracula, nor did he grade them. In fact, he even forgot to clarify this with Professor Dumbledore, who was grading the papers..."

"...So, Cedric, who answered according to Professor Dracula's teaching, ended up with many points deducted unfairly..." Fred and George chimed in, "If the content in the textbook hadn't been so close to what the professor taught, Cedric's first place might have been in jeopardy!"

"Ah, Cedric is really pitiful." Mr. Weasley sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of his drink.

Suddenly, his expression changed, and he spat out the water in shock.

"Wait, you just said... who was grading the papers?" he asked, astonished.

"Dad, you heard correctly, it was Professor Dumbledore." George said with a grin, "The exam papers were also set by Professor Dumbledore. I don't know what kind of private deal he and Professor Dracula made..."

"That's right. So, Harry and Ron's confusion about why Professor Dracula is writing a book is actually quite reasonable." Fred said, "Professor Dracula is such a lazy person; it's surprising he would suddenly decide to write a book!"

"Yes, Fred." Ron asked in confusion, "What does Professor Dracula publishing a book have to do with Cedric's exam being unfairly scored?"

"You don't get it, little Ron." George said with a sly smile, "A few days ago, we invited you to the hillside to play Quidditch with Cedric. It was on that day Cedric told us this secret."

"But you refused our kind invitation because you wanted to stay at home and study your wizard's chess!"

Hearing the embarrassing nickname "little Ron," Ron stood up, ready to confront George. Harry quickly held him back.

"Cedric told us he went back to Professor Dracula's office after receiving his grades." Fred continued, "But this time he went to argue with Professor Dracula, asking him why he lost so many points."

"And that's why Professor Dracula is writing a book." George said with a smile, "Cedric told us that the professor felt embarrassed about this, so he decided to personally write a book, pointing out all the flaws in our textbook!"

Everyone present agreed with this explanation.

If the idea of Professor Dracula patiently writing a book was surprising, then writing it out of embarrassment was quite in line with Professor Dracula's character.

At that moment, a gray feather duster fell in from the crooked window. Harry took a look at the duster and noticed it was actually breathing!

"Errol!" Ron shouted.

He picked up the dirty, sickly owl from the ground and pulled out a letter from beneath its wing. "It finally brought Hermione's reply. I had written to tell her we were going to rescue you from the Dursleys."

He placed Errol on a wider tabletop, muttering "poor Errol."

"How old is that duster... I mean, owl?" Harry almost said what he was thinking but awkwardly corrected himself and asked Fred.

Fortunately, the Weasleys didn't seem to mind, as they probably thought the same thing.

"Errol, he was the owl the family got Bill when he first went to school." Fred shrugged and told Harry, "Bill graduated five years ago."

Harry counted on his fingers and realized Errol was already 12 years old—about the age of the oldest owls...

"Well, it really is... quite old..." Harry looked at Errol with sympathy.

"We actually wanted to retire him long ago, but we've always been too poor. Ginny is going to school this year too, with a bunch of things to buy." Mr. Weasley sighed, "So we can only make Errol work a bit longer. Once the family is better off, we'll definitely find him a good retirement home!"

Harry looked again at the old owl lying on the table, hoping it would live until the Weasleys were financially better off.

At this moment, Ron had finished reading Hermione's letter.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione is still busy with homework during the summer!" He exclaimed in surprise.

"Yeah, so it's almost unbelievable that Hermione didn't get the top score in Dark Arts Defense!" George said, patting Harry's shoulder.

He was still a bit bitter about losing ten Galleons to Harry and Fred.

"Then why don't you hurry up and learn?" Mrs. Weasley glared at him, "You, Fred, and Ron are the most worrying children!"

...

The days at the Burrow passed quickly, and soon it was the day Harry and Hermione had planned to go to Diagon Alley to buy textbooks.

Mrs. Weasley woke the young wizards early in the morning. They each hastily ate five or six pieces of quick sandwiches and then put on their coats.

Mrs. Weasley picked up a flower pot from the kitchen fireplace and first handed it to Harry.

"Ladies first!" she said with a smile, "Harry, you go first!"

Harry stared at the flower pot in front of him, completely stunned.

"Do I... water the flower pot?" he asked hesitantly.

At the same time, he started looking around for a container to catch the water, wondering if watering the flower pot was some strange tradition in wizarding households before setting off.

"Mom, he's never used Floo powder before!" Ron said suddenly, seeing Harry's bewildered expression, "Sorry, Harry, I forgot to mention this."

"You've never used Floo powder?" Mr. Weasley asked in surprise, "Then how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy supplies last year?"

"I took the subway..." Harry said weakly.

"Oh, a new Muggle thing?" Mr. Weasley asked excitedly, "What kind of transportation is the subway? Is it similar to cars? How does it operate..."

"Don't ask now, Arthur." Mrs. Weasley interrupted him, "Using Floo powder is definitely faster than the subway, but... Merlin, if you've never used it before..."

"He'll be fine, Mom." Fred said confidently, patting Harry's shoulder, "Harry, just watch us!"

