89 - Lupin's Dream

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In the dimly lit reception hall of Dracula's castle, Selina lounged on an imposing Gothic chair, her tone tinged with discontent. "So, you effortlessly arranged Tesla's vacation?" she asked.

Dracula, seated casually atop the long central table, glanced at her. "Yeah, his story is quite moving, don't you think?" His gaze shifted to the chair she occupied. "Also, if I recall correctly, that chair belongs to me. How did you end up claiming it?"

Selina rolled her eyes. "Well, maybe if you stopped shirking your duties as the castle's keeper, I wouldn't have to take over. If you agree to resume management, I'll return the chair to you instantly."

Dracula waved off the suggestion with a smirk. "Forget it. You can have the chair. Sitting on the table is surprisingly comfortable."

"True," Selina conceded, "but given the choice, I'd much rather sit by the windowsill—it offers a better view."

Feeling something lacking behind him, Dracula vanished from the table in an instant. Moments later, he reappeared on the grand windowsill overlooking the hall, leaning against the darkened glass designed to block out sunlight. A goblet of red wine materialized in his hand, which he swirled lazily.

Selina turned toward him with another question. "What happened to the wizard who wiped Tesla's friend's memory and later lost his own?"

Dracula shrugged. "He got the punishment he deserved."

"As for Lockhart, I didn't personally deal with him. I handed him over to Dumbledore. Unraveling his crimes and deciding his fate is best left to professionals." He paused, then added dismissively, "Whether he ends up in Azkaban or St. Mungo's is no concern of mine."

A knock at the hall's door interrupted them.

"Come in," Selina called out, quickly shifting her posture from relaxed to dignified. She glanced at Dracula, silently urging him to look more like a proper vampire lord.

Yet, even after a century, Selina retained a youthful air. Her so-called regal demeanor was merely presentable—devoid of any true authority. Dracula, on the other hand, had governed his castle for centuries. His influence stemmed from his undeniable strength and the refuge he provided for countless vampires, not from pompous displays of grandeur.

As expected, he remained slouched on the windowsill, sipping his wine unbothered.

Two senior vampires entered, gripping a tall, disheveled man by the arms. They pushed him toward Selina's chair with a firm hand.

"A werewolf?" Dracula mused, his curiosity piqued by the clawed-up clothing and the coarse, wild hair sprouting along the man's face.

The stranger had a pallid complexion and sharp features. His light brown hair was streaked with gray, giving him an aged appearance. His tattered clothing indicated a life of struggle, far removed from werewolf elites like Fenrir Greyback.

"You're correct, Lord Dracula!" One of the senior vampires stepped forward, kneeling respectfully. "We discovered this werewolf prowling near the castle. He didn't resist capture. In fact, he insisted he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix and requested an audience with you."

Dracula raised an eyebrow. "Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix? The resistance group formed to oppose Voldemort?"

The werewolf nodded. "Yes, Count Dracula. My name is Remus Lupin. Two months ago, Dumbledore noticed something suspicious about Fenrir Greyback and tasked me with infiltrating his pack."

He took a steady breath before continuing. "Recently, I uncovered that Fenrir received a horde of Inferi from a mysterious figure as part of an agreement. In exchange, Fenrir pledged to attack Dracula's castle."

Dracula took another sip of wine before leaping from the windowsill.

"That aligns with what I extracted from Greyback's mind," he said with a chuckle. "Voldemort knows these Inferi pose no real threat to me. He just wants to throw cannon fodder my way to annoy me."

"But he underestimates how trivial these creatures truly are."

Lupin looked astonished.

"The Wolf King is already my prisoner. He's sitting in a large cage right now," Dracula announced nonchalantly before gesturing toward his subordinates. "Let him go. He doesn't seem intent on causing trouble."

Before the vampires could act, Selina coughed dramatically. "Hold it!"

The two senior vampires hesitated, glancing between Selina and Dracula, uncertain whose orders to follow.

Selina shot Dracula a pointed glare—a silent reminder that she was in charge of castle affairs now.

Dracula chuckled, stepping aside with a courteous gesture.

Selina nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, release him."

The vampires exchanged skeptical looks but complied, unbinding Lupin's restraints.

"You may leave now," she instructed them. "We will question this werewolf privately."

Once the guards departed, Lupin rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly. His gaze settled on Dracula.

"Dumbledore asked me to deliver a letter to you," he announced, withdrawing a well-preserved envelope. "But I must be certain that everyone present is trustworthy."

Selina scoffed. "Hey! What do you mean by that, werewolf?" She reached for the envelope, only for Lupin to swiftly draw his wand in defense.

Dracula nodded calmly. "Let her read it. Dumbledore isn't the type to write anything scandalous."

Selina wrinkled her nose. "I'll pass. If there's something questionable between you two, I don't need to know."

Dracula sighed and gave her a light smack on the head. "Stop filling your mind with nonsense."

"You're the one who called me a big girl capable of managing this castle!" Selina huffed. "But suddenly, when it comes to lecturing me, I'm 'young' again. You just like bullying me because I can't beat you!"

Dracula massaged his temples. He decided to ignore her, focusing instead on the envelope.

The parchment resembled that of a Hogwarts acceptance letter. Inscribed upon it were the words: *"For Professor Dracula."*

Inside, a small slip of paper bore a single sentence:

"Harry Potter may have unknowingly become one of Voldemort's Horcruxes!"