He pinched a pinch of sparkling powder from the flowerpot, walked to the fireplace, and threw the powder into the flames.

With a "whoosh," the flames turned emerald green.

The green flames rose higher than Fred's height, and he walked straight into the fire, clearly shouting a word—

"Diagon Alley!"

In the blink of an eye, he disappeared.

"You must say these words clearly, dear," Mrs. Weasley said to Harry. "And be sure not to go through the wrong fireplace when you come out..."

Meanwhile, George also reached into the flowerpot and then disappeared into the flames of the fireplace.

Mrs. Weasley and Ron gave Harry many more instructions, and Harry nervously memorized them, nodding occasionally.

After Mr. Weasley also left the fireplace, Harry looked at Mrs. Weasley and Ron's encouraging eyes and nodded firmly.

He desperately tried to remember all the instructions and then took a pinch of Floo powder, walking to the edge of the flames.

Harry took a deep breath, sprinkled the Floo powder into the flames, and walked forward.

The green flames suddenly surged, creating a gust of hot wind. As soon as he inhaled, he immediately took in a mouthful of scorching soot.

"Cough, cough... Diagon Alley..." Harry coughed out.

In the next moment, it was as if he was sucked into a giant outlet.

His body spun rapidly, and deafening howls filled his ears. He desperately tried to open his eyes, but the spinning green flames made him dizzy...

After an unknown period of spinning, Harry fell face down onto a cold stone floor. He felt that his glasses had been shattered.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he carefully got up and placed the broken glasses on his nose, looking at the unfamiliar place before him—

It seemed to be a spacious and dimly lit wizarding shop, and he was standing in front of a stone fireplace inside the shop.

But everything here was extremely peculiar, and nothing seemed to be on Hogwarts' shopping list.

Next to him, in a glass case, was a withered human hand, a stack of blood-stained cards, and a lifeless glass eyeball. A grotesque mask glared down from the wall, and various human bones were displayed on the counter, with rusty, tooth-like instruments hanging from the ceiling.

Looking through the dusty shop window, he could see a dark, narrow alley—

This was definitely not Diagon Alley!

...

London, Knockturn Alley, The White Dragon Pub.

It was an old-looking pub, located on the second floor of a black wizarding tattoo parlor. Its exterior walls were made of exquisite marble, and a large metal sign hung outside, engraved with a two-legged dragon covered in white scales.

Unlike most noisy and chaotic pubs, this one was very quiet.

The pub was divided into discreet compartments, each with a tightly secured protective magic on the door, ensuring that every group of patrons had a very safe and private space.

The White Dragon Pub had a luxurious compartment, its walls entirely made of gold, windows adorned with crystal, chandeliers covered in blood-red jewels, and the edges of the tables inlaid with many pure diamonds.

The decor of this compartment perfectly embodied the opulence of dragons.

The pub had existed for at least a few hundred years, but it had never been open.

However, today, the patrons of the White Dragon Pub were astonished to see that the barmaid, who had looked unchanged for decades and was usually extremely indifferent, was now respectfully leading a silver-haired man into the luxurious compartment.

She extended her finger and drew a symbol on the golden-decorated door.

In the next moment, the door, which had not been opened for centuries, quietly opened...

The patrons in the shop were shocked by this scene, unable to help but ask each other about the identity of the silver-haired man. The usually silent pub suddenly became noisy.

At this moment, the barmaid, with snow-white hair and a streak of blood-red, and black-red dragon horns extending from her head, suddenly turned around and glared at the whispering patrons with eerie yellow slit pupils.

"Have you all forgotten the rule of silence in the pub?" she said coldly.

The people present shivered, quickly closing their mouths.

The barmaid then composed herself, once again respectfully walking through the door.

"Lord Dracula, do you have any further instructions?" she asked softly.

Dracula casually sat on a plush sofa, looking at the barmaid before him.

"Bring me a bottle of the blood wine, the kind your dragon clan collected in the early days," he said with a light laugh. "Also, someone will come to see me later. He's not a big shot; just have a waiter take him up."

"Understood." The barmaid nodded gently and turned to leave.

Not long after, a pale-faced, cold-eyed wizard with light blonde hair entered the White Dragon Pub, carrying a staff.

"I'm here to see Mr. Dracula," he told the doorman.

"Mr. Malfoy, correct?" the doorman asked with a standard smile.

Lucius nodded proudly, evidently confident in his surname.

However, the doorman paid no heed to the surname Malfoy, only politely extending a hand inward—

"Please this way."

They passed through a quiet hall where many wizards were quietly drinking and speaking in hushed tones.

Lucius recognized several acquaintances among them. They nodded to each other but refrained from speaking, fearing to break the pub's rules and anger the fearsome barmaid—

There had once been a powerful wizard who did not heed the rules and caused a commotion here... Later, he turned into a pile of ashes...

Lucius followed the doorman to the most elaborately decorated door.

Seeing the doorman gesture for him to enter, he widened his eyes in surprise.

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