Dracula's eyes widened.

A living human turned into a Horcrux? Not even the notorious Herpo the Foul had dared attempt such a thing!

If Dumbledore was correct, did that mean eliminating Voldemort required killing Potter first? That seemed excessive. Even Serena's vampire code forbade such ruthless disregard for an innocent life.

Dracula pondered it briefly—then dismissed the thought.

Let Dumbledore handle it. If Voldemort showed up again, Dracula would simply thrash him like always.

Suddenly, sparks ignited around the paper.

Dracula frowned, conjuring a white flame to suppress the spontaneous fire without harming the note.

Then, deliberately, he incinerated it himself.

He disliked the idea of Dumbledore dictating when something should be destroyed. I discard things when I choose, not when others decide for me.

Serena watched curiously. "Why bother burning something you just saved? You sure there's nothing secret going on between you and Dumbledore?"

Dracula flicked her forehead. "Go revise your 'Castle Regulations' and 'Vampire Code of Conduct.' You spend too much time idling around."

Selina pouted, pulling out her notebook.

She scribbled down a new rule at the bottom: *"Nothing Dracula says can be trusted!"**

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Dracula paid no attention to Selina's subtle movements; instead, his gaze shifted to Lupin, who stood awkwardly, awaiting acknowledgment.

"Remus Lupin, correct?" Dracula asked, his tone inquisitive. "Since you're here, perhaps you can shed some light on why Greyback and his werewolves have allied themselves with Voldemort."

Lupin exhaled heavily, his voice soft but resolute. "It's not hard to explain. Werewolves have always faced immense hardship. Wizards fear us—we're dangerous, unpredictable, and our bite is a curse. Because of that, we're treated as outcasts."

He gestured toward his own threadbare clothes with a wry smile. "When my condition became known, even the most basic jobs were out of reach for me."

"Fenrir, though… he's different," Lupin continued. "He abandoned his humanity long ago, consumed by what he calls 'animal hedonism.' He thrives on destruction, attacking people—children, especially—for pleasure."

"Once he turns someone into a werewolf, they find themselves trapped in the same cycle—shunned, forced into desperation. Most of them eventually join his ranks, preying on others, spreading the affliction, taking revenge on society."

"When Voldemort came forward with his vision of domination, they saw an opportunity in his ruthless ideology and pledged themselves to him."

Lupin sighed. "Unlike vampires, werewolves don't have a sanctuary like Dracula's Castle."

His words carried a quiet envy, and Dracula noticed it in his gaze.

Serena broke the silence. "He's right. We may all be classified as 'human,' but vampires once endured similar discrimination. Decades ago, peaceful coexistence with wizards was nearly impossible."

She leaned forward. "Dracula's Castle changed that. It provided refuge, established structure among lesser vampires, and curbed reckless behaviors. Later, with famous figures like Lorcan Deis emerging, our public image shifted—slightly."

"I believe taking in low-level vampires was the right decision," she said, fixing Dracula with a determined stare. "Wouldn't you agree, Father?"

Dracula studied Serena for a long moment before chuckling. "You made the right call. I hadn't considered it thoroughly before."

Something flickered in his eyes, as if an idea had taken shape.

He turned back to Lupin with a peculiar expression.

"If work eludes you…" Dracula's grin took on a sharp edge. "How about becoming the next Wolf King?"

Lupin stiffened. "No—I can't! I've never belonged among them. They've always rejected me."

"Don't be so quick to refuse," Dracula mused, his eyes gleaming with an eerie crimson glow. "Tell me, Lupin—don't you want to help those like you? Those struggling, unwanted?"

"Wouldn't you rather reshape how werewolves are perceived? Wouldn't you like to walk through Diagon Alley openly, without whispers and stares?"

"The vampire community has been fighting for that for centuries. We're halfway there. Can you take the first step for the werewolves?"

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Lupin left Dracula's Castle that day with nothing—no riches, no power.

But he carried something more profound. A seed had been planted, a dream of a future where werewolves could live without fear, without prejudice.

He dreamed of a world where, at Hogwarts, children afflicted with lycanthropy could sit beside wizarding students, bound by friendship rather than fear.

He dreamed of valleys rising, mountains lowering, of harsh roads softening—of sunlight breaking through the shadows.

Serena observed Dracula as he leisurely sipped his wine. "You're quite the manipulator," she remarked. "And oddly enough… those words don't sound like something you'd normally say."

Dracula smirked. "Of course not. They're not mine."

He took another sip before elaborating. "Lee Jordan—one of my more mischievous students at Hogwarts—wrote something like this in his Muggle Studies assignment."

"Professor Burbage was moved to tears and showcased it in the staff lounge. Then, someone revealed that it was actually a speech from a man named Martin Luther King, decades ago."

Serena narrowed her eyes. "So, you had fun teaching, huh? I suppose that means you're perfectly fine leaving castle management in my hands?"

Dracula coughed, nearly choking on his wine. "How do you always twist things back to this?"

She grinned. "You've become a hands-off ruler. Let me complain a little."

Dracula sighed in surrender. "Fine, fine—complain all you want, as long as you run the castle properly."

With a casual shrug, he set his goblet down, picked up his black parasol, and strode toward the exit.

"Come," he announced. "Let's survey the battlefield—see if anything worthwhile was left behind."

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